Thomas Abridged
by ToonGuy
Summary: So, Thomas and Friends. You've heard of them, yes (of course you bloody have, you're browsing the Thomas fanfiction selection)? But back to the point; the history books tell you a different tale. This is an island where confusion and delay reign supreme and if anything really useful happens, it's a mistake. This is the Island of Sodor as you've never seen it before.
1. Episode 1: Thomas and Gordon

So, uh, hey. This is...this is a thing.

Okay, quick explanation. Recently I've been thinking a lot, it's a dangerous habit but I do do it. Recently I was thinking about Abridged Series, you know them probably, you've probably stumbled into one if you are a member of any fandom at some point. And Thomas and Friends is one of my favorite fandoms, so I figured why the hell not? Now, you're more than likely going to start getting the nails and constructing wooden effigies to nail me on, but it's just a bit of fun. I love this show, and if it looks like I'm making fun of it, it's no more so than any other Thomas humor story there.

Anywhoo, let's start, where else, at the beginning! Mr Campbell, Mr O'Donnell, if you would be so kind.

1\. 2. 3.

CUE THE THEME

 **...**

 **Mr Starr.**

 **MR STARR.**

What? Whazat?

 **It's the show.**

What show?

 **That show! The new one! The train one!**

Sweet god alive, you were serious? i just thought you were taking me on a free vacation before you fired me!

 **Fired you? We're not a bloody record company! Though considering how the last album went-**

What was that?

 **Nothing. Just...read the script. Or not. Hell, go off the script, just go tangentially to what this story's about.**

Fine. Bloody...right, script here. Ahem.

...

Thomas is many things. A prat. A lover of many (Or so he tells himself every night to try and make himself feel better), but he's also a tank engine, who lives at the big station on the Island of Sodor.

Now many of you might be asking two things. One, what the hell is a engine doing living in a station? And two, what the hell's a sodor?

Well, to answer your first question, shut up, and to answer your second question, The Hebdrides as part of the Diocese of Sodor and Man...

No, I don't what that means either, shut up.

Also, yes there are talking trains on this Island. There's probably a reason but I don't care and quite frankly, I don't think any of you want me to waste time with explaining it. Moving on.

He's a cheeky little sod, with six small wheels-

"AYE! Less of that now!"

-a short stumpy funnel, a short stumpy boiler and a short stumpy dome.

"LESS OF THE STUMPY TOO. Mine's bigger than yours."

Thomas is also in the habit of repeating things he really shouldn't be. Have you ever worked at a railway? The lonely nights'll do some cynical stuff to ya!

...

Knapford Station was a bit like a Youth Club. Filled with yobs, busy and smelling of wee.

Thomas was a fussy little engine too, always pulling coaches about so that the big engines could take them on long journeys.

That's right. Read into that what you will. The coaches were literally on the pull.

I'll just, leave then shall I?

Also, don't ask why the big green hippie over there is pulling trucks at the end of his train. This is back when people actually paid attention to details like this in the scripts.

Anyway, and when trains came in, he pulls the empty coaches away so the big engines can go and rest. Now some argued that this was unfair considering that the coaches never got a say in this, but most of the engines blew them off. Unlike the coaches that never- You know what, I'll not go on. Anyway, the Feminists had yet to start campaigning repeatedly outside Sir Topham Hatt's door, so yeah. Coaches are stuck like that for now.

...

"Oh come on guys, let me in, let me in!"

"So Henry." said a big blue engine loudly to block out Thomas pleading to join the big boys club. "What were you saying about Thatcher?"

"Oh, you know." said the morose Henry, rumored to have taken some illegal substances before arriving to the Island which had messed him up badly. "It's all going to go to hell, you see."

"Is he always like this?"

Henry looked at the red engine with bafflement. "Uh...you're not supposed to be here."

"Look, I'm the new engine, I'm Ja-"

Continuity, while still breached, was appeased when Henry forcibly marched the red engine out of the sidings. Passing them, the pleading Thomas looked at the red one and ignored him. Not like they'd cross paths again.

"And I swear to god, you're not even supposed to be here until at least the seventh episode!"

"Well it's not my FAULT IS IT WATCH WHERE YOU'RE PUTTING THOSE BUFFERS."

...

Anyway, Thomas thinks that no engine works as hard as he does. He's a idiot.

He loves playing tricks on the other engines, including (And cue the fanfare) Gordon, the biggest and proudest engine of them all!

Lovely fanfare lads.

Thomas likes whistling rudely at him. Not like the rude whistling he does to the coaches, that usually ends up earning him a time out from Daddy Hatt. No, this was a completely different type of whistling.

"Wake up Lazy Bones! Why can't you work hard like me?!" Thomas smirked, sure that he had bested Gordon in a battle of wits, as he backed up onto a train being pulled by Marklin, the Background Engine.

The crunching noise indicated to Thomas that he had better move or the incredibly out of breath controller would puff up and give him a scolding. Once he had his breath back. Marklin was distraught, he had had his own show lined up and everything.

"DAMN YOU THOMAS!" He roared, shaking his...whatever they have in place of fists. It was a feeble sight anyway, and Thomas skipped away, laughing merrily while Gordon considered hiring Marklin to kill Thomas. It was at that moment that a camera flash awoke him from his coma, and he screamed at the nosy photographers who had taken a picture of his gaping maw of a mouth.

...

One day after pulling the big express (Not the medium one. The medium was for people like Marklin who never had any dreams.) Gordon arrived back at the Sidings (Aka, the local pub) very tired. This may or may not have had something to do with stealing Henry's stash of coal the previous night and dreaming that he had become a tree.

He was just going to sleep when Thomas came up in his cheeky and annoying way. "Wake up lazybones! Do some hard work for a change! You can't catch me!" As a flash picture went off again, and the photographers make a sneaky exit via Thomas's retreating back, off he ran, laughing.

Gordon stewed for a long time that night. Not the least because his driver was a slob who enjoyed making stew in his boiler. Rumors that this contributed to Gordon's people skills had not stopped him. His fireman was no better, as he had begun to roast marshmallows in his fire.

But Gordon also thought a great deal. Instead of going to sleep again, like any sane engine would, he began to think of how to get back at Thomas.

At that moment, Henry's Driver, Carlin, shambled over. "Hey ****!" He said (He spoke in asterisks a lot, he was a very strange man.) "You taken my ******* stash!?"

"No we haven't taken your ******* stash!" said Gordon's driver, who was good friends with Mr Carlin really.

And so the argument went on, as Mr Carlin said several words that can't be aired on television and Gordon came up with a cunning plan.

Cue the next morning transition and...

...

There we go!

One non specific morning, probably pretty soon after the previous one, but who can tell here Anyway, on that morning, Thomas wouldn't wake up. Okay, let's rephrase that. Thomas was too much of a lazy sod to get out of the sheds. His driver and fireman couldn't make him start. They had tried everything from pleading ("We'll even buy you that new fangled Atari thingamie!") to threatening ("If you don't get out of this shed right this second, we will...POINT AT YOU. Until you submit.") to using jump leads (This resulted in Thomas starting, but also in his fireman getting shocked.) At last they realized that his fire was out and there was not enough steam. Usually this meant that his fireman would have been...well, fired, but the man was currently spitting out blue sparks, so they figured it would be cruel.

It was nearly time for the express. The people were waiting but the coaches weren't ready. Now, one might ask why the Fat Dictator did not just get another tank engine to do his work. Sadly, he had made a surprising mistake in only buying one tank engine. This would bite him on the arse soon enough, but for now he was reduce to pleading with several people to please not beat him up, especially not in front of his son.

At last, Thomas started with a jerk (But enough about his driver) and a desire for some cold water. And some aspirin. "Oh dear! Oh dear!" He groaned loudly, causing the dazed fireman to see if Santa had come.

He fussed into the station (After only three wrong turns and a visit into a barber shop) where Gordon was waiting, the latter having got a fairly decent sun tan in the time it had taken.

"Hurry up you!" grunted Gordon the Polite Engine.

"Hurry yourself!" said Thomas, his mind still in a pleasant dream of Ivor The Engine reruns. Gordon began making his plan (The previous plan having been disregarded, as he wasn't entirely sure where he was going to get a sniper rifle from, nor how to operate it).

"Yes." said Gordon the Subtle Engine. "I WILL!" at such a pitch that people in China could infer his meaning. However, Thomas's brain was still five minutes behind everyone else's, so he didn't catch it.

And almost before the coaches had stopped moving, Gordon was reversed quickly and was coupled to the train. This had the side-effect of jolting everyone back and sending Topham Hatt into a major panic. "Get in quickly please!" He whistled.

"WE ARE IN YOU LITTLE BUG-" One particular passenger was cut off when one of the doors was slammed in his face.

Thomas usually pushed behind the big trains to help them start. But he was always uncoupled first. This time Gordon started so quickly that:

A: He accidentally squashed a bird on the track.

B: The workman coupling and uncoupling was so shocked that he somehow forgot his job, which as a result led to:

C: They forgot to uncoule Thomas.

Gordon's chance had come!

In the carriages, the Brass Band began playing one of their tunes, as they always did when Gordon pulled the express. Apparently it helped appease the very angry passengers.

As they pulled out of Knapford and past the Bus Yard, Gordon smirked and mentally counted in his head. Three minutes.

"Come on come on!" puffed Gordon to the coaches.

"You're the one pulling us!" pointed out a particularly smart coach.

Gordon didn't respond.

The train went faster and faster, and as they reached the Ballahoo Tunnel, Thomas finally caught on. "Wait, what do you mean "You Will?!"" He then did a double take as the events of the last five minutes caught up with him. "Oh BALLS!" he shouted aloud. It was too fast for Thomas, he wanted to stop but he couldn't. "PEEP PEEP!" He shouted for no reason. "Stop stop!"

"Hurry hurry hurry!" laughed Gordon the Sadistic Engine.

"You can't get away, you can't get away!" laughed the coaches, intent on emasculating the out of puff Thomas even more than he already felt.

...

As the Brass Band began the crescendo, Gordon reached the viaduct. Poor Thomas (He said in sarcastic tones) was going faster than he had ever gone before. He was out of breath and his wheels hurt but he had to go on! "I shall never be the same again!" he declared in a vain attempt to make Gordon feel guilty. "My wheels will be worn out!"

"Oh shut up you bloody queen!" snapped Gordon as he proudly raced past the hills and came to a gradual stop at Wellsworth.

Thomas was uncoupled ("TOO LITTLE TOO LATE!" he snapped angrily at a workman, who promptly gave up his job of helping talking trains to do something easier. Like diffusing mines) and he felt very silly and exhausted. Next he went onto a turntable, thinking of everyone laughing at him.

Which wasn't hard considering that Gordon was holding a 'MOCKING THOMAS' party on the station. The photographers, Messers Allcroft and Milton, were watching Thomas with interest. As if an idea was coming into their minds.

And then he ran onto a siding out of the way.

"Well well little Thomas! Now you know what hard work means, don't you!?"

Thomas tried to work out a one liner that would break Gordon's confidence and send him screaming for his maker, but he had no breath. He just puffed slowly and brokenly away to rest. And then he had a long, long drink. Read into that what you will

He went home very slowly (And with the viaduct wobbling, he was not entirely convinced that someone hadn't hidden a stash of alcohol in there) and was careful afterwards never to be cheeky to Gordon again.

At least that's what he told himself.

...

Unfortunately, after completing the money shot, Thomas re-entered Knapford exhausted and drunk out of his tiny tank engine mind. Which meant that when Marklin pulled out in front of him-

CRUNCH.

When Thomas awoke the next day, he discovered that he had very little memory of the previous day's events. After reading about it in the paper (Well, Mr Carlin read it to him) he decided that being cheeky to Gordon would be his life's work from this moment onwards.

And elsewhere, Allcroft and Milton were sitting down with a TV executive, developing their videos.

"This is great!" enthused the executive. "Can you get more?"

There was a pause as both looked at each other.

...

"YOU WHAT?!"

Gordon cringed. "Sir, it was a totally justifiable incident!"

"Do you realize how many COMPLAINTS I HAD!?" Sir Topham was livid. This was a shock to many, as they thought he was Topham Hatt. "If this ever gets out, my railway will be a LAUGHING STOCK!"

"Funny you should mention that." Two figures stepped out. "Hello Sir, we've got something to show you."

Topham grunted and looked over their shoulders. He did a horrified double take. "Uh, we-we can discuss this!"

"Funny you should mention that." Mitton threw a companionable arm around Topham's shoulder "Because we've got a TV show we'd like to sell you."


	2. Episode 2: Edward and Gordon

Wow! Was not expecting the positive feedback to be honest. Thanks! Now then, let us move on with the next one.

Oh, quick thing, I'd like to thank Rosie Angelina for reading so far! And also Greatwestern1522 for PM'ing me.

Cue the music!

...

 **Mr Starr...Oh for god's sake...**

Hmm? Sorry, was a bit distracted. Whatcha want me to do?

 **Another episode, if you don't mind.**

Sure, sure, whatever, it's your bloody show.

 **And don't I know it.**

What?

 **Nothing.**

 **...**

One day, Edward was in the shed.

Who was Edward?

What did he want?

Well to explain that, we need to basically fill you in on the way that life in Tidmouth Sheds works at the moment. At the moment there are five engines that live there, Thomas, Henry and Gordon you already know in some shape or form. Then there's...

"Oh god damn it the Red One is still there!" Henry wailed. "The Fat Director-"

"Are we still calling him that?" asked Thomas.

"Well it's either that or the Fat Controller. Really when he's called that he sounds like a bloody Doctor Who villain." muttered Edward, whose humor was as dry as teh desert.

"Well you can't get rid of me now!" said the red engine smugly. "I'm stuck here! And I have a name-"

"We don't care!" bluntly noted Gordon. "All right, here's the new rule, we ignore Eagle over there until we get to the proper time for him to be introduced."

"I don't think that's how-"

"And for that, Edward, we're demoting you beneath Thomas's rank."

Ah yes. The best way to describe Tidmouth Sheds would be to imagine the Houses of Parliment. At the top, there's the big leader who mostly bigs himself up and shames everyone else. Then there's the moaning whinging guy who does the dirty work for the top man. Then there's the joker, the one who will eagerly go along with mockery as long as he himself is not the target. Then there's the one who is ignored unless he does something remarkably stupid. And then there's the one who'd actually do some good and then gets mocked repeatedly.

Basically, it was that, except there was very little actual work done there.

Edward was a old engine, older than most of the others there. He was a mixed traffic engine (Which was often a great hoot around the yards, as most people used it to mock him repeatedly. Behind his tender though) and while generally he was actually one of the nicer people, on certain occasions his wit could be drier than the Sahara Desert. This however, had faded over time due to repeated pranks being played on him, as he had been locked away in the sheds for a good while now, waiting for his return to work

Now then, let's return to what actually happened.

One day, Edward was in the sheds where he lived with the other engines. They were not only the worst engines to room-mate with, but they were all bigger than him and boasted about it.

But wait, I hear you cry, Thomas is a tank engine! It's in the blooming title! Edward is bigger than him!

Well, the engines had discussed this (The architect had got it wrong, as he had most things) and Edward had come up with the official theory that Thomas's head was so big that it was bigger than Edward himself. The others had laughed, including Thomas, whose slow reaction time meant that he only got angry in the middle of the night.

"The driver won't choose you again!" They chorused like a Hive Mind. "He wants strong engines like us!"

Edward, who had decided to adopt a air of defeat while still plotting, sadly stared at the ground. "You're right. I should be more like you, Thomas. How is the motion sickness? And you Gordon! How's the alcohol poisoning? And Henry, well, I could be strong like you! With your damaged lungs and so on."

"Do we have lungs?" asked the Red Engine Who Shall Not Be Named.

"HUSH EAGLE." snapped Gordon, who had called him that because of a old engine he had known who was also red. Gordon's mind was very limited in that regard.

But the driver and fireman felt sorry for Edward. Charlie Sand, a man who had been mocked relentlessly because of his name and general quietness, and Sidney Heaver, mocked not only because of his name but also because of his Hitler mustache (People in pubs still stood up, clicked their heels and shouted "HEIL HEAVER!" when he entered) had been his driver and fireman for many a year.

Which is actually weird when you think about it, I mean where were they during all this time? Did they only realize when they were eating their lunch one day "OH GOD WE'VE GOT A ACTUAL JOB!"? Baffles the mind.

"Would you like to come out again?" asked Charlie Sand,

"Oh yes please." Edward said. "Took you long enough." he muttered out the side of his mouth.

So they lit his fire, made lots of steam, lit a pipe and both Edward and Heaver puffed away. On two completely different things. Edward decided to show restraint to the now fuming other engines.

And then he decided to screw it.

"SEE YOU LATER PLONKERS!" He crowed.

The other engines were very cross at being left behind. They were very, very insecure, you see.

...

Edward spent a enjoyable day pulling coaches around and doing stuff that other engines rarely did. Which was actual work. True, most of his coaches had gone a strange moldy green color, and they weren't as chatty as they used to been (Some of them kept asking for soup) but he was out and stretching his wheels, so he had no problem with it.

On a bridge, two boys watched as Edward puffed under there. "Hey Jim!" said one. "You wanna get some stones to toss on them?"

"Do I!" enthused Jim.

Elsewhere on the bridge, Mitton and Allcroft looked down the bridge.

"Now this-" said Allcroft. "-would make a hell of a place to film a intro."

"I can see it."

Edward worked hard all day, The coaches, when they could be bothered to give a opinion, thought he was very kind and the driver was very pleased. Though that may have been because he was able to keep his job at last, after two years of just turning up to the pub, drinking his troubles away and not even going near the engine.

...

"I'm going out again tomorrow!" Edward told the other engines. "What do you think of that?"

A owl hooted. Perhaps he had seen another female owl.

"You know what I think-"

But he didn't hear what they thought, or didn't care, for he was so tired and happy that I fell asleep at once. "ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ."

Gordon scoffed. "I swear, he learnt to do that on purpose."

"Do you think-" said Henry after a moment to compose himself. "-that Edward is perhaps rubbing it in that he's the hot potato at the moment?"

"Henry, of all the metaphors used-"

At this point, Gordon, Henry and the Red Engine Who Must Not Be Named began yet another argument, while Thomas wondered vaguely if the new TV show would allow him the chance to leave the Island for pastures new.

...

The next morning, Edward had woken up to find that nothing had changed (Save for the positioning of the Engines, which had changed from the previous morning, but Edward was not one of those people who would count those things). Gordon was still boasting as per usual.

"You watch me little Edward, as I rush through with the express. That'll be a splendid sight for you."

"Ah, what a pity. I was going to remove my eyes. Sorry, won't be able to see or care there."

Gordon ignored Edward. "Goodbye little Edward, look out for me this afternoon."

Henry groaned. "Oh, I don't feel so good. Probably shouldn't have had that coal earlier."

Edward rolled his eyes and went off to do some shunting, deciding that beating up a few no good trucks would help him.

...

The trucks were demons. Even their faces looked like it, painted on as opposed to a natural looking face, as if someone had deliberately designed those trucks to scare the living hell out of the engines. That was the only way to rationalize the way that they behaved. For example, the coaches were often subjected to the things that the trucks went through, such as being pulled everywhere and filled with things that they would more likely than not would not like to have in them, but they took it with good grace and calm and were generally nice about it. The trucks, on the other hand, had one day been created and had immediately decided that kindness was to be repaid with pain and harshness with deliberate aggravation. So it took a happy medium between the two to keep them in line.

Edward knew that happy medium. It involved punching the living loads out of them (Tar was the sole property of Tar Wagons, so they couldn't kick the tar out of them) and then slowly but gently letting them know that they could get a good old fashioned sing song in the Yards, the pub franchise that was located all over the Island. The old fashioned carrot and stick method worked quite often.

Besides, in a weird way it was fun, he liked playing with them. He would come up quietly and give them a push. Then he would stop and the silly trucks would go bump into each other. He was a bit of a sadist.

"OOH ER!" cried a rather camp truck. "Whatever is APPENING?!"

When trucks are attacked, they dropped their aitches.

Mid way through the day, Henry finally got up and moved out of the sheds, while Thomas and Mr Not Appearing In This Story watched with amusement as he wheezed in terror. Edward played til there was no more trucks (He wasn't sure if he had killed them or not, just that there were no more.) and then he stopped to rest.

Presently, he heard a whistle. This was not a surprise to him, as they were all trains. They all had whistles.

Gordon was very cross, which made a nice change from his usual mood of mildly peeved. Instead of nice shining coaches, he was pulling a lot of dirty trucks. Trucks who did not appreciate the racist attitude that Gordon was taking to them.

"A GOODS TRAIN! A GOODS TRAIN! A GOODS TRAIN" He rumbled, perhaps trying to summon the Engine equivalent of the Kandyman. His eye was slightly crooked, a after effect of some of the quite disgusting things the trucks had told him to do. "The shame of it! The shame of it! Oh the shame of it!"

Edward laughed at Gordon's painful karma and went to find more trucks to fight.

...

That afternoon, Edward was just considering fighting Bruce Lee and was finishing up a rather nice conversation with a coach that was about to be put in a museum when a porter rushed up. "Gordon can't get up the hill! Will you take Edward and push him please?"

Edward sighed again and went to work. All the while he vaguely wondered if mocking Gordon would make life easier or harder for him in the long run.

...

They found Gordon halfway up and very, VERY cross. He had graduated to two very's. The driver and fireman were talking to him severely.

"You're not trying!" said the driver, eating a sandwich as he did so.

"No, he's very trying!" called out Edward.

Both thought for a second and started laughing. Gordon scowled. "I can't do it! The noisy trucks hold a engine back so!"

"WELL SCREW YOU BUDDY!" shouted the van in the middle.

"I don't see you rushing!" Edward called up again.

Charlie came up. "We've come to push."

"NO USE AT ALL, HE'S A LOSER."

"You wait and see." said Charlie.

...

They brought the train back to the bottom of the hill, Gordon deliberately trying to slam the back of the train into Edward's stupid smug face and failing. They coupled him up and Edward braced himself. He hadn't done this for a long time.

"I'm ready!"

"No good at all!" said Gordon grimly.

They pulled and pushed as hard as they could. Well, Edward did. Gordon was just very limp. HA!

The second they reached the first bend, Gordon broke down mentally. "I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T DO IT!" He cried in a voice that he claimed was manly but appeared to have gone up a few octaves.

"Fine. THEN I WILL DO IT. I WILL DO IT. I WILL DO IT." Edward chanted repeatedly, blocking out the whining sound of Gordon. "This is for all those years of bullying you prat! WHOSE GOT THE POWER NOW!?" He suddenly calmed down as he realized he was getting into megalomaniac mode. He pushed and puffed and puffed and pushed.

"Almost...there..."

And almost before he realized it, Gordon found himself at the top of the hill. "WA-HEY! I'VE DONE IT I'VE DONE IT I'VE DONE IT!" He cried arrogantly, and promptly sped up in joy. Edward reacted with shock as he felt himself free-falling down the hill.

He forgot all about Edward and didn't stop to say thank you. And also that he had brakes.

"Wait...wait you slow fatass...I just...oh dear god." Edward panted desperately as he slowly chased after the big blue engine. He was left out of breath and far behind. He ran onto the next station and there he found that both Charlie and Sidney were very proud of him.

As Sideny gave him a nice long drink of water/alcohol, the driver said. "So I'll get out my paint tomorrow, and give you a beautiful coat of blue and red stripes. Then you'll be the smartest engine in the shed."

He paused. "Well, you already are, but even more so."

Edward was actually rather touched by this, and so didn't say anything for fear of embarrasing himself.

...

Sir Topham Hatt sighed to himself.

Sure, those two TV people had managed to spoil one of his most recent days, but it was at times like this when he realized that he had many advantages of being a controller of the railway. One of which was leaving his car on the level crossing while he got some food from a burger shop.

At that moment, Gordon hit his car at full pelt.

The burger slipped from his hands.

...

For the second time in recent memory, Gordon ended up doing work to pay off the bill for something. In this case, for the car. Topham was already dreading the return home to explain to his wife why his lovely car had gone the way of the dinosaurs.

Edward, however, thought it was a hoot.

And compared with what was to come, this was actually pretty kind to the old Hatt.


	3. Episode 3: The Sad Story of Henry

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with EPISODE THREE.

CUE THE THEME.

...

 **Morning Mr Starr.**

Mornin. Suppose you want another one?

 **If you wouldn't mind- Hang on, is this the footage?**

I dunno mate, it's your show.

 **Hmmm...you do your stuff, I'll be back in a couple of minutes.**

S'cool. All right, fine, let's go.

...

And cue the brass band!

Once a engine attached to a train

Was a chicken about a few drops of rain.

He went into a tunnel

And squeaked through his funnel

And wouldn't come out again!

...

It's possible you may not know what is being described to you, as that one rhyme is not very indicative of what has happened, exactly.

Okay, so stick with me here. The Main Line (That's not a telephone line, by the way, I mean line as in railway) runs right the way around the Island. And one of the stops is the Ballahoo Tunnels, you may remember it from where Gordon tortured Thomas.

So the average configuration, at the moment is this. Two tunnels. For whatever reason, the tunnel on the left only had one track leading out of it.

Now Henry, who we have established is the most miserable engine alive at the moment, was pulling a express train along, for Gordon was still being punished for the incident involving the car, when the rain began to fall.

Now, that in it's self wasn't a big alert to the driver and fireman. Rain was natural for them. And in a way, Henry was used to it as well. Many a night Gordon had frog-marched him outside of Tidmouth and had left him in the rain, for being so much of a moaning minnie that he would have made Eeyore want to commit suicide. But there were two factors in particular that caused certain events to happen. One: He had recently had a new coat of paint, and he was a prideful engine was old Henry.

Two: Without realizing it, Mr Carlin had left a potent bit of pot in Henry's boiler. And he was slowly getting hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.

So now Henry saw the rain as his terrible and terrifying enemy, a enemy that sought, nay demanded green paint with red stripes for breakfast! He saw it as his Engine Duty to prevent the rain from taking his body.

Also, the pot was making him tired as balls.

So, he entered the tunnel, slammed on the brakes and refused to move. On the opposite tunnel, Edward looked baffled as he pulled a train of trucks with him.

"Uh, Henry?"

"NOT NOW EDWARD. I HAVE BESTED MY FOE."

"Well good luck with that." Edward drove off cheerfully deciding to leave Henry to his little episode.

Mr Carlin slipped (literally) off Henry's footplate and shambled forward, accompanied by his minder/fireman. He stood in front of Henry and...well, went on a bit of a rant. It's too filthy to put it here.

His driver and fireman argued with him, but he would not move.

"THE RAIN-" He declared with the certainty of truly high people "-WILL TAKE MY LOVELY GREEN PAINT WITH RED STRIPES!"

"Are you ******* serious!?" shouted Carlin.

The Fireman tried a different tactic. "It's waterproof."

"Oh really! I did not realize they sold waterproof paint at the Works!"

"Well..." The Fireman was stumped. He was a rather simple man.

The guard (Oh, we haven't mentioned them yet! Guards, or Conductors, as the Yanks would put it, are basically that one guy who turns up drunk at a party before it's even started. You know, the guy no one wants to talk to, everyone wants to get rid of but basically you're relying on him to fill his admittedly not very hard job. That is the unhappy life of a guard, no respect.) blew his whistle (Wa-hey, am I right?) til he had no breath, and waved his flags til his arms ached.

"I told him this new raving course would work." said his mother, a elderly lady who had come on the train for a break and was now knitting a sweater.

But Henry still stayed in the tunnel and blew steam at him. "I'm not going to spoil my lovely green paint with red stripes for you!" What a arrogant prat.

"HENRY!" wailed the guard. "I THOUGHT WE HAD SOMETHING SPECIAL."

"TAKE THAT SKY!" bellowed Henry as the guard screamed in agony as the steam entered his eyes. "I HAVE BESTED YOUR AGENT UPON THIS EARTH!"

...

Edward heard the screams and was about to suggest turning around when he nearly smacked right into the Red Engine. "Woah!"

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, uh...Jerome?"

"IT'S JA- Oh forget it." The Red Engine sighed. "So, what's happening?"

"Henry's finally lost his bloody mind."

"Huh. Marklin owes me a pound."

"What are you going to spend it on?"

"It's the appearance of the thing. So uh...see you later?"

"Sure. Have a great day!"

...

By the point of this conversation between mixed traffic engines, Henry had calmed down somewhat. He now no longer felt that the rain was trying to poison his very soul, and had come to the surprisingly moderate conclusion that he had been a bit high. But with the loss of the drugs came the knowledge that his paint would run if he left the tunnel.

Besides, it wasn't too bad. So he decided to stay firmly put.

At that point, the Red Engine pulled up alongside him on the opposite side.

And then, along came Sir Topham Hatt, the man in charge of all the engines, the big cheese, Numbero Uno, the T-Hatt. They mostly called him...Barry.

No, just kidding, they called him the Fat Controller.

He had not noticed.

Topham surveyed the sight of one of his engines doing something he hated, and considered killing himself right there and then. But no, then control would pass to his son, and his son was currently at a school where they didn't believe in sex ed. Which meant that he wouldn't believe why he had done what he had done, and why he was know being blackmailed for it.

"Now then-" He ground his teeth as he spoke. "-unless another engine gets stuck, I am not closing the tunnels down."

"YOU!" Henry declared, gesturing, or trying to, in the vague direction of the Red Engine. "Join me, and we can DESTROY THIS OPPRESSIVE BOURGEOIS."

The Red Engine looked at Henry.

It was the deviour look that the snake may have had before slithering up to Eve.

"Oh, I'll join you-"

"Thank! GOD."

"-On one condition. Say my name."

Henry's smile froze on his face. His mind suddenly whirled into action.

"Uh...uh...oh, I know is it...uh...Jerome?"

"HAHAHAHAHHAHAHA no." The Red Engine puffed away.

"WAIT! COME BACK!" cried Henry desperately, but it was too late. He looked back at the Fat Controller, who scowled.

"We will pull you out!" he declared to his green engine. But Henry only blew what remained of his drug steam at him. Coughing and spluttering, Hatt bent over the side of the ditch and groaned.

"All right then." He said standing up. "You asked for it, mate!" He turned to the many passengers milling about. "Right sirs and siresses!" Topham occasionally lost control of his words "This way!"

...

"Where did all this blue tack come from?"

"Marklin derailed a truck."

Topham sighed. The black engine was more trouble than he thought. He crossed himself, for that could be taken out of context.

Everyone pulled except the Fat Controller. Because, and here he coughed "My doctor has forbidden me to pull!"

"That never stopped you before you randy old-"

"MR CARLIN!"

"Nothing sir."

But still Henry stayed in the tunnel. Perhaps using humans to pull engines out was foolish.

A wiser man would have called in the Calvary.

Topham was in such a foul mood that his wisdom had left him for a new home. "TO THE BACK!"

As the passengers pulled themselves through or over the dank and dark tunnel, Topham considered just shooting the two nosy people and just letting their bodies decay in the abandoned mine shaft. He dismissed that idea as being too brutal, and besides some foolhardy sod would more than likely crash into it.

They tried pushing from the other end. The Fat Controller said "ONE! TWO! THREE! PUSH!"

But he didn't help.

"Well my doctor forbade me to push! I know, maddening! I have no idea why he said that!"

They pushed and pushed and pushed, but still Henry stayed in the tunnel. "You know guys, I can do this all day. You can't."

 _Oh he wants to play it like that, does he?_ mused Sir Topham, as he angrily went in search of a telephone box.

...

At last, after several wrong turns and a incident with Gordon (Who was currently pulling the sewage train. Much to his hatred), Thomas came up from behind and pressed against Henry's back.

Again, wa-hey.

The guard waved his red flag (At least he hoped it was, he was still having trouble seeing) and stopped him.

Everyone argued with Henry. "Look, it has stopped raining." they said. (Or to put it in Carlin's language "LOOK YOU ******* IDIOT! THE GODDAMN SKY HAS STOPPED URINATING DOWN UPON US! GET OUT OF THE ******* TUNNEL!")

"Yes, but it will begin again soon." said Henry in that annoying smug tone that he used. "And what will become of my lovely green paint and red stripes then?"

"How about YOU'LL BE SCRAPPED!" shouted Topham, tired and done.

Thomas whistled and was coupled up. He puffed and pushed and pushed and puffed as hard as he ever could. The sound of creaking and squeaking wheels echoed out, causing several of the passengers to lose their hearing temporarily.

"Bloody hell!" he gasped. "What have you been eating?!"

But STILL Henry stayed in the tunnel. He smiled in that way that most hippies do when they feel that they have won a point. Thomas stopped and let out a gasp of tiredness.

...

As the sun rose the next morning, Topham Hatt finally gave up. The passengers had abandoned the fight long ago to climb onboard the next train, which happened to be the sewage train. So that was another good thirty passengers who would never return. Carlin and his buddy had sloped off in the middle of the night to visit a pub. Thomas and Marklin had tried to push Henry out a second time, but to no avail.

So Hatt, having not slept for an entire night and with everything else having come down on top of him, promptly went for the one method that made absolutely no sense.

"Okay you idiot." He said in a tone that made Henry look one in suddenly disturbed confusion. "You want to stay in the tunnel? We will let you stay in the tunnel. We will take away your rails. And leave you here for ALWAYS AND ALWAYS AND ALWAYS!"

Henry scoffed. That would never happen. Right?

...

They took up the old rails and built a wall.

They left most of the sleepers and rails around for some reason. They were exceptionally messy workers. Sir Topham himself oversaw the operation, which mostly meant pointing randomly and echoing what the foreman had said in a confused way. And he also had the niggling feeling that he had just made a very big mistake.

But the end result was that Henry couldn't get out of the tunnel anymore.

All in one day, Henry had gone from heroically protesting to sitting in a damp tunnel wondering how the hell he'd gotten into this situation. Not the least because all of the pot had finally been purged from his system.

And then he was on his own.

...

All he could do was watch the trains rushing through the other tunnel.

He was very sad, because he thought no one would even see his lovely green paint with red stripes again. He was also sad because, you know, he was trapped in a bloody tunnel with no way to get out, but mostly it was the paint thing. As time went on, Edward and Gordon would often pass by. Edward would say "Peep peep, hello!" And occasionally stop for a chat while reloading on water.

And Gordon the git would say "Poop poop! Serves you right you idiot!"

Poor Henry had no steam to answer. His fire had gone out long ago. In more ways than one.

He looked over his shoulder and saw- "OH FOR GOD'S SAKE THIS IS SO UNFAIR!"

Soot and dirt from the tunnel had spoiled his lovely green paint with red stripes anyway.

"THIS IS JUST PILING ON THE KARMA NOW!"

He wondered if he would ever be allowed to be pulled trains again.

"THIS IS A VIOLATION OF SOME OF MY RIGHTS!"

But I think he deserved his punishment, don't you?

"THIS IS A TERRIBLE ENDING!"


	4. Episode 4: Edward, Henry and Gordon

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

So, everything settled okay?

 **What? Oh, uh, yeah Mr Starr. Yeah, our team talked to the Fat Man and he's changing a few things.**

Oh. Good. Shall I-

 **Yep, go ahead.**

All right. Three, two one.

...

"YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?!"

Allcroft and Mitton recoiled slightly. Sir Topham hadn't been that angry and hostile to them even when they had presented him with those photographs with...well, with what he was with. Now that they looked closer, his eyes appeared to be red and sore, as though he hadn't slept in ages. His normally impeccable dress sense had apparently deserted him, as his top button was missing and his top hat looked as though someone had punched it.

"We just want you to...uh...get Henry out of the tunnel."

Sir Topham stared at them for a moment.

And then he began laughing hysterically.

He laughed and laughed until tears coursed down his eyes. He screamed with laughter and then suddenly let out a shriek of anger and speared Mitton through the door.

One of the guards stared as Topham pummeled Mitton, and immediately rushed to get the shots.

"YOU IDIOT! DO YOU REALIZE HOW MUCH BUILDING THAT WALL COST ME?! I'VE GOT ONE LESS ENGINE THAN I NEED! I COULD HAVE SCRAPPED HIM AND I WOULD HAVE LESS ARGUMENTS FROM YOU. AND THAT'S BASICALLY MURDER! YOU'VE RUINED MY LIFE AND NOW YOU COME IN HERE AND- LET GO OF ME YOU PIECES OF CRAP! I CAN HIRE AND FIRE YOU IN A INSTANT AND NO ONE WILL BE- oh."

Topham fell to the floor as the shots immediately took effect.

"Put him on one of the trains! Any of the trains!" called out his secretary. "He needs a good, long, relaxing train journey."

Allcroft picked Mitton up and both stared as the guards manhandled him into a nearby express coach.

"You think we made a mistake?"

"We need to talk with him when he's better." Allcroft tilted her head. "So that girth isn't just the result of eating too many cream cakes."

...

As the Red Engine passed by pulling a line of trucks (And still bemoaning that his name hadn't been remembered) Gordon readied himself.

Gordon always pulls the big express. Aside from that one time Henry pulled it. Because that was just the way that Gordon's mind worked. If he didn't do it, then it wasn't worth acknowledging that it existed. He was proud enough to be the only engine strong enough to do so. Yes, he was a bit like the kid you told to feed the class goldfish. It's not really that big of a thing, but you big it up to make him feel better and the next thing you know he's got a cape and carrying a scepter around.

The express was full of important people. Like the Fat Controller, who was passed out and occasionally making airplane noises. Also, Mick Jagger was on there for some reason.

Anyway, Gordon was seeing how fast he could go. He wasn't sure yet if he was at the level where he could travel back in time, but he was getting there. Up started the brass band again.

"HURRY HURRY HURRY!" shouted Gordon, though to who it's not known, as he was the only engine. He had clearly not listened to his own opening spiel.

"Trickety Trock, trickety trock, trickety trock!" hummed the coaches. Coaches don't have anything better to hum. For whatever reason.

In a minute, Gordon would see the tunnel where Henry was bricked up and lonely.

...

"Hello Mr Termite. Have you come to eat me?"

Mr Termite responded not to Henry's pessimistic question. Henry had suffered a bit since being locked in the tunnel. Mostly he was now feeling ill.

Really ill.

 _Oh dear,_ thought Henry, _why did I worry about rain spoiling my lovely coat of paint?! WILL THE FAT CONTROLLER EVER FORGIVE ME AND LET ME OUT AGAIN!?_

Silence.

 _WELL?! WILL HE?!_

More silence.

 _That's what I thought._

Henry finished his demand for a Oscar or a BAFTA and turned to see Gordon rushing towards him.

...

"I'm going to poop poop at Henry" said Gordon. Smugly. Because he had not learnt about pride and the inevitable tripping and tumbling down a long fall.

He was almost there when WSSSSHT.

No, you haven't been sworn at, come back.

And then Gordon was going slower and slower, in a cloud of steam.

Gordon's driver, eating a sandwich, took the worrying sight of steam leaking into the cab as something not to be too worried about. It was when his lunchbox melted that he really started to panic. So he stopped the train.

"What has happened to me?!" said Gordon, angling for a BAFTA as well. "I feel so weak!"

"Shut up Shatner." said his fireman.

"You've burst your safety valve." said the driver. "You ain't pulling this train anymore."

"OH BALLS!" Gordon shouted. "We were going so nicely too! And look, there's the hippie laughing at me."

Henry's throat hurt to laugh. But he did so anyway.

Everyone came to see Gordon and take photographs to show to their friends. And over here mom, Henry imagined them saying, was this really fat blue engine who was fat and stopped because he was so fat.

When you've spent time in a tunnel for as long as Henry had, you lose touch with your sarcasm.

The Fat Controller, slurring his speech and stumbling about, walked up, smacked his head on the buffer beam and stood on one of the many large barrels that were just randomly left around. "HUH!" He declared louder than he needed to. "I NEVER LIKED BIG ENGINES! THEY ALWAYS GO WRONG."

"B-But sir, you've only got six engines. Two of them are are big." Gordon protested.

"SENNNNNNNNNNND FOR ANOTHER ONE!" declared the Fat Controller in full on diva mode.

While the guard limped back to find one on foot (The poor fool), they uncoupled Gordon who had enough puff to slink onto a siding.

"You know I'll say this for you Gordon." spoke Henry thoughtfully. "No one slinks like you do."

"Oh shut up." said Gordon as he backed up onto the siding facing Henry.

...

Edward was the only engine there. Marklin was off clubbing. Thomas was...sulking, mostly.

"I'll come and try!" he said to the out of breath guard. He let him climb on and puffed off.

"Huh." said Gordon. "That's no use! Edward can't push the train!"

"How are you on hills Gordon?" Edward asked sweetly as he backed up. He puffed and pushed and pushed and puffed, but the train wouldn't budge. "Wow, what do you have in here? Anvils?"

"Would not surprise me." Topham said, regaining some of his sanity. He turned to Gordon, feeling the deep, deep sense of everything in his life going wrong.

"I told you so." said Gordon with a voice like a smug voice. "Why not let Henry give it a try?"

Sir Topham Hatt stared.

And stared.

And then his eyes widened and he felt everything return to normal. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted off his chest.

For he knew now one thing that had not been known to him for a long time.

This was his bloody railway and he was going to do whatever he bloody wanted.

"Yes." said the Fat Controller. "I will."

"W-w-wait what?!"

"Will you help pull this train, Henry?" he asked as he turned on his heel.

Henry's eyes ran around and a genuine honest to goodness smile raced up his face so fast you'd swear it was a rabbit. "Oh YES." he said.

...

Mr Carlin was recalled from the pub and rushed down the hill as fast as he could, the fireman running after him in a vain effort to keep up. They jumped into the cab, pulled out coal and started stoking the fire up.

When Henry had got up steam, he puffed back out of the tunnel. He let out a loose laugh and stared in wonder at the world. He was dirty and covered with cobwebs, and a family of wasps had taken up residence in his funnel. "OH I'M STIFF I'M STIFF." He groaned, making everyone look very oddly at him and wonder if he needed to take something for that.

"Have a run to ease your joints, and find a turntable." suggested the Fat Controller. "AND THEN TAKE A SHOWER! YOU SMELL LIKE DONKEY DUNG!" He shouted back after.

When Henry came back he was feeling much better. He coupled up to the train, and as everyone got back in, Hatt walked up. "Shall we let bygones be bygones? We both made mistakes."

"Yes sir!" said Henry enthusiastically.

Once everyone was onboard, both engines waited.

"Peep peep, I'm ready!" called Edward.

"Peep peep peep, so am I!" chortled Henry.

And they started.

"Pull hard, we'll do it! Pull hard, we'll do it!" They puffed in unison, having discovered that they had a secret telepathic connection somehow. As they puffed away, Gordon stared in confusion.

"So, what am I doing again?" he asked.

"BYE!" cheerily whistled both engines as they abandoned him.

The brass band started up, playing a tune for Henry this time. "WE'VE DONE IT TOGETHER, WE'VE DONE IT TOGETHER!" chanted both engines.

"You've done it, hooray, you've done it hooray." droned the passengers, who were all very tired and needing actual food. The Fat Controller forgot all rules about safety and leaned out the window to wave at the engines. But the train was going so fast that his hat fell off into a field.

A goat found the hat and decided that he had found his new wife.

They never stopped til they came to the station at the end of the line. The passengers, those who could speak said thank you, and the Fat Controller promised Henry a new coat of paint.

And then realized that he could have done that at the start and avoided a lot of trouble. Hindsight's a cow, isn't it.

...

On their way home, Edward and Henry helped Gordon back to the shed. They spent the entire journey mocking him, but Gordon took it in good stead.

All three are now good friends, though they'd kill you if you said it. Henry and Edward often play bingo with each other, Gordon and Henry are still drinking buddies and Edward and Gordon...actually they were pretty much as they were at the start. But in a much friendlier way.

Henry doesn't mind the rain now. He knows that the best way to keep his paint nice is not to run into tunnels, but to ask his driver to rub him down when the days work is over.

When he's stiff.

No, you're not the only one who sees it.

...

Sir Topham Hatt looked at Allcroft and Mitton. He casually placed a new hat on his head and turned.

"I am currently-" He announced. "-going through a divorce from the former Lady Hatt." He sat down and looked at both of them the way a defiant mouse would stare at the lion. "Unfortunately, she is determined to rip every little bit of money out of me, so she is delaying the proceedings quite a bit. One of the conditions was that I was not to start dating or any of...that before the ink was on the dotted line, so to speak." He sighed. "Obviously that failed. I didn't, you got hold of photographs and now I'm in a terrible position."

He got up and stared out the window. "I've been thinking while trying to work out if I can save my old hat from the goat's fiendist clutches. I've decided that I don't care. Send the pictures to her. That way, my kids don't get to see me at all and I'll lose the railway. But know this-" He turned around and for the first time the figure of fun seemed replaced by a much more confident one. "-you won't get another person like me to work with you. You'll have to deal with more bureaucrats and nitpickers than you can shake a stick at." He sighed. "But I don't care anymore. Do what you want?"

There was silence. Then Mitton took the photos and placed them in the shredder. He turned back to Sir Topham. "We got off on the wrong foot. We're sorry."

All three looked at each other, and then Topham pulled two chairs forward. "Yes." He said simply. "We did. And I am."

He smiled. "Let's have a proper discussion. Where do we go next?"


	5. Episode 5: Thomas's Train

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **All right, we've got another story for you, Mr Starr.**

Goodie. Oh, and it's another Tommy one!

 **Thomas. The people we got the rights from were very specific.**

Thomas, Tommy, Tom Thumb, does it really matter?

 **Just...do your thing.**

Fine mate. Ahem.

...

Thomas the Tank Engine was grumbling to the other engines.

I'll give you a moment to compose yourself from the shock.

"I spend my time pulling coaches around ready for you to take them out on journeys." he whined piteously. Edward and Henry looked at each other, and the latter rolled his eyes. Edward too felt the need to roll his own eyes, but he tried vainly to hold them back.

Thomas had been going on about this for quite some time. At first, the engines had found it...cute. Edward had threatened to hit them if they said that aloud again, but he had bit his tongue when it came to assuring Thomas that it would be his turn one day.

Because...well...it might not be.

Sir Topham Hatt had long ago promised Edward his own branchline. It had been something that Edward would have actually found rather interesting and enjoyable in all honesty. But he had been placed on standby and no one had looked at him until recently. Marklin was a engine who had been here as long as Edward at least, and was still just a little shunter engine. Not everyone got want they wanted.

And as the complaints got larger and larger and longer and longer, and as Thomas kept going on and on, it had worn Edward's patience down.

They both laughed in the end.

Thomas was not done though. "Why can't I pull passenger trains too?!"

"You're too impatient Thomas." said Gordon, in the way that a very sarcastic boss might speak to a slow employee. "You'd be sure to leave something behind."

"Like your dignity." Gordon let out a laugh at Henry's comment.

"RUBBISH!" declared Thomas. "I'll show you!"

He drove off in a huff.

He came back a minute later, waited for his fireman to actually get on the train instead of adding more coal to his bunker and then left in a huff again.

...

One night, he and Henry were alone.

Well, alone's a subjective term. There were other engines there, but they had used the turntable to escape to the nearby goods shed to start playing a rousing game of 'Let's Ignore Henry Being Sick'. So far, Gordon was winning.

But yeah, Henry was ill. The men worked hard, but couldn't make him better. The engine doctor wasn't there, on account of he didn't exist back then. This is why the Fat Controller began work on a proper health care service.

Thomas looked into the distance and wished that the turntable had not broken before he could escape the sounds of Henry retching and moaning aloud.

...

"Had a good night Thomas?"

"OH SHUT UP GORDON."

He was just as bad the next morning. Henry let out a cry of pain and let out such a thick cloud of black dust that the Red Engine and Edward almost immediately were drenched in coal dust.

"Oh god I'm supposed to be getting trucks ready!" moaned the Red Engine as he waited for the first engine to go. The turntable had been fixed. Henry usually pulled the first train (A act which most of the engines suspected was Sir Topham Hatt's way of placating him and making sure that a massive lawsuit didn't come his way) and Thomas had to get his coaches ready.

Thomas was considering joining a union, but then a better thought entered his brain.

 _If Henry is ill,_ he thought, _perhaps I shall pull his train._

It was lucky for Henry that Thomas the Oppurtunistic Engine did not thin of hiring a hitman to take him out full time. He puffed off to the yard.

He then reversed back to get his fireman, who had once again been checking his coal was high enough.

...

Thomas ran to find the coaches. "COME ALONG, COME ALONG!" He roared, doing his best impersonation of a drill seargant.

The coaches were having none of it. "There's plenty of time, there's plenty of time. Besides, this is only our first date!"

The Red Engine grimaced as he pulled the orange branch line coaches to collect some of the resident trainspotters. Now, what were orange branch line coaches doing on the main line? There's a very good answer for that.

I don't have it, but there is one.

Thomas took them to the platform ("Oh real original!" they grumbled) and wanted to run round in front at once! But the driver wouldn't let him. Don't be impatient Thomas!" He snapped, and quickly looked back to make sure that the Fireman had stayed by the cab.

Thomas waited and waited. The people got in (Among them the new sensation Jerimiah 'The Bootlace' Jobling and his wife), the guard and the stationmaster rocked their Hitler mustaches as they walked up and down, the porter banged the doors (Not like that.) and still Henry didn't come! Thomas grew more and more excited! He was almost about to pee himself, if he could.

Speaking of which, let's check in on Henry.

...

"BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

...

And that was all we needed to see.

The Fat Controller came to see what the matter was. Which was serious, as he had been drinking to quell the pain of his divorce. The guard and the stationmaster told him about Henry.

"Well sir, he's green, got the number three on his tender-"

"I KNOW WHO HENRY IS! Where is he?"

"Being sick sir. As a horse."

"And that's why horse and carriages went out of fashion! Let this be a lesson to you. Find another engine!"

"There's only Thomas." They said.

"Excellent! More footage! called back Miss Allcroft.

"You'll have to do Thomas! Go quickly, son of gon- I mean, hurry up Thomas!"

So Thomas ran round to the front and backed down on the coaches, ready to start! After all, it had been three whole episodes since he had actually done anything fun!

"Don't be impatient!" said his driver, who had just finished gluing the Fireman to the back of Thomas to make sure he wasn't left behind "Wait til everything is ready!" But Thomas was too excited to listen. He should have gone to the little male engine room.

What happened then, no one knows.

Perhaps they forgot to couple Thomas to the train (Those damn couple-uppers!) or perhaps the driver pulled the lever by mistake. Anyhow Thomas started! As he passed the first signalbox, men waved and shouted, but he didn't stop! He was a engine on a mission damn it. "They're waving because I'm such a splendid engine!" He declared to all and sundry.

Somewhere, The Red Engine figured out what his catchphrase would be. Co-inki-dink.

"Henry says it's hard to pull trains, but I think it's easy! Hurry hurry hurry!" said Thomas the Arrogant Sod as he did his Gordon impersonation that would fool perhaps a five year old. If said five year old had never seen Gordon before.

"People have never seen me pulling a train! It's nice of them to wave." And he whistled, scaring the hell out of several people and causing one lady to go into labor. "Peep peep, thank you!"

"SCREW YOU, BOG OFF!" shouted back several drunk yobs, before a policeman rushed up.

Now it may occur to you why the driver had not immediately corrected the oversight. Well, shortly as Thomas began moving, he had turned back and stared in shock at where the Fireman should be. Gluing his hands to the back had had the unfortunate side effect of keeping him there until he had fallen off and smacked into the rails. The Driver had therefore spent most of the rest of journey sitting in a dazed silence.

Then he came to a signal at danger. "OH BOTHER!" He declared, doing his Winnie the Pooh impersonation. "I must stop and I was going so nicely too! What a nuisance signals are!" Thomas hated signals with a passion. One had killed his father. He blew a angry "PEEP PEEP" on his whistle to try and murder it. The Signalman ran up.

"Hello...Thomas, what are you doing here?"

"HA! Oh ye of little eyesight, I'm pulling a train, can't you see?"

"...Where's the coaches?"

Thomas looked back and smiled.

And smiled.

And smiled.

And smi- "OH BALLS ALIVE!" He declared as it finally sank in. His face took on a look of complete and utter shock. "If we haven't left them behind!"

"Go back and get them then." said the signalman brusquely as he walked off to return to his magazine.

Poor Thomas was so sad he nearly cried.

"Cheer up" said his driver hopefully. "Let's go back quickly and try again!"

...

There was a sudden bump as they returned over the level crossing.

"What was that?" asked Thomas.

"Nothing Thomas." said his driver, his face pale with horror as he stared at what had used to be the Fireman's body and was now railkill. "Just keep looking backwards." He spotted the policeman giving pursuit. "Oh balls!" He declared.

...

At the station all the passengers were talking (And in a few cases, rioting) at once. They were telling Sir Topham what a bad railway it was. But when Thomas came back and they saw how sad he was, they couldn't be cross.

Thank you Thomas, Topham said mentally.

They coupled him up and this time he really pulled the train.

At which point, the policemen rolled up and arrested his driver.

It was not a good day.

...

But for a long time afterwards the other engines laughed at Thomas.

"Look-" they said. "There's Thomas who wanted to pull a train but forgot about the coaches!"

They had not yet learned the art of the 'Joke'.

Of course, not only then was Henry still occasionally letting out horrible noises and being incredibly ill, but with the upcoming court case, the Railway really didn't need what happened next to happen.

So it did.


	6. Episode 6: Thomas and the Trucks

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **Ready Mr Starr?**

Yeah mate, I'm actually getting really into it! Didn't think I would, but-

 **Very good! I'm actually surprised. Now, according to this we need to find some way of marketing to the Americans.**

Have you tried the Dallas approach?

 **Ah yes, Topham Ewing working against the hardworking steam engines in a attempt to drill oil. The Americans will love that. No thanks. And ready in five, Mr Starr.**

Fair enough.

...

Thomas the Tank Engine wouldn't stop being a nusiance.

And again, I'll pause for you to recover.

The other engines, since the train fiasco and the subsequent trial that had gone underway and was now currently dominating the headlines in the Sodor Gazette, often wanted to try the novel idea of sleeping at night.

Thomas, on the other hand, had opinions.

Night after night he kept the other engines up. Gordon and the Red Engine were already making suicide pacts.

"I'm tired of pushing coaches!" he moaned, sounding like a broken record. "I want to see THE WORLD."

"Have you tried buying a globe?" Henry asked innocently. The other engines, even Edward, who had sort of passed out after a long argument with Marklin, snickered. Marklin himself was now stuck to Edward thanks to said argument culminating in a explosion with a sellotape wagon. So Edward's grumpy reaction was less to Thomas and more to Marklin.

The other engines in general tended to take no notice of the ramblings of the insane Thomas, for he was a little engine with a long tongue. Actual contests had been held to measure who had the longest (Take that out of context, why don't you?) and Thomas's was the longest.

...

But one night, a Marklin free Edward came to the shed. He was a kind engine and felt sorry for Thomas. Well, relatively. There was also this feeling that if he got Thomas off of the big engines's backs, it would be a lot better for all five of them in the long run. It was basically like sharing a room at university, it required a lot of maneuvering.

"I've got some trucks to take tomorrow." he said, having worn out his buffers from bashing the hell demons around. "If you take them instead of me, I'll push coaches in the yard." Really it was a win win situation for Edward.

"Thank you!" said Thomas, gratified that at last someone took him seriously. "That will be nice."

"NOW WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP!?" roared the other three engines, almost in tears.

...

Next morning (As more workman arrived to begin working on Henry, who had complained of eye trouble), Edward and Thomas asked their drivers and when they said yes (Both of them, co-incidentally, a bit nervous and not wanting to argue with the trains that had killed a fireman) Thomas ran off happily to find trucks.

"Please let us not get killed." chanted his new driver and fireman, in a prayer they had repeated quite often since joining Thomas.

...

Now trucks are silly and noisy. This is what any engine will tell you, in a delightful bit of truck profiling. They talk a lot and attend to what they are doing. In many ways, they resemble the teenager. And I'm sorry to say (BUT AM I THOUGH?) that they play tricks on a engine who is not used to them. On their first days respectively, Gordon, Henry and Marklin had been covered in cheese, painted blue and lost of most of his wheels. They were saving something special for the Red Engine.

Edward knew all about trucks. He was kind of the David Attenburough of the engine kingdom. He warned Thomas to be careful, but Thomas was too excited to listen. This was bad news for his driver and fireman, who had immediately called their partners and said that they loved them.

He shunted them back and forth and forth and back until he had a relatively consistent train. The shunter, remembering Hatt's specific order to not screw up again, fastened the couplings, and when the signal dropped, Thomas was ready.

Or so he thought.

The guard blew his whistle (His own, not Thomas's) and remembered that engines were vicious creatures who blew steam at him, so he settled down in the brake van for a cuppa.

"PEEP PEEP!" answered Thomas and started off. But the trucks weren't ready, for they were trying to get the latest on the gossip from the rest of the lads. "OH OH OH!" They screamed their chilling death cry. "Wait Thomas wait!"

But Thomas, surprisingly considering the previous story, didn't wait. "Come on, come on!" he puffed, arrogantly.

"All right, all right, don't fuss, all right don't fuss!" each truck grumbled. But this was the first warning sign, for setting the trucks off grumbling meant that you had to be on your guard for the rest of the trip, and Thomas, as we have established was a idiot.

...

Thomas began going faster and faster, as everything seemed to be going great and swimmingly. "Wheeee!" he whistled as he rushed through the aptly named Henry's tunnel. He popped out the other side, feeling like a fisherman landing a prize carp.

"Hurry hurry!" called Thomas as he puffed along near a wedding between a goat and a top hat. He was feeling very proud of himself, but the trucks were getting crosser and crosser.

"Ey mate! We should really take him out!" shouted one of the vans.

"I know, Ernie! I'M WORKIN ON IT."

As he rounded the bend, Thomas began to slow down as he came to Gordon's hill. "Oh!" he shouted to no one in particular. "I really shouldn't have had those cigarettes last night!"

As they pulled up, the driver, who had given Thomas those cigarettes, looked on in concern. "Steady now, Thomas." He warned. At last, they reached the top. He put on the brakes as they reached the highest point of Gordon's Hill.

"We're stopping, we're stopping!" called back Thomas.

And then they struck!

"NONONONO!" laughed the trucks. "ON ON ON!" They slammed forward and jolted Thomas down the hill. The guard, who was now staring at a magazine entitled 'Playdriver' smacked his head into the ceiling and knocked himself out. Before the driver could stop them, the trucks had sent Thomas hurtling down the hill, and were rattling and laughing behind.

"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII REGRET THIS!" howled Thomas, as his Fireman realized that he didn't want to die today and lept for the nearest grass field.

Poor Thomas tried hard to stop them from making him go too fast. A lost battle at this point, but credit for trying. "STOP PUSHING, STOP PUSHING!" He whined aloud, hoping that they would get the point.

But the trucks ignored him. "Go on! Go on!" They giggled in their silly little way! Just like the working class.

Whistling in futile desperation, Thomas raced over the bridge and raced through into Maron. "THERE'S THE STATION!" he screamed in a vain attempt to state the bleeding obvious. "Oh dear what shall I do!?"

"BALLS IF I KNOW!" shouted his driver, who at this point was hanging onto the brake lever for dear life in a attempt to replace the cowardly fireman with his own strength. Thomas rattled straight through and swerved into the goods yard. Thomas shut his eyes. "I MUST STOP!"

The Driver jumped upon the brake and slammed it down.

There was a soft sound and the trucks slammed into each other, knocking each other silly.

When Thomas opened his eyes he found he had stopped right in front of the buffers.

The driver, now in a puddle of his sweat and with a broken off brake lever in his hands, passed out.

A shadow fell over Thomas. There watching stood-

"DEATH!?"

"Worse." The Fat Controller. He himself looked like he was about to have a heart attack combined with a stroke. "What are you DOING Thomas!?"

The driver, now having grey hair, staggered forward and began feeling the buffers, as if to check he was still alive. The Red Engine ran past and promptly laughed at Thomas's misfortune.

"I've brought Edward's trucks sir." said Thomas, who was currently processing just how much trouble he was in.

"Why did you come so fast?!"

"I didn't mean to sir, I was PUSHED!" Thomas wailed, gesturing towards the trucks with his buffers. If that could happen.

"You've got a lot to learn about trucks little Thomas."

"I'M NOT THAT LITTLE. THE NARRATOR SAID I WAS BIGGER THAN EDWARD."

"AFTER-" said Sir Topham Hatt with such menace that his driver was pulling Thomas back. "-pushing them about here for a few days you'll know almost as much as Edward-"

"IT WAS ALL HIS FAULT!"

"-THEN YOU SHALL BE A REALLY USEFUL ENGINE."

Thomas backed away, for Sir Topham looked demonic.

...

"So that went well."

Alcroft and Mitton looked as Hatt began screaming obscenities.

"IT'LL TAKE A BLOODY MIRACLE TO SAVE THIS RAILWAY AND THAT ENGINE." he raged.

...

Karma sometimes rewards those who are due some.

This was one such time.


	7. Episode 7: The Breakdown Train

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **Okay, so I'm going to need you to not start threatening the rest of my recording staff with peace and love.**

You mean you don't want them to be happy?

 **Just read the goddamn thing.**

All right tiger.

...

Every day since Truckgate (As the Sodor Gazette was now calling it), the Fat Controller came to the non specific station to catch his train. Which train you may ask? Well it tended to vary. More often than not, it was Gordon, whom Sir Topham Hatt also wanted to shoot in the face.

"Hello!" he always said to Thomas, in a tone of voice that made it clear that Thomas needed to sleep with one eye open. Edward gave him a sympathetic look, and Henry, who was on another track, sighed in sadness. "Remember, don't be impatient Thomas."

"I got that sir." said Thomas humbly.

"Remember, you can never go as fast as Gordon or be as strong as him."

"You really like rubbing that in sir."

"But you can be a really useful engine. Don't let the silly trucks tease you."

Thomas, with his teeth grinding against each other, hurried off before he could say something he would regret later to the Fat Controller. Henry backed up and smiled wisely at Edward. Edward nodded back nervously, he felt on edge with Henry as of late. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was more than likely to get ill and demand that Edward help him wash again.

...

There were lots of trucks. This message brought to you by the no duh broadcasting company. Thomas worked very hard pushing and pulling them into place. Thoas was, ironically considering his desire, a bit of a artistocrat who didn't want the rabble to rise up.

There was also a small coach that smelt of wee and sex, and two things that his driver called cranes. The rest called them eyesores, and in fact on several occasions Thomas had woken up with a hangover and believed the shadows of the cranes to be the Loss Ness Monster come to gobble him up for doubting in his mere existence.

"That's the breakdown train." he told Thomas helpfully, as though he was a school teacher educating a particularly thick pupil. Actually, that's not far off. "The cranes are for lifting heavy things like engines or coaches or trucks."

"Or Sir Topham Hatt?"

The fireman let out a loud laugh at this, and stifled it at the look from the driver, who had not forgiven him for abandoning him.

...

The next day, Thomas was in the yard, staring moodily at the signalbox and composing poetry. Suddenly he heard a whistle.

AHEM. SUDDENLY, HE HEARD A WHISTLE.

Hold on, teething troubles. Why aren't you on, it's your cue!

"SAY MY NAME!"

Oh right, that's it. Hold on. Right, Thomas?

"Yes?"

"In a minute, the Red Engine's going to rush through here, except now you're going to know his name randomly for some reason despite being in almost every other episode with you before this one. So just roll with it.

"Fine."

Good. Ahem. Suddenly he heard a whistle!

"HELP HELP!" hammed up the whistle. A goods train came rushing through, much too fast! He was breaking the speed limit. The engine's name was James-

"YES! YES!"

-and he was frightened. His brakeblocks were on fire!

"They're pushing me they're pushing me!" he screamed, his voice having risen several octaves since being pushed.

"On! On! On!" laughed the trucks, delighted to get some form of vengeance against another engine, even if this engine was an incredibly loud and camp one. And still whistling "HELP HELP HELP!" poor James disappeared. It was like a magic trick. Except without a rabbit at the end of it.

"I'd like to teach those trucks a lesson!" said Thomas the Tank Engine. He was already getting his boxing gloves on in his mind when soon the alarm sounded!

A signalman rushed out. "James is off the line!"

"Maybe he just doesn't want to return your calls, Larry!"

"Don't be a smartarse. The breakdown train, quickly!" He looked at Thomas and quietly cursed his bad luck.

Thomas was coupled on and off they went. After a few tries, as Thomas hadn't waited for the crane to be lowered. There were now little lumps out of the roof of the work shed.

...

"Bloody hell this is heavy!" Thomas wheezed as he pushed the train on. But those Winston Cigarettes weren't going to advertise themselves!

Thomas was working hard though. "Hurry hurry hurry!" he called out. He wasn't just pretending to be Gordon, he really meant it. Despite the fact that he was the one pushing the cranes. Still, at least he remembered to bring them this time.

The coach that had all the actual workmen on the other hand...

"Bother those trucks and their tricks! I hope poor James isn't hurt."

"OH NOW YOU REMEMBER MY NAME!" screamed James, his hearing exceptionally good all of a sudden.

...

James himself was lying sprawled in a field, staring at a bunch of nochalant cows chewing grass. His driver and fireman were feeling him over to make sure he wasn't hurt. Aside from the fact that he had just had a huge accident.

"He said my name!" He crowed to them.

Sighing, the driver patted him on the boiler. "Never mind James, it wasn't your fault. It was those wooden brakeblocks, we always said they would cause trouble."

"Then why didn't you fix them!?"

"Hey, the economy's screwed up as it is mate, don't take it out on me!"

Thomas pushed the breakdown alongside James (Who was now singing I'm a Little Teapot in his dazed state) and then he pulled the unhurt trucks away. Said unhurt trucks were regretting not going out in a blaze of glory and dying the truck death they wanted.

"Oh dear, oh dear!" they groaned.

"Serves ye right, serves ye right!" Thomas shouted as he began punching the living hell out of them. He had some anger issues, especially considering that he recognized some of the trucks as being the ones that had caused his accident.

He was hard at work puffing backwards and forwards all afternoon. Well, not all afternoon. The union laws meant that he had to stop halfway through so his crew could have their tea. James moaned in agony, but the callous drivers laughed at him.

"This'll teach you a lesson! This'll teach you a lesson!" He would shout at the trucks as he hit them repeatedly. They answered, because they feared that he would actually start breaking them (They wanted to a martyr but not that much) "Yes it will, yes it will!"

At one point, he hit a truck so hard it smacked into another truck being lifted up by the crane. The crane swung around and smacked Thomas in the face. It amused James greatly.

...

Eventually, they were mostly done. The broken trucks were left for the rest of the cranes to take care of, and with two cranes they started to lift James up to put him back on the rails.

James had, by this point, suffered a concussion, so as he was lifted, he started ranting about the Martians and how one day there would actually be women engines on the Island. Most of the chauvinistic men scoffed, surely that would never happen, right?

"Oh for god's sake, DON'T TAKE YOUR TIME!" roared Thomas.

At last, James landed back on the rails with a clang.

He tried to move, but he couldn't.

Thomas paused for a minute, looked at James's sad face and sighed. He coupled up. "Come on James, let's get back home."

James smiled for the first time genuinely.

The cranes were left behind to take care of some of the broken trucks and the mess the drivers had made while drunk.

...

In the sheds, the other three engines waited anxiously. The Fat Controller paced up and down, until at last he could see the two of them in the distance. Thomas came to a stop and whistled. The other three engines whistled back.

"Well Thomas-" he started.

"OH DEAR GOD SIR I WASN'T TRYING TO BE IMPATIENT!"

Sir Topham Hatt wondered sometimes whether or not he was ready to take care of all the over-emotional children that hid deep inside his engines. He exhaled. "I've heard all about it and I'm very pleased with you."

"Hell yeah!" shouted Thomas's slightly hung over driver, and held out his hand for the fireman to pay up.

Thomas smiled. Which got wider when Sir Topham Hatt said something else.

"You're a really useful engine." The Fat Controller looked at James. "The Red Engine-"

"Uh, James."

"What?"

"Well, his name is James, I figured he wants to be called as such...sir."

Thomas looked at Hatt in a anxious silence. Then the Fat Controller smiled in a genuinely pleased and proud way. "Well said Thomas." He turned back. "You hear that you lot!?"

"Yes, welcome back **James!** " Edward said with pride.

"Feeling okay, **James**?" asked Henry with concern

"...sup Red En-" Edward whistled sharply in Gordon's direction. "i mean...glad you're okay, James."

James beamed.

"James will have some proper brakes and a new coat of paint. And you Thomas-" Sir Topham Hatt paused dramatically "-SHALL HAVE A BRANCH LINE. All to yourself."

"Oh thank you sir!" Thomas whistled happily. And suddenly the other four engines were letting out whistles of congratulations.

It was the best day of his life.

...

Now Thomas is happy as can be. He has a branchline and two coaches of his own called Annie and Clarabel. We will hear more from them another time. Not the least because they've already started on to Thomas about his dirty habits of smoking cigarettes. He tends to puff proudly backwards and forwards all day.

He is never lonely (At least that's what he tells the girls!) Henry and Edward often tend to stop by to tell him the news.

"So I heard that Marklin is under investigation by the police-"

"You NEVER!"

News being a subjective term, of course.

Gordon is always in a hurry to ignore Thomas, but he never forgets to say "POOP POOP" to Thomas. And Thomas never forgets to say "Peep peep!" in return.

Because he knows what Gordon will do to him if he misbehaves.


	8. Episode 8: James and the Coaches

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **All right then, we've finished with Thomas for a while. The fans are clamoring for this new James character. If you could maybe do a scouse accent for him?  
**

Listen mate, I can only do Scottish. And even that's debatable.

 **Okay, we'll ask the next one.**

The what?

 **Starting in three! Two! One!**

 **...**

A jazzy track greeted the Island of Sodor on one particular morning, as a red engine steamed on by, he began humming along to it. "I could get used to this."

James was enjoying his life on the Island of Sodor...relatively. But he still had a lot to learn. Like numbers after five. And other types of paint. And that he was not, in fact, the thing that the Earth and the Sun revolved around.

Edward had tried telling him these things, but his new coat of paint and the head injury had turned him into a bit of a insufferable prat, so James ignored him.

"You're a special mixed traffic engine." said the Fat Controller.

"OH SO I'M NOT SPECIAL AM I?!" said a annoyed Edward, who promptly backed off in a huff.

"Oh, don't do this to me Edward!" Sir Topham Hatt sighed, made a mental note to apologize to Edward and continued his spiel to James. He had wanted to make sure that James knew his limitations. Because none of the other engines seemed to. "You can pull coaches or trucks quite easily, but you must learn by your mistakes."

"What mistakes?!" James suddenly realized what he meant. He could still remember that terrible accident on the first day he was acknowledged.

...

At last, Edward was coaxed back, his ego bandaged up. They decided to test James out on a special coach run, with Edward working with James to show him the basics of how to handle coaches with actual people in them instead of just dummies.

"Be careful with the coaches James." said Edward, aware that he was more likely to be ignored but figuring that he had to try. "They don't like being bumped." Like a lot of things, he added silently.

Everyone came to admire James. This, you may be surprised to learn, went to his smokebox. "I'm a really splendid engine!" He said. "And handsome too!" He suddenly let off steam.

"Aye, Bill! Lobster's done!" said his fireman.

A shower of water fell on the Fat Controller's top hat.

"NOT ANOTHER ONE!" he wailed.

"Uh oh." James looked dead ahead and began praying.

Just then the guard blew his whistle and James let out several thank you to the various gods of each religion. James thought they had better leave. He started forward and smacked into Edward, who was pulling in front of him.

"Ow!" shouted the blue engine.

"Go on! Go on!" James puffed nervously.

"Don't push, don't push!" snapped back Edward. The coaches were grumbling too "Don't go so fast! Don't go so fast!"

James, of course, ignored them.

...

When at last the arrived at Dryaw station, two coaches were beyond the platform. James stared at Edward like a alien had taken up residence when the Blue Engine pointed that out, and Edward angrily buffed backwards, pushing back towards the station. They had to go back to let the passengers out. But no one seemed to know about the Fat Controller's hat, so James felt happier.

Edward forcibly started forward once more, this time with a light simmering bit of rage beneath his boiler.

...

Presently they came to the station where Thomas was waiting with his two coaches. He was having a argument.

"No, look Annie, I know the cigarette thing's a bit suspect but it's MY LIFE!"

"But your lungs are terrible!"

"I'll let you in on a little secret Annie. WE'RE TRAINS. WE DON'T HAVE LUNGS." Thomas glanced over and did a double take. "Bloody hell, you two here already!"

"Yes." Edward said dryly. "Sorry to tell you this Thomas, but your two friends are needed for a special train tomorrow. Fire-Engine over here's taking them out."

"Hello James!" said Thomas, ignoring Edward like everyone else did. "Feeling better? That's right!"

"I'm glad someone has manners!" said James snootily, shooting a look at Edward.

"Oh, that's my guard whistle! I must go! I don't know what the Fat Controller would do without me to run this Branch Line!" And he puffed off importantly.

"Get Marklin to do it?" mumbled Edward under his breath.

"I HEARD THAT!"

...

Edward and James passed the field where James had had his accident. The fence was mended and the cows were back again. Eating the remains of some of the destroyed trucks.

Edward wondered if he could swap James with one of the cows. It would be a lot more enlightening.

After climbing up Gordon's Hill, both engines raced down to the bottom, James whistling aloud as he did so.

"Show off." muttered Edward under his voice. It had been a long day. He regretted it.

...

They ended their journey and rested before setting off for home. Edward was enjoying the peace and quiet, and at one point a shy kid asked if he could have a photograph taken with him. Smiling, Edward allowed it, before wishing the boy a good day.

Stephen Hatt ran over to his sister and bragged about getting a good shot with the older engine.

James, meanwhile, was worrying what the Fat Controller would say about his top hat.

So much so, that when Edward started forward, James jumped and banged into Edward's tender once more. Growling and gritting his teeth, Edward continued onward, determined to ask Charlie and Sidney to begin buffering out the dents later.

...

Next morning, the Fat Controller spoke severely to James.

"-AND THEN I HAD TO GO AND GET MY HAT WIPED AGAIN, BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, SOME IDIOT OVERSHOT DRYAW AND SENT IT FALLING INTO THE MUD!"

James stayed silent. Even he knew to let the Fat Controller ramble on was the best part.

"AND YOU'VE COST EDWARD A DAY'S WORK. IF YOU CAN'T CONTROL YOURSELF-" He drew himself up to his full height, which did not look impressive, in all honesty. "-I SHALL TAKE AWAY YOUR RED COAT AND HAVE YOU PAINTED BLUE!"

This was not the best threat, in all honesty, because then he would look far too similar to Edward for his liking. But James didn't like that at all.

So it probably wasn't the best idea to send the now steaming James off to take the train, to test him on how well he would handle the pressure of coaches on his own.

He was very rough with the grumbling coaches when he brought them to the platform. "Don't talk, COME ON!" He called to them. The coaches grumbled and began arguing that it was just like a engine to treat them so. James was now fully into his rant. "Gordon never has to fetch his own coaches, and he's only painted BLUE!"

"Thanks James." said Gordon, grinning. "Now I can pass on my mantle of Engine that Bad Stuff Happens To, to you!"

"SHUT UP GORDON."

...

To make James even more cross (Like that needed much) this time no one came near him. He had the vague feeling that Gordon and Henry had done that on purpose. "I'LL SHOW THEM ALL!" he shouted, sounding more and more like a comic book villain. "They think Gordon's the only one who can pull coaches!"

"With style!" called out Gordon.

"SHUT UP GORDON."

...

"Hurry hurry hurry!" puffed James, as he passed a train being pulled by Marklin, who darkly scowled at him.

"Some day." muttered the tank engine, as his mind began going into overdrive of ways to eliminate the other engines.

"You're going too fast! You're going to fast!" said the coaches. James laughed and tried to go faster, but this was too much even for the long suffering coaches themselves. "We're going to stop!" They said. "They're going to stop!"

"Ha! Just try it."

...

They stopped.

...

"What's the matter!?" James asked his driver.

"The brakes are hard on! Leak in the pipes most likely. You've banged the coaches enough-" several of the more immature coaches began sniggering. "-to make a leak in anything!"

"OH DON'T YOU START ON ME."

The two of them moved back to look at the problem, and the guard joined up.

"How shall we mend it?" said the guard, his head bandaged from where he had banged it on Gordon's Hill.

"We'll do it with newspaper and a leather bootlace!" said the driver, who had done a survival course with the scouts a while back.

"You can have a bit of my Playdriver." said the Guard, for whom this was like giving up part of his arm. "But not Page 3. Where the hell are we going to get a leather bootlace from!?"

"Ask the passengers."

"What, just like that?"

"How else?"

...

"You have a bootlace there I see sir." said the guard, to a smartly dressed man (Jeremiah Jobling, world renowned pop singer) "Please give it to me."

"HA!" called James.

"I won't!" said the man.

"Please."

"I WON'T."

"Right. Then the train stops here. WE CAN ALL BE MISERABLE TOGETHER." The guard had had a stressful few months.

Allcroft and Mitton looked at each other, and got out a crossword. The rest of the passengers stormed the cab, as both crew members climbed to the roof, and complained what a bad railway it was. Then they turned on Jobling and said how bad he was instead.

At last, he handed his bootlace over, for fear of being mauled.

The driver tied a pad of newspaper tightly round the hole in the brake pipe, and James was able to pull the train.

But he was a sadder and wiser (HA!) engine, and took care never to bump coaches again.

Until the next time.

Running through his mind were the words "Gordon is going to have a field day!".

...

Oh, and Jobling? He later went on to produce the number one hit single 'Me Bootlace Got Stolen By A Guard'.

Which just goes to show...

Something.


	9. Episode 9: Troublesome Trucks

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **All right, Mr Starr?**

Yep?

 **I get that you have a lot of fans, but could you please tell them to stop trying to maul our security guards?**

I'll get right on that. Next episode?

...

It was another day on the Island of Sodor. Edward was pulling the Breakdown Train back into a proper position (It had been needed to rescue Henry the previous day thanks to a accident in the Sidings which involved two express coaches and a lot of booze) and Thomas was briefly moving some of the trucks around as a brief favor to Sir Topham Hatt before he headed back off to the branch line and reveled in how quiet it was.

And then there was James.

James had not seen the Fat Controller for several days. He was left alone for being naughty, and also because no one really wanted to sit in the shed with him. Seriously, the guy was a bit of a moaning idiot. He wasn't even allowed out to push coaches or trucks in the yard. He wasn't sure if that was a advantage or a disadvantage yet, but he was leaning towards the former.

"Oh dear!" He thought aloud and wailed. "I SHALL HAVE TO STAY IN THE SHED FOR ALWAYS!"

"Preach, mate." Henry grunted as Marklin shunted him forward. The German tank glared at James, and if James had looked instead of whining like the little prat he was, he would have seen genuine anger in the tank engine's eyes.

"AND NO ONE!" James continued in much the same vein as before. "WILL EVER SEE MY BEAUTIFUL RED COAT AGAIN! NO ONE! EVER!"

James was going for the BAFTA award.

"All because I went so fast-" sniffed the sobbing silly sod. "-that I made a hole in one of my coaches, which had to be repaired by, of all things, a passenger's bootlace!"

"We know James." said his driver, bored out of his mind. "We were there."

At last, the Fat Controller arrived, more out of a desperate need to shut James up and go back to his crossword puzzle than anything else. "Uh, I see you are sorry James!" he said, trying to sound stern. "I hope now that you will kindly shut the he-be a better engine!" he switched words quickly. "You have given me a lot of trouble! People are laughing at my railway and I don't like that at all!" That, at least, was true.

"I'm very sorry sir!" said James, even trying to widen his eyes like a cat to appeal to Hatt. It instead creeped him the hell out. "i will try hard to behave."

"THANK GOD!"

"What was that sir?"

"I said that's a good engine! I want you to pull some trucks for me."

James grinned. Partly because he got to show off his fabulous coat again, and partly because he felt as though he had bested the Fat Controller in a battle of wits. He puffed away.

Topham let out a sigh of relief and headed off to get his crossword and find Edward to take him on his train.

...

Thomas pushed a series of trucks into the station and smirked at James. "Well, that's two favors you owe me."

"Thank you Thomas." said James, voice drenched in sarcasm.

"Anyway, here are your trucks. Have you got some bootlaces ready?" And he ran off laughing at his own immature joke.

James stared after him for a long time, and considered whether or not owing someone a favor would be nullified if said someone was found bunker up in a mine somewhere with a large spike through their nose.

"OH! OH! OH!" shouted the trucks as James smacked down onto them. "We wanted a proper engine, not Manchester United's party van!"

James choked back a sarcastic response to this and started as soon as the guard blew his whistle. "Come along, come along." He puffed, clearly what he had learnt about coaches did not apply to trucks.

"We don't want to, we don't want to!" the trucks groaned, like the average six year old when confronted with broccoli. But James didn't care and pulled the screeching trucks out of the station as a jazz band started playing a familiar song.

The trucks tried hard to make him give up, but James ignored them. He was never gonna give them up, never going to let them down, never going run around and desert them. He was never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie and hurt them.

Ahem. Sorry, me cassette mix got in the script.

Sometimes their brakes would slip on, and sometimes their axels would run hot (Women, I hear that's a constant problem with men) and each time the trouble had to be put right ("How will hitting it with a hammer fix it?" "It just will.") and each time James would start back up again, determined not to let them beat him. Especially not at his own games, the smug off.

"Give up, give up You can't pull us, you can't you can't!" called the trucks, singing their latest hit single.

"I can and I will, I can and I will!" James puffed back. He then added a little emphasis later with a very loud "SUCK ON THAT GORDON!" Slowly and surely, he pulled them along the line.

At last they saw Gordon's Hill. "Look out for trouble James." warned his driver. "We'll go fast and get them up the hill before they realize it!"

"WE HEARD THAT!" echoed the trucks.

"Don't let them stop you!" shouted the fireman, who had read William Wallace the previous night and was still in Braveheart mode, even though that movie had yet to come out.

So James went faster and faster, and soon they were halfway up. James had never read the Grand Old Duke of York, so he had no idea that this was generally when things went pearshaped.

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it! Will the top never come?!"

Then with a sudden jerk, it all became easier.

No, those are not innuendos. Though they should be. James let out a whoop at the sudden lightening of the pull and he puffed up the hill to the top. "I've done it! I've done it!" He crowed. "Hooray! It's easy now."

Then the party pooper driver sighed and shut off steam. "They've done it again. We've left out tail behind."

"We don't have tails." said the Fireman, who was still a little clueless.

The last trucks were running backwards down the hill, and despite the fact that they had been running quickly, they were now slowing down as the guard slammed on the brakes. The coupling had snapped, again showing that Sodor's workmen needed a workshop with regards to coupling things up. But the guard had applied the brake and they came to a stop. He got out to warn approaching engines.

"Oh what is this?" Edward said as he puffed up, annoyed.

"So that's why it was easy." grumbled James. "Of course there can't be any real reason why I had a easy day today. Silly fools, there might have been a accident!" He mentally noted that said accident would have been on his paintwork, as saying out loud would get him Looks with a capital L.

"Shall I help you James?" called Edward in a slightly mocking way.

"No. THANK YOU." said James through gritted teeth. "I'll pull them myself." He started up again and began to puff. Edward watched on in a impressed silence as James began to move.

"Don't let them beat you! You're doing well!" He called, this time genuine, as once more James struggled up the hill.

He pulled ahead, teeth set and eyes fixated on the top. "I can do it! I can do it!" At this point even the trucks were fascinated to see James struggle on up. He pulled and puffed as hard as he could...

...and cleared the top. "I've done it! I've done it!" He cried again. He let out a triumphant whistle that made several engines wince to hear.

...

They reached their station safely...relatively, and James was resting in the yard when Edward pulled up. "Peep peep!" he whistled. "We may just make a shunter out of you yet."

"Don't count on it." muttered James. Then he saw the Fat Controller.

"OH NO! WHAT WILL HE SAY?!" He hammed up.

But the Fat Controller was smiling. This was a rare thing and was likened to a blue moon by many people on the Island. "I was in Edward's train-"

"But he's pulling trucks!"

"There was a mishap, Thomas isn't shunting in that yard unless we have a crisis again. I saw everything. You've made the most troublesome trucks on the line behave."

"TRAITOR!" hissed several other trucks to the ashamed ones in the corner.

Edward whistled and moved off to go and find somewhere to rest. Sir Topham continued.

"After that, you deserve to keep your red paint."

"HELL YEAH I DO." said James.

"Don't ruin it."

"Sorry sir."


	10. Episode 10: James and the Express

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **Well he won't notice if I just take one...or maybe two- Oh hell he's back!**

Right mate?

 **Right Mr Starr. Go ahead!**

Hey, two of me special brownies are missing! Oh well.

...

One night, Henry and Gordon were alone with James. It's not as bad as it sounds.

Edward had lucked out significantly over the past two nights in that Thomas was needing a hand moving some of his stuff into his new shed at Ffarquhar. Said stuff had included all off his old Playdriver magazines, his disco ball, and several trucks that were hooded over and he was specifically told not to look underneath. By the time they had shifted as much as they could in the day, it was too late to come back so they just slept there. Edward enjoyed it, especially because that meant he could be justified in leaving the rest of the yard in a mess for once.

James, on the other hand, was having a pretty bad time. Although the Fat Controller was beginning to think well of him (Relatively) whenever the chance came they would talk of nothing but bootlaces.

Now you would find that hard to understand considering that there are limited ways that bootlaces can come up in conversations, but mostly it involved talking about licorice and people tripping over.

"Remember the time that one of those had to used to get you out of trouble James?" asked Henry innocently on this particular night.

"YES HENRY." James growled out. "I WAS THERE."

James tried to get his own back by talking about engines getting shut up in tunnels or stuck on hills, but he was the target of the month for the bigger engines, so this didn't stop any time soon.

"You talk too much little James." said Gordon.

This stunned James speechless, for this was literally like the pot walking up to the kettle, slamming" his handle into the sprout and telling him off for being black.

"A fine strong engine like me always has something to talk about."

"Isn't that true." muttered James under his breath as he glared at their drivers, who were each trying to warm their hands.

"I'm the only engine who can pull the express, when I'm not there they need TWO engines. Think of that!"

"So what about me?"

"Shut up Henry. I've pulled expresses for years and have never once lost my way!" Gordon had never been re-baptized. "I seem to know the right line by instinct!"

Every wise engine knows of course of two things, one, you never say this aloud because it will more than likely lead to you messing up, and two, the signalman works the points to make the engines run on the right line. But Gordon was so proud he had forgotten.

...

After finally getting to sleep when Gordon's lecture had sent him off, James awoke to find Thomas back again for the rest of his stuff, and for several workmen gathering around and helping the engines ready.

"Too early." he moaned.

"Wake up James!" said Gordon, who was being annoyingly smug. "It's time for the express! What are you doing? Odd jobs? Ah well, we all have to begin somewhere don't we."

James was about to instruct Gordon on just where he would shove his oddjobs when the big blue engine blustered on. "Run along now and fetch my coaches."

"You'll end up in a shallow grave somewhere." muttered James as he headed off to fetch the coaches.

...

Their coats glistening, they were all shiny and new, and James was careful not to bump them and they followed him smoothly into the station, singing happily "We're going away we're going away!" It was their last journey before they could take a break and go to a coach spa. It was held at the Steamworks.

"I wish I was going with you." said James. He really wanted that spa treatment. "I should love to pull the express and go flying down the line."

"JAMES, LESS CHATTERING MORE COUPLING!" Gordon, with much noise and blowing both of steam and his own trumpet, prepared to back down upon the train. The Fat Controller was on the train with many other important people (Not enough to note their names, but important none the less), and as soon as they heard the guard's whistle, Gordon started off. "Look at me now! Look at me now!"

"I'm looking, don't like what I see." snipped James.

The coaches glided after him

"Poop poop poop poop! Goodbye little James! See you tomorrow!"

"Thank god for that." James muttered, and he watched until the train disappeared, and then went back to work. He pushed some trucks into their proper place and went to fetch the coaches for another train.

On the way, he passed Marklin. "Hiya!

"Ich stehe auf und toten Sie einter von diesen Tagen!" raged Marklin.

"Same to you mate!"

James had just brought the coaches to the platform when he heard a mournful noise. It sounded like frustration mingled with despair and a good bit of creeping thrown on for good measure. He glanced and sure enough, there was Gordon trying to sidle into the station without being noticed.

James waited for a good minute or so, waited until Gordon had just about slowly come to a stop and then cheerfully said "Hello Gordon! Is it tomorrow already?"

Gordon jumped, and glared with a expression that indicated that if he was one day going to end up in a shallow grave, James was going to end up next to him. He let off steam feebly.

"Did you lose your way Gordon?" said James.

"NO!" raged Gordon, who took a deep breath and calmed down. "It was lost for me. I was switched off the main line and onto the loop. I had to go all round and back again."

"Perhaps it was...instinct?" James suggested innocently.

Gordon's expression told a very dark and malignant story.

...

Meanwhile, all the passengers hurried to the booking office, holding makeshift pitchforks and torches. "WE WANT OUR MONEY BACK!" They howled, and one even threw a brick at the nearest person.

Nearest person was the Fat Controller, who rubbed his head and thanked god that his new top hat had taken the brunt of the blow. "That's the fourth hat in a year!" He hissed angrily.

He climbed on the trolley and blew the guards whistle so loudly that they all stopped to look at him. Then he promised them a new train at once, and then abdicated the trolley for fear that he resembled a antelope at a lion convention. "Gordon can't do it!" He said. "Will you pull it for us James?!"

"Yes sir, I'll try."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

...

As soon as Gordon was quietened (Read: Slapped) James was coupled on and everyone got in.

"Do your best James!" shouted the Fat Controller. "Or I'll kill you." he added softer.

"Come on come on!" puffed James as he headed off.

"You're pulling us well! You're pulling us well!" added the coaches.

"Don't sound so bloody surprised!" James snapped back.

...

Bridges and stations flashed by, the passengers cheered (This was mostly because someone had handed out free drugs but James thought it was for him and who will really correct him?) and they soon reached the final station.

Yep. Pretty much it.

Everyone said thank you to James, and the Fat Controller was very impressed. By how clean the station was, not by James, though that wasn't too bad.

"Well done." he said. "Would you like to pull the express again some times?"

"Yes please!" answered James, his eyes whirling like a spinning top.

"Okay, don't go over the top."

...

The next morning, when James came by after a long drink, he saw Gordon pushing trucks.

"I like this quiet work for a change." Gordon mused. "I'm teaching these trucks some manners, I heard you pulled the express well yesterday." He smiled, genuinely happy this time and whispered conspiratally. "Good, we'll show them." His eyes widened. "HEY! YOU!" And he gave his trucks a bump.

This was the best Gordon was going to do apology wise, so James accepted it.

James and Gordon are now good friends. James takes the express sometimes, Gordon never mentions bootlaces (Henry is another matter) and they are both agreed on the subject of trucks.

...

"Well, that's the last of it." Thomas said as he left his berth at Tidmouth Sheds. He looked at the other four engines. "Welp! See you guys around, I guess!" He puffed off into the distance.

"Aaaaah." Henry sighed in relief. "No more Thomas."

"Yep!" James enthused. "Just us four tender engines with our mature discussions."

"No more angry moaning about his desire to actually do something with his life." Henry smirked.

"No more random hacking coughs from those nasty cigarettes." added James.

"No more of his relentlessly annoying shunting around of trucks and coaches to all the wrong places." agreed Gordon.

There was silence for a moment.

Edward turned to the other engines. "Well this sucks."

The other three had to agree.


	11. Episode 11: Thomas and the Guard

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **Mr Starr, you've got to do some sort of commercial.**

What for?

 **Domino's Pizza.**

Hey, you know what would be fun?

 **What?**

If we teased the Beatles getting back together!

 **Ha! Try it! They'll go nuts.**

...

Thomas the Tank Engine is very proud of many things. His youthful good looks, his crossword solving abilities, and most of all, his branch line. Mainly because it means that for most of the time, he's his own boss. He thinks it's the most important part of the whole railway.

He's a idiot, in case we haven't established.

His two coaches, Annie and Clarabel, agree with him. It is about the only thing that Annie, certainly, agrees with Thomas on. Considering that she's often literally the closest to him, he tends to be the one to get some of the more back-biting comments. Clarabel, meanwhile, is filled with so many questions about the world, such as why there were two workmen constantly struggling with a signal all the time. She was also a bit loopy, to be honest.

Annie can only take passengers, but Clarabel can take passengers, luggage and the guard. She's a bit of a show-off like that. Annie wasn't too jealous though, how could she be when she could see such things as the Bridge With Urine Colored Water, and a Windmill. She wasn't bitter. At all. Seriously. Annie told me to tell you that.

They are both old- THWACK! - ow! Okay, okay, they are both experienced and need new paint, but Thomas loves them very much. And that hurt my knuckles you beast!

As they run backwards and forwards along the line, particularly when Thomas has had a good few many, they sing songs to each other. Well, Thomas and Clarabel sing songs, Annie doesn't, because she considers herself to be both sober and sane. When Thomas starts from a station, he sings "Oh come along, we're rather late! Oh come along, we're rather late!" to annoy Annie.

To which Clarabel will often sing back, in a slightly giddy voice. "We're coming along, we're coming along!"

And then they mostly begin singing Right Said Fred.

It's a odd team. Annie even says as much.

They don't mind what Thomas says to them, mostly because A: They know he's usually talking right out of his smokebox, and B: They know he's trying to please teh Fat Controller. And they know too that if Thomas is cross, he is not cross with them.

Unless it's about his cigarette habit.

"It's not healthy!" Annie snapped once more.

"It makes me happy!" Thomas argued back.

"It hurts your body!"

"So does chocolate, and no one's moving to make that illegal!"

"IT IS NOT THE SAME."

"You can have chocolate cigarettes though, can't you!?"

Anyway, moving on. One day they had to wait for Henry's train. It will not surprise you to learn that Henry had been sick as a dog the previous night (Annie suspected that Thomas and he had sneaked off to the Sidings once again for a nice cold one, but she had no way of proving it) and thus was late with the latest group of gawkers.

This made Thomas very cross. This is a bit like the pot calling kettle black when you consider that Thomas had not even pulled his first train correctly. If at all.

A loud bird whistled.

"How can I run my line properly if Henry is always late!?" He moaned. The bird agreed with him. Or not, it was hard to tell considering it was just a bird. "He doesn't realize that the Fat Controller depends on me!"

The guard started laughing automatically, at the thought of the Fat Controller depending on Thomas.

Thomas whistled impatiently, frightening the bird into the path of a plane. He wanted to leave straight away but he had to wait for Henry.

Annie was angry too. The cigar smoke was beginning to get up her nose. There was a mournful whistle, and at last Henry wheeshed in, trying to look as pathetic as possible to gain pity points.

He came to a rough stop and looked mournfully at Thomas.

Thomas gave no sympathy. "Where have you been, you lazyboned, fatfaced...prat!" Thomas had gone to insult school.

"Oh dear!" said Henry, putting those lessons from James on acting into action. "My system is out of order!"

"DAMN RIGHT!" shouted one of the Feminist coaches.

"No one understands my case! You don't understand what I suffer through!" wailed Henry.

"What? Indigestion? Gas? Rubbish!" said Thomas. "You're too fat, you need exercise!"

"I'll tell Sir Topham Hatt you said that about fat people!" said Henry cunningly.

"Not bloody likely! I'll tell him about your problems, and he will LAUGH! I swear, you're faking it sometimes!" Before Henry could answer, the guard blew his whistle and Thomas started so quickly that he left him behind.

The guard stared at the retreating train that was well on it's way out of the station, waved his red flag ineffectually, and then at Henry. "This railway is NUTS!"

"Tell me about it." said the surly green engine.

...

Clarabel, who had seen the whole thing, was distraught, for she was a nice sole at heart who liked her guards supremely.

"Come along, come along!" puffed Thomas. But Clarabel didn't want to come (No, not a innuendo. Get it out of your head) "I lost my nice guard! I lost my nice guard!" She wailed.

"Odd lyrics." said Thomas, who was in his own world.

Annie tried to tell Thomas what had happened. "We haven't a guard! We haven't a guard!" But he was hurrying and wouldn't listen, especially to her after the nagging he had had all day. Both coaches tried to put on the brakes, but they couldn't without the guard. This was a flaw in Sir Topham Hatt's plans.

"Where is our guard, where is our guard!?" They cried, and Thomas was now baffled at where this song was going. He didn't stop until they came to a signal. He glared up.

"So old foe!" he hissed. "We meet again! What's the matter?!"

"I don't know." said the driver. "The guard will tell us soon."

They waited and waited, but the guard didn't come. No one, by the way, went back to the end of Clarabel to check on him, they just assumed that like a dog, he would follow eventually. "Peep peep! WHERE IS THE GUARD?!" called Thomas angrily.

"WE LEFT HIM BEHIND!" howled Annie and Clarabel in annoyance.

Everyone looked back to Clarabel at this, and there was the guard, running and breathing heavily as he did so along the line, with his flags in one hand and his whistle in the other. He collapsed onto Clarabel and spent the next three minutes breathing heavily and trying not to die. He was very hot, so he had a drink (Alcoholic, of course) and told them all about it.

"I'm very sorry Mr Guard." said Thomas sadly.

"My name is RALPH!" snapped the guard, before he grit his teeth. "It wasn't your fault Thomas. Look, the signal is down and it's changed color! Let's make up for lost time!"

Everyone piled into the coaches and with a flourish of his whistle, Thomas took off once more.

A lone boy on the bridge watched as he went under. So did Allcroft and Milton, who got on their bike and rushed over to the station to catch a money making shot.

Annie and Clarabel were pleased to have their guard back that both of them began singing "As fast as you like! As fast as you like!"

"Now you're talking!" said Thomas and he sped up. They reached the end of the line quicker than ever before!

"THE POWER OF SMOKING, KIDS." Thomas spoke aloud.

"What did you say about fat people?!" roared a voice.

Thomas gulped. "Ah." He said desperately. "Hello Sir Topham Hatt! Nice weather we're having!"


	12. Episode 12: Thomas Goes Fishing

Thanks to all who reviewed! Now, let's get under way with the next episode!

Cue the theme!

...

 **Come on! I want to go home!**

No quips?

 **Just DO IT.**

Fine. Jeez.

...

When Thomas puffed along his branchline, he always looked forward to something special. Mrs Pritchard's Famous Chip and Fish Supper.

Also, the sight of the river.

The river itself had not looked very nice since before the war. Which one depended on whether you talked to a optimist or a pessimist. Several environmental agencies had gotten angry at Sir Topham Hatt and had argued that he needed to fix the delicate ecosystem. Sir Topham Hatt had responded by sending in a army of Fishermen to raise money for said fixing.

As Thomas rumbled over the bridge, he would see the people fishing. And doing...other activities. Ask your parents. Thomas often wanted to stay and watch. The Fishermen, not the other thing.

Well, he wouldn't have minded seeing the other stuff, but he thought it would be a very good opportunity to roll a cigarette without getting into trouble.

His driver said "No! What would the Fat Controller say if we were late?"

"He'd say business as usual?" asked the Fireman innocently.

"Shut up." The driver was a bit of a prude.

Everytime Thomas met another engine (EVERY. TIME) he turned the topic back to that of fish. He was obsessed. "I want to fish!" He said in the tone of voice that most kids use when demanding a bright new toy.

But they all had the same answer. "Engines don't go fishing!"

Well, technically they had the same answer, but their reactions were different.

Edward had nodded at Thomas to make him feel like he was being listened to, casually began praying for the driver to hurry back and when he did, muttered under his breath that phrase.

Henry came down with a hacking cough most of the time and through splutters said the phrase. Thomas would then shoot back "Well, maybe it would improve your health, slugbreath!" and ran away before Henry could get his breath back.

Gordon looked at Thomas like he was crazy, said it self-importantly and pulled away. Thomas shouted after him that at least he wasn't bursting his safety valve or smashing into Sir Topham Hatt's car. Gordon hissed.

And to James, who looked at him with a mixture of disgust and boredom, he said "Silly stick in the mud! By the way, there's some on you."

This would leave James in a terrified nervous breakdown for the rest of the day as he frantically searched for the mud.

...

One day he stopped as usual to take on water. As he did so, he quickly stared at his crossword. Ten down was a real pain in the caboose, it was 3,2,5, and the clue was 'Usually used to indicate problems'.

"This one's a toughie." He looked up and by luck, spotted it. "Oh, right! Out. Of. Order- OUT OF ORDER?!" He flicked back up to the sign hammered into the water tower. "What the hell's this railway coming to?! I was here yesterday and it worked just fine!"

"Well there was a incident and someone-" The Driver glared at the Fireman, who looked sheepish. "-thought it was a wrestler. And threw it over."

"BOTHER." declared Thomas, dropping the B-Bomb. "I'm thirsty!"

"Calm yourself oh overly dramatic one. We'll get some water from the river."

"Thank god, more crossword time!" shouted Thomas as they took off.

...

They found a bucket (The janitor's) and some rope (The...adventeruous lovers) and parked on the bridge. Thomas, out of breath, pulled out the one thing that could help him. A self-lighting cigarette.

"Thomas!" Annie shrieked shrilly.

"Blow it out your chassis." said Thomas wearily.

Then the driver lowered the bucket down to the water. He turned to the Fireman. "So, this is why you don't watch wrestling!"

"BUT HULKAMANIA WAS RUNNING WILD. WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?!"

"Act like a normal human being?"

"HOW DARE YOU."

The bucket was old and had five holes. Also, it smelt of pee. So they had to fill it, pull it up and empty it into Thomas's tank as quickly as they could several times over. Thomas took a long drag on his cigarette and sighed contently.

Also, the Fireman needed a wee at some point, so he added his own water to the tank. Thomas felt very disgusted and angrily started forward, knocking the Fireman back and smacking his head against the whistle.

The driver said he deserved it, and sent him back to the cab. They finished at last, slightly later than expected, and many of the passengers inside the coaches were baffled by what was going on.

Jeremiah Jobling was onboard and he had already begun preparing his next song, entitled 'Fireman on a Bridge'. Clarabel was very annoyed by the singing, and sighed as they started off at last.

"That's good, that's good!" droned Thomas as he tossed his cigarette away. Annie and Clarabel ran happily behind. Their wheels were sore.

...

As they puffed along the track to Ffarquhar, suddenly Thomas began to feel a pain in his boiler. "Sweet salty cinders and ashes!" He cried, his insults having got a bit more longer now that he had time to think. "That last cigarette must be repeating on me something terrible."

Steam began to hiss from his safety valve in a alarming way. The driver frowned. "I know he's been smoking but it's not supposed to come through there." He said thoughtfully.

"There's too much steam!" said his driver.

"BUT WE'RE A STEAM TRAIN!" shouted the fireman.

"Ohhhh." groaned Thomas. "Gordon is never going to let me live this down- AAAH! I'm going to burst! I'm going to burst!"

"You should have gone before we left! Your fireman did!"

They damped down his fire and struggled on. "I've got such a pain! I've got such a pain!" moaned Thomas.

"This is what comes of-"

Annie was silenced when Thomas roared out a whole line of obscenities at her.

...

They stopped just outside the last station, for whatever reason Thomas couldn't be arsed to go the few extra yards. They then uncoupled Annie and Clarabel ("Did you see the way he talked to me!?" "I know, Annie. I know.") and then ran Thomas, who was still hissing fit to burst onto a siding out of the way.

Thomas moaned. "What did I ever do wrong?!"

"Short or long version?"

"NOT FUNNY."

Then while the guard telephoned for a engine inspector (As opposed to the regular inspectors who just stood there looking like a bunch of prawns) found notices in large letters. And no, they weren't pulling mail, I mean large writing letters. He hung them on Thomas's front and behind, and they read:

 **DANGER. KEEP AWAY. ALSO, MOCK SAFELY FROM A DISTANCE.**

Soon the Inspector and the Fat Controller arrived. Inspector Ringo looked suspiciously around him. "Wait, ain't I narrating at this point?" He shrugged. "Ah who cares? I'm here to see a driver about a engine?"

"Cheer up Thomas." They said. "We'll soon put your right."

"BLEURGH." replied Thomas succinctly.

The driver told them what had happened. Hatt looked puzzled, angry and then reluctantly ready.

"So the feed pipe is blocked." said Inspector Starr. "I'll look in the tanks." He climbed in and peered in. Then he climbed down. "Scuse me sir." he said. "Please look in the tank and tell me what you see."

"Aside from water?!" The Fat Controller laughed, but no one else found it very funny. "Of course." He said.

He clambered up, looked in the tank and nearly fell off the ladder in surprise. "Inspector." He whispered. "Can you see...fish?"

Thomas's reaction indicated that he believed this all to be one long drug dream and hopefully he would wake up soon.

"Goodness gracious me!" said Hatt. "How did the fish get there driver?"

"They must have come up in the bucket." said the driver, hoping that the worst option was not true.

Hatt turned to Thomas. "So Thomas. So you and your driver have been fishing." Thomas groaned. "But it is not good for you, we must get them out at once!"

"THANK YOU." said Thomas, drenching his words with as much sarcasm as possible. They all took turn fishing in Thomas's tank, while the Fat Controller looked on and told them how to do it. Thomas was very angry. Not the least because the Inspector had stolen his cigarettes.

When they had caught all the fish, they had a lovely picnic supper of fish and chips from Mrs Pritchard. Thomas was not allowed any. It was torture for him to hear Hatt make weird mmm noises with his mouth.

"That was good." said the Fat Controller.

"I wouldn't know." said Thomas wearily.

"Fish don't suit you Thomas, so you mustn't do it again."

Thomas almost exploded in rage, but swallowed it down and started to back away with the help of the driver and fireman. "No sir, I won't. Engines don't go fishing, it's too uncomfortable."

...

It may interest you to note that all four recipients of the fish supper later came down with food poisoning. Because of this, Sir Topham Hatt reluctantly agreed to fund the cleaning up of the river.

Which just goes to prove...

Something.


	13. Episode 13: Thomas, Terrance and Snow

Thanks to RosieAngelina for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

 **Looking good Mr Starr.**

You too mate. Shall we-

 **Yes, why not? And three, two, one!**

...

It was Autumn on the Island of Sodor, and it was one of the more beautiful ones seen in many a year. Allcroft and Mitton had taken the day off from filming more Island of Sodor escapades and were watching the leaves fall, as they stared off into the distance at the nearby church.

They were then rudely interrupted when Thomas the Tank Engine, fully recovered from his fish-related incident, ran past whistling and shouted "OI! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE FILMING ME!"

...

The fields were slowly changing from yellow stubble to brown earth. Though maybe that was because a mad sailor man by the name of John was digging up the field in search of something he called, in between 'y'aarghing' and 'me heartiing' his lost treasure. The police had kindly escorted him to the nearest mental hospital, where he was supposedly planning to buy a boat and start sailing around for the treasure.

As Thomas puffed along, there was a tractor hard at work. As opposed to Thomas, who had once again taken up the unfortunate habit of smoking pipes instead of the cigarettes that had been stolen from him.

Later on, after a previous encounter with Thomas mockingly laughing at the tractor's trouble, he was coming back along the same stretch of line and saw the tractor again. The signal was up, and so much to his annoyance, he had to stop and make conversation with the tractor.

"Hello." said the Tractor, and Thomas was incredibly worried to see that once again Terrance had not stopped smiling since he had first lain eyes on him. "I'm Terrance! And I'm plowing."

Annie choked as Clarabel started laughing. She had picked up Thomas's dirty humor, despite the fact that she had no idea what it meant half the time. Thomas looked unimpressed but secretly he was jealous. He had never plowed anything, and it was beginning to get a little emasculating. "Well I'm Thomas! I'm in a TV show and I'm PULLING A TRAIN!"

"You show him Thomas!" cheered Clarabel.

"Thank you Clarabel. What ugly wheels you've got!"

"Jealous much?" asked Annie in the worst innocent voice Thomas had ever heard.

"They're not ugly!" said Terrance, still smiling, and Thomas began to fear that the tractor was actually a serial killer that was going to kill everyone in their sleep. "They're caterpillars!"

"Turn into a butterfly then!" said Clarabel, who liked butterflies.

"I can go anywhere, I don't need rails!" He paused and thought. "Except for Luxemborg."

But Thomas had taken off, shouting back. "I don't want to go ANYWHERE. I like my rails!" He was aware of how stupid that comeback was, so he blew a raspberry and hurried off as the signal dropped.

...

Winter came with dark clouds full of snow. Yes, we're jumping ahead a bit, do you blame us? The alternative was Thomas calling Terrance some more uninspiring nicknames.

"I don't like it!" said Thomas's driver. "A heavy fall is coming!"

"Isn't that a movie?"

"No. No it isn't."

"Oh." said the fireman, crestfallen.

"I hope it doesn't stop us."

"HUH!" said Thomas in a overly dramatic voice. "Snow is silly soft stuff!" And he ran on, feeling cold but confident. His driver shook his head sadly, for he was a bit of a clairvoyant when it came to these things. The heavy fall was coming right after Thomas's pride.

...

They finished their journey safely (Only two cows run over that day!) but now the country was covered. Sarcastic viewers may ask in what, but we shall ignore them. The driver gulped, looked at a large blue thing that lay on a trolley and turned back to Thomas. "Hey. Hey buddy. You'll...You'll have to wear your snowplow for the next journey Thomas."

He closed his eyes and waited for the rant.

It did not disappoint.

"HA!" screamed Thomas, right in the middle of his prima donna mood. "HA, HA AND THRICE HA! Snow is silly soft stuff, and it cannot stop me! IT WILL NOT STOP ME! I AM A PROFESSIONAL SNOW-PUSHER! I HAVE SHUNTED IN SNOW! THE OTHER ENGINES COME IN WHINING, I'M OUT THERE DOING THE WORK OF TEN ENGINES, PLUS TWO! THERE IS NO WAY YOU'RE GETTING ME TO WEAR THAT PIECE OF CRAP PLOW!"

"Oh really." said the Driver determinedly.

"YES."

...

The snowplow was heavy and uncomfortable to wear. It was a bit like a really large codpiece. It made Thomas even more cross than he was already. All day long as he wore it, he shook it and banged it and insulted it repeatedly.

And by the time they had got back, it was so damaged that the driver had to take it off.

"You're a very naughty engine!" he said as they slammed the door in Thomas's face.

"Screw you!" shouted Thomas defiantly.

The next morning, his driver and fireman came early (HA!) and worked as hard as they could to mend the snowplow. Unfortunately, they had about as much knowledge of snowplow maintenance as they did nuclear physics. So none at all. But they couldn't make it fit.

So Thomas left without his snowplow, laughing maniacally as he did so. "I shan't have to wear it, I shan't have to wear it!" he bragged to Annie and Clarabel. They just sighed and began waiting for the inevitable. They were rather worried.

"I hope it's all right, I hope it's all right." they twittered to themselves.

The driver was worried too as they journied to Knapford. "It's not bad here." He said as they left with their passengers. "But it's sure to be deep in the valley."

"Which one?"

"All of them, obviously."

"Silly soft stuff!" said Thomas, trying in vain to make it a meme even before the internet became a thing.

As he arrived at the tunnel, he spoke aloud arrogantly. "i didn't need the shoddy piece of workmanship yesterday, and I shan't need it today! Snow can't stop me!" He rushed through the tunnel thinking how clever he was.

"Hang on." he said. "That looks like a lot of snow- SH-" He whistled aloud in horror as he smacked into a huge pile of snow.

"Irony." the driver said in a deadpan way.

"Cinders and Ashes!" cried Thomas, never thinking that that would be the meme that caught on. "I'm stuck!" And he was.

"Back Thomas! Back!" said his driver, not talking about his spa day, but instead urging Thomas backwards. Thomas tried but his wheels spun on the icy rails and he couldn't move. Clarabel grinned, she enjoyed the snow.

The guard went back for help while everyone else tried to dig the snow away. But as fast as they dug, more snow slipped down until Thomas was nearly buried. "Oh my wheels and coupling rods!" He wailed, doing his best James impression. "i shall have to stay here until I'm Frozen!" The driver thought that Thomas had very little chance of auditioning for Disney, but he kept on digging. "What a silly engine I am!" And he began to cry.

It was unpleasant to look at.

At last a bus came to rescue the passengers. It stared at Thomas for a good long while as they got on, and it mesmerized Thomas's tear stained cigarette yearning face, his pipe having long since been crushed. As the bus left, it smiled to itself and was clearly making plans of some kind.

And then, who should come to Thomas's rescue? Come on. Guess.

You can't, can you?

It was Terrance the Tractor, still grinning like a loon! Snow never worries him, for he can't worry. Contractually. No pun intended.

Thomas began to feel as though he was going to be mocked a lot for this.

Terrance showed off his nimble moves as he turned around much to the delight of Clarabel, who cheered and asked for his autograph. Annie said nothing, for she had been knocked out in the crash. He pulled the empty coaches away back through the tunnel, and then he came back for Thomas. Thomas's wheels were now clear, but they still spun as he tried to grip the rails.

Terrance tugged and slipped and slipped and tugged, and at last dragged Thomas clear of the snow, ready for the journey home. Thomas was on the verge of hysteria as he found himself free.

Terrance backed off to give Thomas some time to regain control of his hysteria. The driver and fireman brushed him down and soon Thomas followed Terrance, buffering up to Annie and Clarabel.

"Thank you Terrance, you're caterpillars are splendid!" said Thomas, almost adding in a bit about plowing but figured out that it would sound rude and only annoy Annie more.

"I hope you'll be sensible from now on Thomas!" said his driver, aware of how futile this was.

"I'll try." said Thomas, and he puffed humbly away.

Terrance, meanwhile, stayed there for quite some time and smiled at everything, until at last his driver woke up from his coma and headed off for home.

The next day, co-incidentally, was the first time Thomas was sent to work in the Lead Mines. Staring at a notice board, Thomas disregarded the previous day's problems and made a plan.

He was unaware of the bus that watched him from afar.


	14. Episode 14: Thomas and Bertie

Thanks to RosieAngelina for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

 **You know, I'm curious, were you actually there on the Island of Sodor?  
**

That, sir, is for me to know and you to toss and turn in your bed over.

 **Riiiight. Shall we?**

We shall.

...

Thomas sat at the very edge of Knapford Station. He was waiting at a junction for the signal to turn down. He was still in a rather brittle mood after his previous two escapades, and had taken to replacing his cigarettes with muttering wildly under his breath about just what he would do to snow if he saw it again. A bus suddenly pulled forward, ignoring the other bus that was staying in the shed, sulking.

"Hello." said Thomas, a bit put out over the way that the bus was examining him. "Who are you?"

"I'm Bertie." said the bus, with a vague hint of a accent in his voice. He was still examining Thomas, as if judging him. "Who are you?"

"I-" said Thomas, pulling himself up to his full height and hoping to gain some sort of respect in the eye of at least one non-roadian. "-AM THOMAS. I run this branchline!" He mentally noted to ask the engines to pay a toll each time they approached one of his stations.

"So you're Thomas?" Bertie said, languidly. "I remember you now. You got stuck in the snow." Thomas's smile fell, and his mood rapidly became as black as Marklin's paintwork. "I took your passengers and Terrance the Tractor pulled you out. I've come to take your passengers today."

Bertie was well versed in Thomas's history. For saying that so soon after a humiliation was akin to waving a red bus at a bull. The other bus widened his eyes at this, and he raced off to search for Marklin, to inform him.

"HELP ME!?" raged Thomas, as if seeing some insult to his enginehood. "I can go faster than you!"

"You can't." said Bertie.

"I can!" puffed Thomas.

"I'LL RACE YOU!" said Bertie, quickly maneuvering in at this opportunity to test his might. Bertie, you see, was something of a expert at this. So far, he had successfully challenged several other vehicles to races. And he had won. Now he wanted to see if he could beat the best example of the most dominant species on the Island.

Their drivers agreed to the race going ahead, for they were bored and rather wanted to liven things up. The Passengers shrugged and said "Whatever." and the Station Master agreed only to help if they made sure to keep his name out of any discussion with the Fat Controller. He said "Are you ready? ...GO!" He didn't have a starting pistol, so he just made a gun noise.

"GOOD LUCK LOSER!" called Bertie as he took off. Thomas glared in anger and followed after him as quickly as he could, with both Annie and Clarabel looking at each other in fear of what the hell was going to happen to them. He could never go fast at first, and Bertie drew in front.

"Why don't you go fast? Why don't you go fast?" hissed Annie and Clarabel. Thomas thought this rather hypocritical, but bit down his tongue. It hurt.

"Wait and see! Wait and see!" he said as he drew under the bridge used in the intro.

"He's a long way ahead!" They wailed, but Thomas didn't mind. He had remembered the level crossing.

...

There was Berite, fuming at the gates! Behind his smile of course. "CURSES!" proclaimed the bus. "FOILED!"

"SEE YOU AT THE END, LOSER!" howled Thomas in triumph as they sailed gaily through. "Bye Bye Bertie!" Clarabel added to his humiliation by blowing a large raspberry at the bus. Bertie grit his teeth, waited for the crossing gates to open and then raced on to catch up.

After that, the road left the rails, so they couldn't see Bertie. Bertie himself was going as fast as he could and narrowly avoided sending a Taxi containing the former Mrs Hatt off the side of the road.

Thomas, meanwhile, had pulled into Dryaw quickly. They had to stop to let off passengers. "Peep peep! Quickly please!" barked Thomas Word had gotten through the grapevine, and the passengers on the station were ready to leap in. As Thomas slowed to a stop momentarily, and stared at the plane in the airfield that was practicing for it's big moment, the guard whistled and he took off again. "Come along, come along!" he sang.

"We're coming along, we're coming along!" chanted Annie and Clarabel. Annie was in charge of making sure that Thomas was going well enough, and Clarabel was watching out for Bertie, and for once, Thomas wasn't needing his cigarettes, the sheer exhilaration was enough! He pulled off onto a little known track onto Lower Arlsbrough, causing a tram engine to stare in bafflement as a Steam Engine puffed through the station without stopping.

"Well blow me down!" said the tram engine.

"Hurry hurry hurry!" panted Thomas, his face turning red. Then he looked ahead as he pulled back onto his branchline. There, ahead, was the bridge. And on it was Bertie, gleefully laughing and tooting triumphantly. "Oh dearie me, oh dearie me!" groaned Thomas, he wanted to say much less nice things, but already he was panting and sweating.

They pulled along the Windmill, and Allcroft nudged Mitton as they passed. Grabbing their camera, they took another video for the intro. But what they didn't caputre was the dialogue.

"I...I can't-" Thomas coughed. He felt ill, the trouble done to his boiler was coming back to haunt him.

"Steady Thomas!" said his driver. "We'll beat Bertie yet!" The Fireman shook his head, and the driver clocked him in the face to be more supportive.

"We'll beat Bertie yet! We'll beat Bertie yet!" echoed his coaches. Thomas focused ahead and growled through the pain.

"We'll do it! We'll do it!" They turned the corner and- "OH BALLS. THERE'S A STATION!" They pulled into Elsbridge and Thomas wheezed in agony. As the passengers climbed out, some looking rather ill, his driver raced to the water tower, now put back into order.

And then Thomas heard Bertie, who was lounging up on the side of the bank of grass. "Goodbye Thomas. You must be tired. Can't stop, we buses have to work you know!" And he left with smugness.

"You-" Thomas was so out of breath that he couldn't muster a insult. "Oh dear!" he howled. "We've lost! I'm sure of it! WE'RE DAMNED!"

The driver paused, and then grinned. "You'll like this." he promised. As he connected the pipe up, Thomas frowned at the feeling. It was...it was...

"ALCOHOL!" he cried in joy. He felt much better after his drink. The signal dropped and he was off. "HURRAH! WE'RE OFF! HURRAH! WE'RE OFF!" He called. Several neighbors rushed to complain about the noise.

Nothing happened until they reached the River Els, and even as Thomas grimaced in memory of what had happened, he heard a impatient "Honk Honk!" and there, fuming with rage, was Bertie, staring down a traffic light. He watched as Thomas passed him once more. The light turned green, and he started with a roar as he chased after Thomas.

But even as they passed Terrance's field, Thomas now reached his full speed. He put on more and more of it, causing Clarabel to whoop with glee and even Annie cracked a smile. Bertie tried hard but Thomas was too fast. He took off, racing towards the Hackenback Tunnel, and imagining that he was plowing through snow, Thomas raced on through, whistling into the tunnel triumphantly as he plunged in. Bertie was left far behind, panting up the hill desperately.

"I'VE DONE IT! I'VE DONE IT!" panted Thomas.

"You've done it hooray! You're done it hooray!" cheered Annie and Clarabel.

"WE ARE SO FIRED! WE ARE SO FIRED!" screamed the fireman, as they reached the last station and braked to a stop. Seconds later, a very stunned Bertie joined Thomas.

Everyone was there to celebrate Thomas's victory, but they gave Bertie a cheer too. Bertie sighed. If nothing, he was a graceful loser. "Well done Thomas." He said through gritted teeth. "That was fun. But to beat you over that hill, I'd have to grow wings and become a airplane!"

Thomas laughed despite himself, then instantly demanded that his pipe be prepared for him.

...

They now keep each other very busy. They often talk about their race, and Bertie can often be seen mouthing the words 'rematch soon, old chum'. Both are now good friends, though they'd kill you if they mentioned it. But Bertie's passengers don't like being bounced like peas in a frying pan, and the Fat Controller has warned Thomas not to race at dangerous speeds. For fear that his ex-wife would kill him.

So although they'd like to have another race, I don't think they will, do you?

...

Elsewhere, Marklin nodded as the Other Bus told him everything. He ordered the other bus away, and turned to look at the three main engines, who were looking angry and ranting about Thomas.

"This-" he said. "-should be interesting. Maybe I too shall get my own branchline, ya?" He sighed. "Just got to sit back...and watch the firevorks.


	15. Episode 15: Tenders and Turntables

Thanks to RosieAngelina for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

 **Ugh.**

Something wrong?

 **The editing on this one is going to be a nightmare! Apparently, there's some sort of strike, so some of the footage we wanted...you know, of Thomas? Not coming.**

Oh dear. Ah well, let's move on!

...

"So."

"Yep."

Both big engines stared off into the distance of the Vicarstown sheds. For whatever reason, they had temporarily relocated there while work was carried out on Tidmouth. Henry and Gordon were lonely after Thomas left the yard to run his branchline. They missed him very much.

"You know what I missed about Thomas?"

"No. What?"

"How easy he was to mock."

Henry sighed nostagically. "Ah yes. That brings back some good memories. And you know what I miss? Him doing all the work for us. Remember that? When tank engines actually got us coaches instead of forcing us to move from our nice and cosy sheds?"

"Not even like we can ask James to do it any more. He's right. Technically he is bigger than Edward."

The two engines sighed.

...

Indeed, they did have more work to do and had to fetch their own coaches. All under the grim stare of the Fat Controller. They didn't like that. They were very lazy and tired out easily.

James grumbled too. Oh the surprise. "We get no rest! We get no rest! We should form a union!" he hissed. The coaches laughed (Mostly at Henry and James, because Gordon was far too grand to speak in earshot)

"You're lazy and slack, you're lazy and slack!" They said.

"We are NOT!" Henry and James would shout, before napping. All together the three of them were causing the Fat Controller a great deal of trouble. Not just because of their annoyance at having to do work, but because he wasn't entirely convinced that the engines hadn't had something to do with the recent egging of his office window at Vicarstown.

The big stations at the end of the line each have a turntable. The Fat Controller had constructed these turntables so that the big engines could turn around, because it is dangerous for them to go fast backwards. This, naturally, led to many a crack from Thomas and, on occasion, Marklin about their weight. For tank engines like Thomas don't need turntables, they can go just as fast backwards as forwards.

But to hear Gordon talk one day, you would have thought that the Fat Controller had given them a tender, just to show how important he was. Henry and James were also very proud of their tenders, no innuendo intended, but Gordon took it to the next level. The next disturbing obsessive level.

"Uh...Gordon? Can I have a go now?"

"SHUT IT HENRY I'M NOT DONE."

...

One day, at Elsbridge, Gordon and Thomas had met up for a quick chat. Well, actually Thomas had been stuck in the station thanks to a nagging passenger, and Gordon had come along and planned to blast his Pro-Tender Bias at the tank engine until he submitted.

"You don't understand, little Thomas. We tender engines have a position to keep up!"

"Yeah, I bet you do with all of your accidents over the last few months." grunted Thomas.

"It doesn't matter where you go, but we are important!"

"Well thanks Mr Dickens. You seem like a reasonable engine."

"AND for the Fat Controller to make us shunt trucks, fetch coaches and go on some of those DIRTY sidings! Well it's...it's...IT'S NOT THE PROPER WAY!" His signal changed. "Nice talking with you Thomas."

And he puffed away. Thomas rolled his eyes, chuckled bitterly, and went off with Annie and Clarabel to get a new crossword.

...

"THE NERVE OF IT! THE NERVE OF IT!" hissed Gordon as he backed onto the turntable. The turntable was in a windy place close to the sea. Just take our word for it, it doesn't matter if you can't see the sea. If he was not on it just right, the big blue fatso put it out of balance, making it difficult to turn for the poor weaklings that operated the turntable.

Today, Gordon was in a bad temper (Even worse than his usual ones) and the wind was strong. Not, Gordon would tell you, as strong as Gordon himself, but at least Henry strong.

The driver tried to make him stop in the right place, but Gordon both was and wasn't trying.

"Just do it!" he snarled, stopping rudely in a random place.

The fireman tried to turn the handle, but Gordon's weight ("I AM NOT FAT!", he roared when asked about it) and the strong wind prevented him. "It's no good." They said at last. "Your tender upsets the balance. If you were a nice tank engine, you wouldn't have this problem." Gordon turned puce with rage. "Now you'll have to pull the next train backwards."

Gordon bit down his response at that, for he had noticed out of the corner of his eye Henry gazing in a smug mood at him.

...

At Elsbridge once more, Gordon began muttering under his breath just what he would do to one of the 'nice tank engines', when some boys pointed. "Look!" They said. "It's a new tank engine! Oh, it's only Gordon, back to front."

"Should have gone to Specsavers." muttered Gordon under his breath. Things could not get any worse.

And then Thomas pulled up.

 _Oh CURSE YOU GOD_ , Gordon silently bellowed.

"Hello Gordon! Playing tank engine I see? Sensible engine, nice work. Take my advice, scrap the tender and have a nice bunker instead!"

For fear that he would offend the passengers, Gordon said nothing.

And to top his perfect day off, even James laughed at him. "HA! Nice look, idiot!" He cackled as he passed through.

"Take care." warned Gordon as Thomas chortled off, and as Bertie, above him, smirked at the blue engine's plight. "You'll stick too."

"No fear!" chuckled James, rapidly clacking down the track. "I'm not so fat as you!" And then, louder. "And I get first dibs on Tidmouth!"

"OH DAMN IT!" shouted Gordon.

...

Marklin moved the trucks aside, grinning as James arrived. He was aware that he was skirting a fine line here, but he was determined to see that he be given his rightful due. So he had encouraged the engines by sucking up to their boasts. And by making sure that their work was put in awkward positions that they could only get if they were a tank engine. So far, his plan to get rid of all tender engines was working like a treat.

"I mustn't stick." muttered James, not talking about his glue collection for once. He stopped on just the right place to balance the table. He could now spin easily. And so he began to rotate.

Gordon, having finished his train with a bit of fuss, arrived in time to see everything. He had specially speeded through the country just to see what would happen to James.

It did not disappoint.

James was turning around the well much to quickly. His lack of weight compared to Henry, or indeed Gordon, was allowing the wind to spin him around like a top on a sugar high. He couldn't stop no matter how much he tried.

"HHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEllllllllllLLLLLLLLLLLLLllllllllPPPPPPPPPPPPPPppppppppppPPPPP-" He screamed, feeling as though he was about to throw up, except that trains weren't actually supposed to do that. At last, from sheer luck, the wind slowed down. But James span for another five minutes before slowly coming to a stop roughly outside his shed. His eyes didn't stop spinning for another two minutes.

"Well well." said Gordon, knowing exactly when to pour a entire bucketful of salt onto a open wound that bled like a pig at a butchers. "Are we playing roundabout? Being thin has it's disadvantages, I see."

Poor James, who felt quite giddy, had no way of responding to such a cruel taunt. For once green was the prominent color. He rolled off into the shed without a single word of backchat.

And there he sat, staring in abject misery until night fell and both Gordon and Henry returned.

...

That night, the three engines had a indignation meeting. Which was a polite way of saying that they were going to nag like a bunch of old women.

"What's worse!" snapped Henry. "Is that they're clearly not catering towards us at all! There's no thought for us and our problems! I talked to Edward about this, and he had the nerve to say that now we knew what Thomas and he were going through when they had to do the shunting for us! But it was only natural for them to do it! It's not fair!"

Gordon growled. "It's shameful to treat Tender Engines like this!"

"Gordon has to go backwards and idiotic people think he's a tank engine-" started off James.

"-James spins round like a top and everyone laughs at us for no reason-" continued Henry.

"-and to add to that, the Fat Controller makes us all shunt on dirty sidings!" concluded Gordon frostily.

"YEUCK!" shouted all three at once. Edward winced in annoyance as he tried to get to sleep.

There was a silence, and then "Listen." he whispered something to the others. Henry looked concerned, and James looked unimpressed. But then, slowly, their faces changed.

Edward could see somewhat. One of the shed cameras was pointing at the three of them. He suddenly felt very worried indeed. All three faces were the same. Angry. And ready to do something about it.

"We'll do it tomorrow." spoke Gordon, confident, cold, calm and worst of all collected. "The Fat Controller will look foolish."

The engines, were about to go on strike!

 **TO BE CONTINUED:**

 **NEXT TIME ON THOMAS ABRIDGED:**

"Tender engines DON'T shunt."

...

"They said I have black wheels! They say I can't come in the shed anymore!"

...

"Common tank engines, indeed! WELL BALLS TO EM."

...

"It occurs to me that it's time that we expand our railway. This situation has given me the opportunity to do so."

...

"Gordon, Henry, James...meet Number 6."


	16. Episode 16: Trouble in the Shed

Thanks to RosieAngelina for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

 **Come on then!**

Man, why are you so stressed?

 **I HAD A PRETTY ROUGH DAY NEGOTIATING. THERE'S A RIOT OVER THERE. Would you like to find out how bad!?**

Noooo.

...

It was just another day at Knapford Station. There were coaches ready to be taken, porters and workmen hurrying to and from various different places, smashed bottles being thrown about, an angry mob-

Wait.

Of course, today wasn't just another day at Knapford Station. Sir Topham Hatt was sitting in his office (His reinforced office, he noted once more, thanking that he had had the sense to steal his ex-wife's plan for a fallout shelter) listening to the noise outside. The passengers were angry. This was a mild understatement. Several porters and workmen had vanished off in the direction of the signal box to avoid being crushed by the large clock that the passengers had ripped down.

The stationmaster, having been attacked, did not so much walk in as stumble. Mr Carlin followed with a large cloth to wipe the blood from his temple. The stationmaster staggered up, opened his mouth and fell arse over teakettle into the sofa.

"Ah. Off to a good start." said Hatt. The hapless Stationmaster stood up, and saluted what he believed to be the Fat Controller, but was actually a hatstand.

"Trouble in the shed, sire! Henry's sulking-"

"Nothing new then."

"-there are no trains, and the passengers are saying a lot of things. Mostly that this is a bad railway."

Carlin grunted. "The blue **** and the red ***** are sulking as well!"

"Indeed!" said the Fat Controller, grabbing the hat stand from the confused Stationmaster and jamming his hat on his head. "We can't have that." He looked around. "I think there's a back way."

...

He found Gordon, Henry and James looking very cross. So business as usual. Flanked by his two bodyguards, the Controller strode over from the car. "Come along Henry! Train time!

Henry gave him a disgusted glance, then looked over to Gordon. Clearly the ring-leader.

"Henry's not going." said Gordon gravely.

"Well no, I'm not selling him!" Topham laughed at his own joke, no one else did and he soon shut up.

"We won't shunt like common tank engines. Or Edward, for that matter. That was Thomas's job, but we are important tender engines! You fetch our coaches, and we will pull them."

"Not literally." added James. "I mean, you've got really stubby arms."

"Tender engines don't shunt!"

For a moment, Sir Topham stood there and merely looked at the three engines. James, looking arrogantly out. Henry, ill but sullenly determined. And Gordon, proudly leading. It did not enter into Sir Topham Hatt's mind until that very moment how much they needed more engines. Without them, the railway would most likely start to become a very sour place to live.

"Oh?" He said. "Indeed? We'll see about that." Henry swallowed at the tone of his voice. "Engines on my railway do as they are told!"

"No they're not!" cackled James, who was shut up by the glare from the Fat Controller. Hatt got into his car, and the two bodyguards watched as he drove away. To himself, he sighed.

"The yard has never been the same since Thomas left to run his branchline." he said sadly.

And then he hit a goat.

...

Edward pushed some trucks into the corner, and was just thinking of shunting a bit more when the Fat Controller, his car grill covered in goat, drove up.

"Leave those trucks please Edward. I'd like it if you pushed coaches in the yard. The three stooges have gone on strike."

Edward shrugged. "Thank you sir? That will be nice."

"Good engine! Off you go!" Hatt turned back and sighed at the mess on his car. "This isn't going to look good."

So Edward found coaches for the three engines, and that day, after the riot squad had beaten the resistance out of the more rowdy passengers, the trains ran smoothly. Sure, there were one or two dirty looks from both Gordon and Henry to Edward, but he was used to that.

...

The next day however, as Sir Topham walked over to Tidmouth to check on the progress, he saw Edward looking weary and unhappy. He was just about to ask his number 2 why so glum, when Gordon stormed past, contemptuously glaring at Edward and hissing steam in his face rudely.

"Bless me!" said Sir Topham Hatt, who felt the steam was going to make him sneeze. "What a noise!"

Edward, faced covered with ashes, coughed and moaned aloud. "They've been doing that all night sir!" he wailed, suddenly feeling his age and how lonely he was. "They say tender engines don't shunt! And last night, they said I had black wheels! They say I can't come in the shed any more!" Edward looked so depressed that even Hatt couldn't insult him. "I haven't, have I? James has black wheels too!"

"I know Edward, No. You've got nice blue ones and I'm proud of you. Tender engines do and will shunt!" He sat down at the little workman's shed near Edward. "All the same though, we do need another tank engine."

"There's Marklin."

"Yes, well...I have my suspicions about that one."

Marklin, listening discretely, frowned and drove away silently. He was aware that he was going to be on thin ice indeed if they found out what he had been up to, and so he began making plans to escape.

...

"Ere you are sir!" said Honest Jim, salesman and part time scrap collector. "Ere's the best selection of engines you can ave!"

"They just look like the engines I've already got under sheets."

"Ah heh. Funny you should mention that." said Honest Jim, who had managed cloning before Dolly the Sheep was even a lamb.

Sir Topham looked at all the different sized engines. He paused, and then whipped the tarpaulin off one of them. And at last, he saw a smart little green engine with four wheels and a infectious grin. _That's the one_ , he thought. "If I were to choose you." he said. "Would you work hard?"

"Like a dog, sir!" enthused the engine.

"That's a good engine. I shall call you...Steve!" Jim shook his head. "Fine. I'll call you Percy."

"Yes sir, thank you sir, three bags full sir!" said Percy, cheekily. The Fat Controller got on him and rode him back to the sheds.

...

Edward stared in surprise as a little green tank engine pulled up. "Uh? Hello?"

"Edward." said Sir Topham Hatt. "This is Percy. Will you show him everything?"

"What, even the supply of magaz-"

"NO. NOT THAT." Edward shrugged, and led Percy over. The two suddenly started chatting rather animatedly, much to Marklin's horror. He rushed over and whispered something to Henry. Sir Topham walked over to the three engines and smirked.

"Gordon, Henry, James, let me introduce Sodor's Number Six. Percy." He grinned. "Oh, and get comfy."

"What did he mean by that?" James asked baffled. Gordon shrugged.

Percy was a quick learner of what he had to do, and both engines spent a happy afternoon just shunting everything back into order again.

"I don't know how the yard gets so dirty." muttered Edward. "Especially because-" and here he slipped into a terrible Gordon impression. "Tender engines DON'T shunt!" Percy found it funny, however. Then Henry came by, whistling as usual.

Percy then let out a shriek of "WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!" that made Henry literally jump into the air and run back screaming of the demonic presence in that little green engine.

"Impressive!" Edward said. "How beautifully you weeshed him! I can't weesh like that!"

"Oh that's nothing!" said Percy, his head growing bigger by the second. "That's nothing! Hear them in the workshop sometimes! It's like Black Friday there! You ahve to weesh loudly just to get yourself heard!" He stared and then grinned. "MORE TRUCKS TO SORT!"

...

The next morning, as the three big engines sulked, Thomas arrived. "Sorry I'm so late!" he said cheerfully. "Had a problem, dealt with it! Those fish won't dare laugh at me ever again!"

Edward smiled at Thomas's ramblings. "Thomas. This is Percy."

Thomas looked at Percy. "So...big engines giving you any gip?"

"Scared the hell out of the green one."

"Well well!" Thomas was impressed. "I get the feeling you and I shall have a beautiful friendship!" He turned to Edward. "That Fat one sent for me Probably wants help."

"Sssh, here he comes!" whispered Edward. Sir Topham climbed over and stood in front of the three engines.

"Nice work Thomas. You've been quick. Listen, Henry, Gordon and James are sulking. They say they won't shunt like common tank engines. So I have shut them up literally in their sheds, and I want you both to run the line for a change."

"Common tank engines?!" snorted Thomas as he puffed away. "Balls to them! We'll show them."

"Oh, and Percy, of course, will help too."

"Oh thank you sir!"

"Don't suck up to me, Percy."

...

Edward and Thomas took over the running of the main line, whistling and greeting each other as they passed. And also started making up stories about how Henry would no doubt descend into cannibalism. Percy had puffed along the branchline, taking over as resident cheeky busy body. Thomas was worried about Annie and Clarabel, but both driver and guard promised to look after them. Annie preferred Percy, as he actually appeared to listen to her rambling.

There were fewer trains, but the passengers didn't mind...as much. They had run out of things to throw, and knew that three engines were having a lesson.

...

Elsewhere, Sir Topham Hatt was finishing a pitch. "It occurs to me that it's time to expand the railway This situation has given me the opportunity. We meed more engines to prepare for the influx we get in the next few years." He sat down. "So gentlemen. We've got a whole island to explore. How about we start expanding?"

...

"GO ON STRIKE YOU SAID!"

"HE WILL LOOK SILLY, YOU SAID!"

"Okay, fellows, let's just- JAMES, DON'T HIT ME LIKE THAT. HENRY! STOP WITH THAT STEAM."

Gordon, Henry and James were cold, lonely and miserable. They wished now they hadn't been so silly.


	17. Episode 17: Percy Runs Aaway

Thanks to RosieAngelina for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

 **What do you mean, we have to pay him? Look, I know we've kind of been banking on him being a Beatle, but do we really need to...Mr Starr?**

Yep **.**

 **Pretend you never heard this.**

S'cool.

 **...**

"Nine hundred ninety nine bottles of oil on the wall, nine hundred ninety nine bottles of oil."

"SHUT UP HENRY!" shouted James and Gordon.

Gordon, Henry and James were miserable. Nothing new there. But being stuck inside Tidmouth Sheds for two weeks had left them a little...stir crazy. And emotional. And...injured. At first, it had been a bit of fun, as the other three engines had been moved down to Vicarstown to truly trap the big engines in misery. And then the cabin fever had set in. Now Gordon was missing one of his buffers, Henry was now desperately smoking black dust from his funnel and James's coat was resembling that of a mouldy carpet that had been beaten to death by fists. They had been shut up here for two weeks, and they were, by now, longing to get out again.

At last, the Fat Controller arrived, in a far swankier car than before and with his top hat embedded with rhinestones. "I hope you are sorry!" He said proudly, gleefully celebrating in how smart he was. "And I hope you understand that you are not so important after all." He paused, aware that trying to convince trains to work for him by telling them they were not important was perhaps a flawed technique to negotiate on, but he plowed on. "We have a new tank engine called Percy who helps pull coaches-"

"AND IS GREEN!" roared Henry. Or roared in as much as one can roar when congested. "THE UNORIGINAL HACK."

"Actually there are three blue engines. You want to talk unoriginal?" Gordon muttered.

"I'M THE SPECIAL ONE!" shrieked James, who had lost his wheeling on reality the most.

Hatt felt he was losing control of his lecture. "And Thomas and Edward have been working the main line nicely. But I will let you out now if you promise to be good."

The three engines perked up, and already began calculating how fast to wheedle. "OH YES SIR!" wailed Gordon, throwing himself on his sword, and abandoning his morals for the chance to not listen to Henry sing again.

"We WILL!" screeched James, who was still not fully adjusted to a normal volume.

Sir Topham cleared his ears. "Right. Please remember that this 'No Shunting' nonsense must stop."

"Fine." Henry sulked.

As the three engines were started up, Gordon steamed past and let out a slightly maniacal "YOUR DAY WILL COME, SIR!"

...

The Controller then told Percy, Edward and Thomas could go and play on the branchline for a few days, and they ran off happily to find Annie and Clarabel at the junction.

The three of them had also formed a rather interesting friendship. Edward was the guiding force, trying to get Thomas's mind off smoking and on work, and guiding Percy in matters of railway ettiquette ("These Sidings are dirty!" "You should see it when the Stag Dos come in."). The tanks, for the most part, were soon good friends, and had taken to mocking Edward friendly.

"G'day girls! I'm back from the hunt!" Thomas whistled as he backed down.

"Thomas!" said Clarabel joyfully. Annie sniffed, but the smirk on her face indicated that both coaches had missed him very much. Elsewhere, Edward and Percy were playing with trucks. Their favorite game, in fact, was 'Smack the Monsters', which they were doing well at.

"STOP STOP STOP!" wailed the trucks, but the two engines laughed manically as they reveled in their power to tidily arrange the trucks.

Thomas whistled and took off. "See y'all later!" he said, his adopted American accent making everyone wince. "I gotta go see what you did to the branch-line!"

"Screw you!" Percy mockingly called back as Thomas puffed off.

Next, Edward took some empty trucks (Some being the key word, he had failed to notice that Percy had filled some of the last few up) to the quarry. This was news to Percy, as in all the time that they had discussed the Island, never before had a quarry come up before.

"Right, Perc, look after the yard, don't blow it up, see you later! Also, one last thing-"

Percy zoned out and began to imagine himself as King.

"-so don't do that! Percy?"

"Good luck Edward!" Percy was left on his own for the first time in a while. He didn't mind. He liked watching trains and being cheeky to the other engines. "Hurry hurry hurry!" he would say, and make the three big engines very cross.

Well, Gordon very cross. James merely bit his lip and ignored him, while Henry suffered a nervous breakdown in both senses of the word.

...

Later on in the day, Percy had done a great deal of shunting, leaving two trucks for the workers to take as construction materials at Wellsworth. He sat outside the signalbox and waited for the signalman to change the points so he could get back to the Yard for another drink.

He was eager to work (Well, by a loose definition of the word, work.) but was rather careless. In fact, the entire reason that they needed the construction materials was because Percy had somehow managed to burn down a house. Edward had warned him "Be careful on the main line, whistle to the signalmen when you are there and don't drink his tea. That stuff's nasty. So don't do that! Percy?" But Percy, of course, didn't remember to whistle. So the signalman, being a short sighted man whom people believed had only kept his job because they felt sorry for him, forgot about him.

Percy waited and waited. His driver and fireman, both rather lazy people, did not whistle themselves because they had discovered a fascinating exposure on Page 3. The fireman had just been ready to get up and alert the signalman, when the driver had looked from side to side shiftily and retrieved a full hardcore smut magazine from his jacket.

The points were still against him, so he couldn't move. Well he could, but it would end badly. Then he looked ahead. "Huh. Track looks a lot more blue than I remember it. And blurry. And...moving. And...OH NUTS AND BOLTSACKS! PEEP PEEP!" He whistled in horror. For there, rushing down the line, was Gordon with the express!

Gordon had been cheerfully enjoying how quickly he had regained his top spot when he had looked ahead. "Huh. Track looks a lot more green than I remember it. And blurry. And...getting closer. And...OH NUTS AND BOLTSACKS! OOOOOOOOOH!" He roared. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Percy slammed his eyes shut and tried to move backwards. The fireman had tossed (Not like that) the magazine aside and had staggered in, while the driver grabbed hold of the footplate in mad desperation.

Percy opened his eyes. Gordon, his face stuck in a jaw-dropped expression of terror, stopped a few inches from Percy, his buffers were only just out of reach of Percy's. He was suddenly very, very angry. Gordon. Not Percy.

Percy had begun to move, finally. "I WON'T STAY HERE!" He shrieked. "THIS IS TOO HEAVY FOR ME. I'LL RUN AWAY!" The fireman had leaped from his cab the moment it appeared that he was to be struck, and the driver hadn't even lasted that long.

Gordon stared in bafflement as Percy began backing up so fast you would have thought he was part rabbit.

"Uh." he said. "What just happened?"

The signalman glanced down. "Oh look!" he said. "A train!"

...

Percy had raced through Edward's station (Leaving a annoyed Edward to simply sigh "Why does no one ever listen to me?") and had been so frightened that he raced up Gordon's hill without stopping.

"WOW! I AM TOO FAST FOR WORDS!" And he was, he was so scared that words failed him. His backwards racing was soon catching attention and had the benefit of becoming a early meme on the Island.

After that, he was tired. In fact, soon he was beginning to wonder if he was the Road Runner, and if so, did that make Gordon the Coyote? But he couldn't stop, he had no driver to shut off steam, apply his brake or actually use the ultimate weapon 'Intentional Derailing'.

He entered Lower Suddery (Although at this point, words were a foreign concept, like slowing down, and stopping.) and let out a moan that a zombie would be jealous of. He tried using that thing that he assumed was a mouth and slurred out "Iwannastop, iwannastop."

"Oh god." said a porter. "Another drunk engine."

But this time, he was in luck that he got a actual kindly signalman, who saw Percy was in trouble and switched the points. Percy let out a 'Ug' of thanks, and felt his eyes roll back into his head.

He puffed wearily onto a nice empty siding that ended with a bank of...calling it manure would be disgusting, so a bank of earth. He was too tired now to care where he stopped. "Iwannastop. iwannastop-" He frowned. "I did stooped!"

His bad grammar aside, he was correct, and he felt himself relax onto the earth. Not the planet. The bank.

"Never mind Percy." said a voice.

"GOD?!" asked Percy.

"No. I'm Steve. You shall have a drink and some coal, and then you'll feel better."

"Oh...alcohol?"

"Better bloody believe it."

Presently, Gordon arrived with a winch in tow. Get...Get it? In tow? In tow with the winch and the...Sorry.

"Well done Percy! You started so quickly you stopped a nasty accident!" Gordon smiled cheerfully. "And that accident was me beating you into a pulp!"

Percy gulped sheepishly. "I'm sorry I was cheeky. You were clever to stop."

"Damn right." Then Gordon helped pull Percy out of the bank.

Later on, neither of them said a word to Sir Topham Hatt. But oddly enough, the short sighted signalman vanished.

...

Percy is still cheeky, because that's just the way he is. But he's always careful when he goes on the main line.

Yeah.

Wait how long that lasts.


	18. Episode 18: Coal

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

So.

 **Hmm?**

That stuff about not paying me?

 **Well the thing is, Mr Starr, OH LOOK ANOTHER EPISODE!**

...

Henry the Green Engine was feeling sorry for himself. Shockingly. Ever since he had arrived on the Island (In mysterious circumstances, it must be said), he had not felt as good as other engines felt, but recently he had been feeling worse and worse. Maybe it had something to do with constantly being trapped in tight enclosed spaces where dirt and germs gathered quite often.

One morning he was feeling especially sorry for himself. Sometimes he could pull trains, and sometimes he had no strength at all.

"I suffer dreadfully!" he wailed. "And NO ONE cares! NO ONE at all!"

"Rubbish." snapped James. "You don't just work hard enough!" He puffed away angrily, to go and look at himself in a mirror again. Though Henry was too busy locked in his self-pitying mood to really absorb this, if he had listened, he would have reflected upon how strange it was being lectured like this from James of all engines.

He even considered writing some poetry to express his feelings on the matter, but he wondered where. He had been kicked out of the Sodor Angsting Poem Society for being too grim.

...

One day, the Fat Controller arrived to speak with him. Mr Carlin was in the cab, fiddling with Henry's controls. Therefore, every so often a loud burst of rage would come through to interrupt the conversation.

"Well Henry...there's a little matter of costs I need to discuss with you-"

"SON OF A MOTHERLESS *****!" raved Mr Carlin as a spanner flew out the window.

"To be blunt, you're too expensive Henry!"

"That caviar I ordered was CHEAP!"

"Honestly, we're still having trouble with that National Health Service being implemented on the Island."

"GREAT **** ON A ******* BALLS!" roared his driver Henry's tender was smacked backwards.

"Ohhhhhkay, we've given you new parts and new paint too. But they've done you no good."

"Why are you smiling?"

"Hmm? Sorry, thought of a funny joke, that's all." He cleared his throat. "If we can't make you better, we must get another engine to replace you."

"WAIT WHAT!?" screeched Mr Carlin.

"WelllookatthetimeImustbegoing!" Hatt made a undignified exit. This made Henry, his driver and his fireman very sad. And angry, as they spent the next few minutes turning the air blue with curse words.

...

"Think they'll get rid of Henry?"

Gordon frowned. "Not if they want to have the unions on them like a hawk."

"With what you did, I'd be surprised if you were even still in contact with the unions." snidely noted Percy.

"Watch it, pea-green, or I'll ram you so hard you'd wish that you were getting scrapped." Gordon frowned. "Hang on, isn't that Fatty?"

It was indeed. The Fat Controller had changed out of his normal suit and into a pair of blue overalls that looked as though they hadn't been worn for years. He had even removed his hat. This was a descion that he was regretting, as several small children were staring at his bald head in fascination.

Henry backed down in order to take a train of green coaches on a run. Sir Topham climbed into Henry's cab and tried not to stare as Carlin smoked his seventh cigarette of the day, and the Fireman pulled out a dirty magazine.

"Ahem." He coughed. Both men jumped up and hurriedly tried to look like they were busy.

Henry had managed to start, but as they puffed through the countryside, his fireman was not satisfied. Mostly because he hadn't had the chance to finish reading that magazine of his. "Henry's a bad steamer." He said. "I can build up his fire like a pro, but it makes no difference, there's not enough heat."

"That's what she said!" snapped Carlin, who was also unsatisfied.

"I...see." said the Fat Controller, who wondered if he was slightly out of his comfort zone here.

Henry tried very hard, but it was no good. He coughed and spluttered, the lack of steam was hurting him. He came to a sharp stop outside Edward's station. Edward nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic way.

"Oh dear!" wailed Henry once more. "I shall have to go away! Oh dear! Oh dear!"

"Oh get on with yourself, you ham!" laughed Edward. He suddenly sobered up when he realized that Henry was being deadly serious for once. "Well." He said awkwardly. "Maybe they'll find something."

"Edward." said Henry mournfully. "If I leave, I want you to have my CD collection."

"Oh." said Edward, touched by this odd gesture.

All he could do was go slowly onto a siding, and Edward took charge of the train. As he backed down, his tender bounced against the wall. "OH!" He shouted angrily. "WATCH IT!"

"WATCH YOURSELF!" rudely snapped Carlin.

Edward moved over to take control of the train. And while he did, the Fat Controller and Henry's Fireman went into discussion once more, as Carlin was busy cursing at Henry's moping.

"What do you think is wrong, fireman?"

"I do have a name." But the Fireman suddenly felt braver, for no one had really asked him his opinion before. Carlin tended to, for lack of a better term, railroad everything he said. "Well scuse me sir, beg your pardon. Fact is, i think it's the coal."

He tensed. For the Fat Controller had often struggled with getting coal of a good quality, and he had always suspected that people who did not have the scruples of the controller had snuck in coal of a cheaper make. But Sir Topham looked on and gestured for him to continue. "Well, we've had a poor lot lately. Today it's worse. I know that doesn't excuse the constant coughing and spluttering and all the other problems, but those were caused by...well, certain incidents. Besides, the other engines can manage, they have big fireboxes. Henry's is small and can't make the heat." Edward gave Henry a slightly mocking glance. "With Welsh Coal, he'd be a different engine!"

"Never trust anything Welsh!" snapped Mr Carlin. "It'll give him the runs!"

"Oh I wish I could run!" wailed Henry, missing the point.

"Besides! That **** is expensive!"

"It is expensive." said the Fat Controller thoughtfully. "But I suppose that Henry deserves a chance. James shall go and fetch some."

Henry did not think the future would go well if it was left in James's power. Edward didn't either, but whistled cheerfully.

...

"I hope you appreciate how DIRTY I had to get to bring this!" snarled James as he puffed away.

Henry stared at the mountain of coal that was in front of him. "Are we sure this isn't a drug of some kind?" His mood wasn't helped by the fact that when the Welsh Coal came, his driver and fireman were 'excited'.

"Now we'll show em, Henry!" enthused the fireman. Carlin pulled out his pipe and began smoking it.

They carefully made his fire, putting large lumps of coal like a wall around the outside, then the glowing middle part was covered with smaller lumps. Meanwhile, Mr Carlin was staring into the distance as a flying elephant ran over a truck.

"You're spoiling my fire!" groaned Henry, who was beginning to wonder if this wasn't some increasingly complicated plan on the Fat Controller's part to use him as a drug mule.

"Wait and see." said the Fireman. "We'll have a roaring fire, just when we want it!"

"IS THAT SHED TRYING TO MAKE LOVE TO ME?!" screamed Carlin.

...

The Fireman was right, when Henry had reached the Knapford platform, he was boiling nicely. Gordon and Percy watched on with interest as Henry let off steam and caused both to cough and splutter.

"How are you Henry?" asked the Fat Controller.

"Peep peep!" Henry tooted. "I feel fine! So fine! HENRY YOU SO FINE."

Gordon lost the will to speak at that moment.

"Have you a good fire, driver?"

"Never better sir!" said Charlie Sand, having been drafted in to replace Carlin at short notice, as the latter was currently stoned out of his mind. "Plenty of steam too!"

"No record breaking." said the Fat Controller as Henry began to hype himself up. "There are laws about that. Don't push him too hard."

"Are you kidding?" laughed Sand. "I don't think he'll need pushing. We're going to have to hold him back!" and Henry took off as the brass band began to play.

...

As they left the station, Henry spotted Marklin moving past him. He whistled so loudly that the black engine thought that the cops were onto him and he began immediately preparing his escape from the Island.

Henry had a lovely day, even forcing his way onto Thomas's branchline at one point just to show off how great he was. He couldn't stop smiling, He had never felt so well in his life. He wanted to go faster, but his driver wouldn't let him.

"Steady old fellow!" he said. "There's plenty of time!"

"Wow. Can I transfer to you?"

"Sorry mate. Stuck with Carlin for the moment."

"Blow."

They arrived early at Elsbridge, and Henry spent the next few minutes laughing manically in delight at his new lease on life. Thomas pulled up. Before he could even open his mouth, Henry darted in with a biting retort. "Where have you been lazybones? You're too fat, you need exercise! Well, can't wait for dawdling tank engines like you. Goodbye!" And he took off once more, wheeshing with triumph over his new success.

Thomas stared after him, aware vaguely that Henry had turned his own insults back at him, but more shocked at how Henry was going. "Well." He spoke aloud. "Did you ever see anything like it?"

Both Annie and Clarabel agreed they never had.

...

Marklin puffed forward, angrily looking from left to right. He was almost to the docks. And then he stopped.

And thought.

"It's Kipper Night soon." He murmured. "And that means there'll be a lot of teething troubles. If Henry knows something..." He thought once more.

And then he grinned.

"Oh dear." He laughed. "Poor Henry! Whatever caused THAT accident?!"

TO. BE. CONTINUED.


	19. Episode 19: The Flying Kipper

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing!

And cue the theme!

...

YOU CAN'T GET AWAY FROM ME!

 **START THE NEXT EPISODE! START THE NEXT ONE!**

...

One winter's evening (It had all been winter in previous escapades. This had not been made clear to many engines, who were concerned that they were trapped in some sort of freaky Groundhog Day loop.) Mr Carlin said. "We're out ******* early tomorrow!"

"Why?" asked Henry, pleasantly enjoying the sensation of Welsh Coal in his tender.

"We've got to take the Flying Kipper!" The Fireman said chirpily. After Henry let out a groan, he leaned down and whispered conspiratally in his...where his ears would be. "Now don't tell Gordon, but if we pull the Kipper nicely, the Fat Controller will let us pull the express. I mean look at the special coal! It's working well!"

"HURRAH!" cried Henry. "That will be lovely."

"GO TO SLEEP!" roared James from the next shed. "And what's that about the express?!"

Henry shut up.

...

All ships use the harbor at the big station by the sea. The harbor had randomly sprung up over night like a plant, and no one had really understood how this had happened so quickly without any assistance via engines. There are passenger ships, cargo ships and fishing boats that also come here. Also, on one or two occasions a cruise ship landed there with the main occupants being ravers. But they didn't like to talk about that.

The fishers unload their fish on the quay, mostly to annoy the workmen who work there. Some of it will go to shops in the town, some are nicked by greedy workmen to eat, and the rest go in a special train to other places far away. This raises the interesting question of why the fishing boats didn't use other harbors that had mysteriously appeared, but the answer to that was the Fishermen were drunk.

This train is what the railway call...slow. Also, the Flying Kipper.

At four o'clock, Marklin examined the route that Henry would go when he took the train. He then set off to make sure that his plan to eliminate any witnesses supposedly to his mistakes went smoothly.

Henry was ready at five o clock, and he was quite possibly the happiest he'd ever been. Maybe it was the coal, maybe it was the feeling of peace or maybe it was just the beautiful scenery.

A suspiciously Ringo Starr looking workman checked his watch and gestured. There was snow and frost covering the Island. Men hustled and shouted, loading the vans with crates of fish. The last door banged, the guard waved his green lamp (And then his fist because he had hit his hand on the side) and the Flying Kipper was ready to go!

Mr Carlin spread sand from the sandbox onto the tracks, giving Henry the chance to grip the wheels. In one, suspiciously flat looking van, a orchestra began playing a tune.

"Come along, come along!" huffed Henry as he started. The vans shuddered and groaned, for they were old and wanted a nap.

"Trock trick trock trick!" They said, screaming their favorite Death Metal song. "ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!"

"The hell did you just call me?" asked Henry as he left the Harbor.

...

"That is better, that is better!" huffed Henry as he pulled through Knapford. He had never felt so happy. He whistled aloud, waking up several neighbors who began to make complaints.

Clouds of smoke and steam poured from his funnel into the cold earth, and the fire's light shone bright. Henry laughed recklessly. It was night, but with the glow of the yellow sun, he could see all the glory and beauty of nature around him, free from any pollution. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. "Hurry hurry!" he chuckled, steaming ahead.

The cold air and beautiful nature infected even Mr Carlin, who was humming to himself with such passion that not even the Fireman could correct him on how out of tune he was.

They were doing well. The light grew better and the signal-lights shone green as they passed. "I wonder what James would think of this!" enthused Henry. "Probably look at himself in the water. I mean the last thing he told me was to shut up and let him sleep!"

They crossed the viaduct, and Henry looked ahead. "Hang on. Yellow signal!" Mr Carlin moved to shut off steam, but the home signal was down.

"Odd." muttered the Fireman.

"Never mind!" Carlin leaned out. "All clear Henry! Away we go!"

"Hooray!"

They couldn't know that Marklin had taken advantage of the points freezing over, for the home signal had been set at danger before snow had forced it down.

...

James sighed. "What I wouldn't give for Thomas's ciggies right now?" He stared mournfully off, before his mind went back to his favorite topic: Himself. He was pulling a goods train, which had stopped to let the Flying Kipper pass.

The driver and fireman were playing cards and drinking cocoa in the guard van. "The kipper is due." said the driver. "No, the train!" he snapped at the fireman, who had decided to look at the stove.

"Who cares!?" said the guard, who was drunk. "This is good cocoa!"

The driver stood up. "Come on mate, back to our engine." The guard followed him out.

They had left just in time.

Henry came round the corner, his life feeling like it couldn't get any better. He sped forward and stared at the guard's van. "What-" He asked in confusion.

In the cab, everything happened in slow motion. The Fireman and Carlin stared at each other.

"GET OUT!" roared Carlin.

"We can't leave Henry!"

"We have to get ourselves home safe first!" Carlin suddenly felt unbelievably emotional towards the green engine. "I'm sorry!" He shouted, before pushing the fireman off into the snow bank.

Henry didn't even get a chance to close his eyes. He smashed into the brake van and felt his wheels leave the rails, and then come back down on wood that was definitely not part of the rails. He rolled forward, smashing through truck after truck, before he wobbled, and with a slight push from a slight piece of wood, he toppled over, hitting the side of the tracks with a massive smash.

James screamed, and hurried off immediately. He reversed back onto another track, ready to give the fool a piece of his mind.

"HENRY! YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! YOU- You...you-" He stared.

Because for the first time, Henry the Green Engine wasn't responding to a jibe made by him.

In fact, he wasn't responding at all.

"Oh no." James whispered.

...

Henry came too around about ten in the morning. He lay there dazed and surprised, and was sure he was dead because James was moving rescue operations around at the speed of a actual responsible engine. He could vaguely hear Edward desperately demanding that the workmen leave the fish and just pull what remained of the Flying Kipper out of the way.

"Have you got in touch with-"

"Thomas and Percy are ready to help if we need them! Gordon can't, he's too busy taking the express on his own. But he...well he wants him to get better so he can shout at him some more."

Henry frowned. He tried to speak, but for the moment, he couldn't. And then, the Fat Controller walked up.

"Henry!?" He shouted in horror "HENRY!? ARE YOU OKAY?!"

Henry licked his lips. "The signal...was down sir." He whispered feebly.

Hatt sighed with relief. "I know, I know. It's not your fault Henry. Ice and snow caused the accident." He looked back, as James's crew and the guard were given new cups of cocoa. Carlin and the Fireman were pacing up and down in horror. "I'm er, sending you somewhere."

"Not the scrapyards?!" wheezed Henry in horror.

"No! No, I'm sending you to Crewe. It's a fine place for sick engines. They'll fix you up good, give you a new shape, a larger firebox, you won't even need special coal anymore! Won't that be nice?!"

"Yes sir." said Henry, doubtfully. For he was aware sadly that last night had been the most beautiful night of his life. And now it had gone.

...

He wasn't wrong. That was the most beautiful night of his life. But the most beautiful day of his life was when he came home, two weeks later. He liked being at Crewe, but was glad to come home again.

Much to his delight, there was a crowd of people on the station as he entered, waiting for him. He looked so splendid in his new shape that they gave him three cheers.

"Peep peep!" he shouted back gleefully. "Thank you very much!" And he vanished into Wellsworth.

...

And I am sorry to say, that a lot of little boys are often late for school because they wait to see Henry pass by. And when they do, they often see him pulling the Express.

He had stolen it.

He did it so well that Gordon was jealous. In fact, when Henry had passed him by on his first day back, he gleefully whistled so loudly that the big blue engine jumped in the air.

But that, as they say, is another story.


	20. Episode 20: Whistles and Sneezes

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF.

And cue the theme!

...

I'm glad we settled that like men.

 **You punching me in the face until I gave you money was like a man?**

Definitely! Next episode!

...

Gordon was cross.

I'll give you a moment to recover...And we're back. Specifically, he was explaining the reason for his crossness to the other five engines currently staying at Tidmouth Sheds. James had suggested that in order to celebrate Henry's successful return, they should have a sleep over party of some kind. Thomas had snarkily asked why they didn't just get their wheels done and spin the oil can at the same time, but Edward had latched onto James's rare good suggestion and ordered everyone to attend on pain of being nagged.

And now, in the morning after, Gordon had lost his cool from all the attention he wasn't getting. "Why should Henry have a new shape?!" He raved. "A shape good enough for me is good enough for him!"

"But Gordon, Henry doesn't keep eating the cream cakes all the time!" Percy protested, for he was very annoyed that Gordon had stolen his midnight feast.

Gordon ignored Percy, as he was want to do. "He goes gallivanting off to Crewe-"

"More being carried off on a flatbed spewing metal up." James interrupted.

"-leaving us to do his work-"

"While he was potentially dying."

"-and then comes back saying how happy he is!"

"How dare he be happy." said Thomas with a completely straight face, for mocking Henry had taken a break for a while.

"IT'S DISGRACEFUL!" Edward had blocked out what Gordon was saying once more. "And there's another thing-"

"With you!? You amaze me." Percy deadpanned.

"-HENRY WHISTLES TOO MUCH!" Henry mouthed a 'what is he on about' to James, who did the engine equivalent shrug. "No respectable engine whistles loudly at stations."

"Pot and kettle." Percy muttered.

"It isn't wrong, but we just don't do it."

Poor Henry could feel his morale being sapped from him. Percy, who had sort of developed a bit of a liking for the big green engine, puffed up.

"Never mind Henry. I'm glad your home again. I like your whistling!"

"Thanks buddy!" Henry turned to Gordon. "Hey Gordon! Percy's getting my tender when I die!"

Gordon ignored Henry as he puffed out to take the express. "Goodbye Henry! We're glad to have you with us again, but remember what I said!"

"How could I forget?" grumbled Henry.

...

Later, Henry pulled a train to Wellsworth. Edward, bemoaning the lack of kind and pretty yellow female engines to talk to, had not listened to a word that Gordon said and so greeted Henry's whistle cheerfully.

"Hello Henry! You look great!"

"Aw, really?" said Henry, who had become relatively nicer.

"You know, it's odd the things you miss. I was so pleased to hear your happy whistle yesterday!"

"Thanks pal!" Henry said. "You know, it's odd too that-" He paused, as a faint sound reached them. "Ssssh, sssh, can you hear that?"

Edward's face moved in a way that would indicate a sort of tilting of the head. "Sounds like Gordon. Ought to be Gordon. But Gordon, loud-mouth that he is, doesn't whistle like that."

...

It was Gordon. As he rushed through the country, he had a expression of sheer agony on his face, as though he was hearing the baying of the hounds of hell. He had come rushing down one of the lesser hills at a tremendous rate. He didn't look at Henry and he didn't look at Edward, though this was standard Gordon behaviour. He screamed straight through the station and disappeared.

In the silence that followed, Edward let out a soft sound. "Wow. Well."

"It's not wrong." chuckled Henry. "But we just don't do it."

"That a...in joke?"

"You were at the sheds this morning!"

"Do you actually listen to what he says anymore?"

"Touche. Oh well, it went like this-"

...

Gordon rushed up his own hill and was screeching along the line. The noise was awful. Several women went into labor, a mine collapsed in under itself, several firemen rushed out to emergencies that weren't happening, the television was ruined and most importantly, several opera singers got insanely jealous.

Gordon tried to enter Knapford Station with a fair amount of calm and dignity, but everyone was holding their ears and shouting what Gordon could do with his express train. The Fat Controller held his ears too.

"TAKE HIM AWAY!" He bellowed "AND STOP THAT NOISE!"

"BUT SIR, SHOULD WE REALLY KILL GORDON!?"

"NO! THE WHISTLING!"

"WHAT?!"

"WHAT?!"

At last, Gordon puffed sadly away to Vicarstown, but he wouldn't stop with his whistling until two fitters climbed up and smacked his whistle about until his whistle valve was in place.

"OUCH!" BE CAREFUL!"

The two fitters stared at each other, aware that silence hurt their ears now.

...

That night, Gordon slunk into the shed. His face was that of a engine who had heard the sound of scrapper's tools in the next room being sharpened. He was glad that for a short time, the shed was empty.

Key words being short time.

James arrived first, and stopped in the bunk next to Gordon. He grinned evilly, until Henry arrived. Gordon sighed.

"It isn't wrong." murmured Henry to no one in particular. "But we just don't do it."

Gordon glared at Henry, but didn't trust either his voice or his pride to respond back to him. Percy arrived shortly afterwards, and the four remaining engines prepared to sleep.

No one mentioned whistles.

Much.

...

The next morning, Henry felt happy once more as he pulled a express train. "I feel so well! I feel so well!" he chanted cheerfully, and his good mood infected the coaches.

"Trickety trock, trickety trock!" hummed the coaches. Henry still had no idea what that meant, but he had not heard it for so long that he began singing along with it.

Then he saw some boys on Title Screen Bridge. "Peep peep! Hello!" he said cheerfully. The boys smiled.

On the other side of the bridge, a pained and much crosser Henry came to a stop. "OH! OH!" He bellowed in pain. The boys weren't the usual boys who just waved, took his number and cheered the engines (AKA, the simpler townspeople in a nutshell) but they thought it was much more fun to drop stones on him instead. The Island was rather sparse for entertainment for boys.

The coaches were heart-broken. "They've broken our glass! They've broken our glass!" they sobbed. The Fireman and Mr Carlin got out to check the passengers for injuries. No one was really hurt, but they were cross.

"CALL THE POLICE!" they roared.

"But where will we find Sting at this hour of the day?" asked Mr Carlin.

"Call their parents! TO WHIP EM!" shouted a older gentleman. The Fireman shook his head.

"No. Leave it to Henry and we." Carlin said.

"What will you do?" they asked as one.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Are we going to get in trouble for this?"

"Probably."

"Yes! Yes!"

"Well then." said Mr Carlin. "Henry is going to SNEEZE at them!"

Henry shrugged. He knew his germs would probably be able to put a small horse down for the count, so he was okay with this. He had had it with people disrespecting him. As they puffed off to the loop station, the boys flipped them the bird.

...

Word had spread, and arriving back at Lower Suddery, many people were waiting to see what Henry was going to do.

"Henry's plenty of ashes." noted the Fireman. "It would be best if we kept all windows and doors shut until we pass the bridge completely."

"Why bother? This'll scare the hell outta them!" Carlin cackled. "Henry's as excited as we are! Aren'tcha boy!"

Henry was feeling stuffed up and had a expression like his was constipated, so he didn't respond. They slowly puffed off towards Title Screen Bridge again. Soon, they could see the boys, and they all had stones with them.

"Are you ready, Henry?" asked Carlin. "Sneeze like that dwarf when I tell you...NOW!"

Henry frowned. They hadn't gone over the discussion of what he was actually meant to do in this situation and both men had just assumed that he had known what they were talking about. So he decided to do the first thing that came into mind.

"ATCHOO!" he bellowed, and sent steam and ashes rushing up out of his funnel, covering the boys with ashes til they were as black as...coal. No controversy there thank you!

"Well done Henry!" said Carlin, proud that Henry had totally understood his complex plan.

The boys looked at each other in shock. Ashy shock. They then turned and saw their parents coming, looking angry. They looked at each other and ran as fast as they could.

Henry went home very pleased with himself. He had taught Gordon and silly boys a lesson, with merely a whistle and a sneeze.

And every time that the two engines passed each other for the next week or so, Henry would deviously grin and whistle loudly. The wince on Gordon's part was worth it, every time.


	21. Episode 21: Toby and the Stout Gentleman

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF.

And cue the theme!

...

Hey, so I may have accidentally picked up your phone to check to see if that money was coming, turns out, there's some merchandise for you?

 **Ah, good. For a tram, I presume?**

Yeah. What's he got to do with this?

 **Well, he's in the next episode.**

Smashing.

...

Far up in the mountains, where most engines rarely go unless they have to, there is a whole untapped section of the Island. There are places where rails can run and there are precious places that are filled with riches.

But there is one line here. And on that line...is Toby.

Toby is a tram engine. He has cowcatchers (For when he has to become Tobyman, beater of cows) side-plates (For when he wants to look cool) and doesn't look like a steam engine at all. This casual racism aside, he was actually quite a decent engine, even if he had become somewhat of a mad engine with only himself and a single coach to properly talk to. Recently he had taken to wearing a sun hat on his head. Even in winter.

He takes trucks from farms and villages to the main line. When he did this, he was almost never seen by the other engines. This was something that Toby obssessed over to a rather ridiculous degree. But then he had more than enough time. But he was cheerful to everyone he meets. Even the axe-murderers.

He has a coach named Henrietta, who has seen better days. Such as when dinosaurs walked the Earth. She didn't have a face, which was even more puzzling to Toby, as he clearly heard her talking to him. But whenever he talked to her, he got odd looks from many of the workmen.

"Henrietta." He said one day. "Are you just a voice in my head?"

"...What would you like me to answer that with? Because if I say yes, then you'll think I'm lying, and if I say no, you'll ignore me. It's just not fair!" she moaned. "Others get a face, but I don't!" She grumbled a lot, mainly because she remembered when she used to be full, and nine trucks used to rattle behind her.

Toby shrugged as he took the bend, and rang his bell. The Fisherman screamed and fell in the water. Frowning, Toby sighed. This world he lived in was a odd one.

Now there were only three or four trucks, for the farms and factories sent their goods mostly by lorry. Toby was therefore not a big fan of lorries, for they often mocked him. He dealt with mockery the same way he dealt with everything else bad. He repressed it. He is always careful that he doesn't lose his temper and accidentally kill someone.

That had actually been a thought that had gone through his head. Really, Toby could have been a excellent serial killer. The cars, buses and lorries often have unrelated accidents, but Toby prefers to think of it as karma coming down on their heads. Toby hasn't had one for years, not since his driver helped him get through his shed-wetting phase.

The buses are crowded, and Henrietta is empty. Not figuratively, literally. Toby tends to have to console her a lot of nights.

...

"Look, it'll be fine!"

"You said that two years ago."

"Well-"

"And five years before that."

"Uh-"

"And when we first arrived."

"...It'll be fine! We always muddle through! I mean, look at us, look at how well we handle what we've got! Passengers that do show up are always happy, and the trucks never give us that much trouble!"

"Those bloody buses!"

"Come on, Henrietta, there's no cause for concern!"

"...There's something else, Toby. I saw a engine today."

"Wha- Why didn't you say-"

"Because he scared me. A black tank engine rolled up to the station while you were off venting into that shed-"

"The bus cut me off!"

"-and started asking me questions about how long we've been here, how often we get passengers and so on. And then he smiled at me. It was horrible."

"There there, m'dear. I'll be there to help."

"Don't you m'dear me! ...Goodnight."

"Goodnight!"

...

The next morning, both of them woke up bright and early and they arrived at the station of Lower Arlesburgh. There was a lady and a stout gentleman standing there with two children. The Stout Gentleman was apparently taking a right earful from the woman.

"-YOU SAID WE WOULDN'T BE ANYWHERE NEAR ANY BLOODY RAILWAYS! HERE WE ARE, STUCK UP THE MOUNTAIN WITH OUR CAR BLOODY BROKE DOWN!"

"Steady on Sybil!" The Stout Gentleman raised his hands, terrified that the woman may rip off his clothes and bite his ribs out. "It's not my fault Bertie went boom right at the moment we stopped." The two children looked bored, and Toby looked from side to side to see if there was anyway to leave. Of course, he was the Fat Controller, but Toby didn't know that yet.

"YOU AND THAT TRAMP OF YOURS-"

"NOW JUST A MINUTE! WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A NICE HOLIDAY WITH OUR GRANDCHILDREN BEFORE WE SEPARATE, SO-" The Fat Controller paused mid rant, as he smoothed out his casual wear of blue jacket, green shirt and relaxing sunhat.

"Come on grandpa!" cried the children. Stephen and Bridget Hatt were the grandchildren of Sir Topham, and were currently aware that their grandfather was beginning to look like a balloon pricked by a pin cushion. "Look at this engine!"

Toby swelled with pride.

"That's a tram engine, Stephen!" said Sir Topham, pleased to be able to one up his soon to be ex-wife. "He's probably very rare!"

"Is it electric?" asked Bridget, bluntly.

Toby's pride deflated. "PAH!" He snapped, never usually this rude, but being compared to electric engines was a bit like being compared to a unicorn.

"Sssh, sssh!" hissed her brother. "You've offended him!" Toby warmed to Stephen immediately, for despite his differences, he was still a engine who had some pride left in being one of the last of his kind.

"But trams are electric! Aren't they?"

"They are mostly. But this is a steam tram!" Lady Sybil Hatt, a haughty woman with the ability to make Topham feel very small very quickly, harumphed.

"May we go in it please?!" whined both children. Sybil glared at him. Topham faltered, then rallied. If he didn't stand up now-

"STOP! THAT! TRAIN!" The guard jumped a foot in the air. Topham smiled. "Well see, now there's some benefits to doing what I do."

"Shut up, Topham." growled Sybil, as they clambered on.

...

"Hooray!" chanted Henrietta. "I've got people inside me!" She waited for the snarky comeback from Toby, who was never one to pass up a oppurtunity to make fun of her double entendre. But Toby was still literally steaming.

"ELECTRIC, indeed! ELECTRIC, indeed!" He fumed. He felt very hurt, and no matter how much Henrietta cosetted and even mocked him, he didn't snap out of until he reached the station again.

The children got off, ran forward and thanked him profusely, and Toby couldn't help but grin and thank them back. Sybil snorted and turned towards the car haughtily. Sir Topham walked up.

"What's your name?" he asked curiously.

"Toby sir."

"Thanks Toby. Nice ride." Toby's eyes whirled. "Okay, okay, don't go OTT."

"Thank you sir!" said Toby, feeling much better.

...

As they traveled the rails one last time that day, Toby was enthusiastic once more. "This gentleman!" he told Henrietta. "Knows how to treat a engine!"

"Yes! Massage their egos." Both laughed as they passed the windmill. They looked around for the blue engine who supposedly passed this windmill quite a bit, but there was no sign of him.

"See, I told you things would be looking up!"

"Yes Toby, but one day..."

"Yes?"

"One day they won't. What will we do then?"

Toby did not answer.

For the next fortnight, the children came to seem Toby. Sometimes they rode with the guard, who was so tired that he usually fell asleep and left the Fat Controller and his grandchildren to handle the van. And sometimes, they sat in empty trucks, where they would sing songs. Songs that would make your ears burn. Hatt was not entirely convinced that Sybil hadn't taught the kids that to make him feel awkward and explain to his children personally why they were like this. But Toby was adoring it.

On the last day of all, they were invited into the cab. Even as the kids messed about, Toby was enjoying himself. So when they reached the station, he was suddenly jolted back to reality.

All of them were sorry when they had to go away. The Fat Controller's guards were there to escort Lady Sybil off to her new home, and to the tabloid journalists there waiting her life story. As she left, Toby began to very quietly cry.

The Fat Controller and his family thanked the driver, fireman and Toby very much. At last, Toby rang his bell forlornly. "Come again soon" he cried weakly.

"We will! We will!" cried the children as Toby drove off with Henrietta. They waved until Toby was out of sight.

The tram engine stayed silent throughout the day.

...

"Toby?"

"..."

"Toby please answer me."

"...What?"

"Are you okay?"

"...Look, what I'm about to say will come across as rude, but I genuinely don't mean it."

"Okay."

"I...It's not easy, m'dear, being up here on my own. Even if the company is one of the best, sometimes I like having other friends. They were nice. I liked them. It made me feel like the old days again. Like I could talk to someone who I haven't been talking to for years."

"I get it. You need other engines."

"I do. But where are we going to get them from?"

...

Months passed.

Toby had fewer and fewer trains. And one by one, even his trucks were removed. Fewer passengers bothered to show up. Even less than the few they had. And all the while Henrietta was disturbed by that smile, brittle but like a limpet, clinging to Toby's face despite the fact that everything was slowly, grinding to a halt.

"Our last day." said his driver sadly one morning. "The manager says we must close tomorrow." He climbed into the cab, along with his fireman.

"Toby?" Henrietta asked in concern. "Toby please say something."

The look of crushed defeat transformed quickly into that smile. "Show must go on." Toby said in the most brokenly cheerful voice ever.

That day, everyone wanted the chance of a last ride. The passengers joked and sang, but Toby and his driver wished they wouldn't. He rang his bell one last time, and slowly started.

Every old place they saw, Toby saw fading away, like mist was covering over it. He saw what remained of his line vanish, as if seeing it for the very last time. His smile stayed on, but Henrietta could see how heart-breaking this was for Toby.

"Goodbye Toby." said the passengers. "We are sorry your line is closing down."

"So am I." said Toby, staring dead ahead. "But then you didn't come before, when we needed you." The passengers shifted uncomfortably. Toby clicked his tongue. "Henrietta...take care. Find someone else. Be the best coach to them as you were to me. And thank you, m'dear. Thank you so...so very much."

"Toby, wait! I don't want to go without you! I WON'T GO!"

Toby drove off quickly before he broke down completely. He made it around the bend and let out a anguished wail that shook the very valley. The passengers stared at each other, and then at their feet. Slowly, they moved away.

Henrietta stared after Toby. "I'll wait." She whispered. "I'll wait for you."

...

"Nobody wants me." Toby thought aloud. The driver and fireman looked sadly at him, then closed the door, and left for the very last time. Toby stood there for a bit, and then went unhappily to sleep.

Engines can sleep forever, if they so wish.

But Toby didn't get that chance.

The next morning, the shed door was flung open and his driver danced in waving a piece of paper. Toby started. "Wha-"

"TOBY!" shouted the driver in delight. "WAKE UP AND LISTEN TO THIS! It's a letter from the Stout Gentleman!"

Toby felt his face fill with a smile so strong that a ox would have been jealous. Toby listened and...

Well. I dare not say more, or it will spoil the next story.


	22. Episode 22: Thomas in Trouble

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF.

And cue the theme!

...

 **All right Mr Starr!**

Yeah, just...me and Babs had a bit of a night last night, if you know what I mean.

 **Oh dear god, I can smell the alcohol from over here!**

Leave off man.

...

At the end of Thomas's branchline, there is a part of the line that leads to a quarry. It can go for some distance along the road, and Thomas was always very careful to whistle here in case anyone was coming.

He had had a bad experience with crossings. Especially considering that his lack of cigarettes was beginning to make him a bit antsy.

On this particular morning, he was pulling along the line with a series of trucks, and far at the back, Annie and Clarabel.

"Why are we stuck at the back instead of the trucks?!" shrieked Annie.

"Because." Thomas growled. "We ran out of breakvans, and you're the only two that can act as one! Now shut up and let me conce-" There was a loud bumping noise as Thomas hit a speed bump. He growled as his undercarriage bounced. "Well great!"

He frowned as he looked around. "What the hell happened to the Quarry!?"

His driver shrugged. "I don't think we've got the budget to go there today. Let's just circle round and shove this stone in the river!"

"I like this plan!" Thomas now had a irrational hatred of fish as a result of that incident. As they turned, Thomas saw a large policeman sitting close to the line.

"COO-EE!" shouted Thomas. "What a fatso!"

The fireman lightly whacked Thomas's side. "Bad Thomas! They prefer the term large, and HUSH. I HAVE A PERFECT RECORD."

Thomas 'liked' policeman. In the same way that most people 'like' going to the dentist. You acknowledge that they have to exist for a purpose, and you vaguely hope that one day they'll give you a lollipop. He had especially liked the constable who had just retired, who was known for being a giver of cigarettes and for being blind as a bat. His cousin, co-incidentally, had been the recently fired signalman at Wellsworth.

Thomas hoped that he could bribe the officer to allow him to cadge more ciggies. "Peep peep! Good morning!" He hoped that the policeman hadn't heard his previous remarks. Thomas hoped that the new constable would be friendly too.

He was not. He was red in the face and very cross.

"DISSSSSSSSGRACEFUL!" He bellowed loudly, and nearly tripped over his own shoes. "I DIDN'T SLEEP A WINK LAST NIGHT! IT WAS SOOOOOOOOOOOO QUIET!" Thomas winced instinctively. "AND NOW-" He pointed a chubby finger at Thomas. "AND NOW ENGINES COME WHISTLING BEHIND ME! I had enough of that job WHEN I WAS A SOLDIER!"

Thomas frowned. "But technically, I've contributed to the lack of quiet. Now it's not quiet! Jeez, I'm sorry, sir, I only said good morning!" Thomas muttered something under his breath about where the policeman could stick his whistle behind him.

The policeman swayed forward, and grabbed onto Thomas's buffers for support. He looked at his wheels and pointed to Thomas. "WHERE'S YOUR COW CATCHERS?!" he demanded. Though to Thomas it sounded a bit like "WHERE'SCHYERCOWCATSHERS?"

"But I don't catch cows sir."

The fireman sniggered.

"DON'T BE FUNNY!" snapped the policeman, as he sat down on the grass. He glared at the wheels also "NO SIDEPLATES EITHER! IT'S A BLOODY DISGRACE!" He pulled out a notebook that looked as though it had been dipped into a school cafe and wrote in it.

"ENGINES." He said loudly. "GOING ON PUBLIC ROADS MUST HAVE THEIR WHEELS COVERED AND A COWCATCHER IN FRONT TO PROTECT PEOPLE, EVEN WORTHLESS MAGGOTS LIKE YOU, AND ANIMALS FROM BEING DRAGGED UNDER THE WHEELS WHEN STRAYING ONTO THE LINE!" He jabbed Thomas's side. "YOU HAVEN'T! SO YOU. ARE. DANGEROUS!"

The driver stepped forward, part of his hat falling off. "Rubbish piggy!" he snapped. "We've been along here hundreds of times and never had a accident! Except for when my fireman needs to take a leak!"

"AND THAT-" declared the policeman, sucking his finger where he had injured it "-MAKES IT WORSE! I AM PLACIN YOU UNDER ARREST!"

"Eh?" asked the Fireman. "How are you going to lug this engine in!?"

The policeman ignored him, and wrote 'Regular Law Breaker' in his book. "I SHALL GIVE YOU TIME TO PACK YOUR BELONGINGS!"

Thomas puffed away, feeling very sad and having no idea what the hell had just happened. Clarabel looked at Annie. "Do we get a bad reputation if we're the coaches of a jailbird?"

...

The Fat Controller was having breakfast. He was eating toast and marmalade with his soon to be ex-wife. A last gesture before they went his separate ways, though Sybil had been giving him a angry eye.

The butler came in. "Scuse me sir. You are wanted on the telephone. Also, two thugs are here to pick up your wife." The Butler bowed stiffly to Sybil, and left.

"BALLS TO THAT TELEPHONE!" grumbled the Fat Controller. He ignored his wife's dark glare and listened to the conversation from the angry driver, but to be honest, it sounded a lot like a chipmunk with a hangover was talking.

"Right. Be there in a second." He glanced at Sybil. "Sorry dear!" He said cheerfully. "Thomas is in trouble with the police, and I'll be able to use my years of watching Rumpole to help him!"

Sybil walked over, threw her ring off in a dramatic moment, and when that failed to interest him, she stormed out, slamming the door.

Topham took a moment to celebrate the complete silence, and then ordered the butler to set out a table for he and his soon to be girlfriend.

...

When he arrived at the station, he clambered aboard and listened to the driver rant about what had happened.

"Dangerous to the public indeed! We'll see about that!"

He spoke to the policeman. He tried several things. Bribery ("Look, it's a perfectly good pound coin! What's wrong? ARE YOU ANTI-QUEEN?!"), threats ("LOOK, MY BEST FRIEND IS THE MAYOR. HE WILL END YOU), logic ("So, no one else has prosecuted us yet. I mean, all of my engines don't have- you know what, never mind.") and other tactics.

At one point, James whistled to Thomas, laughing over Thomas's misfortune.

No matter how much they argued, the policeman wouldn't budge.

"THE LAW!" He declared. "IS THE LAW! AND WE CAN'T CHANGE IT!"

"But you just did. I mean, has anyone tried to arrest a steam engine?" The Fat Controller, exhausted, turned to Thomas. "Sorry driver. It's no use arguing with this guy. We shall have to give Thomas those cowcatchers, I suppose." He rolled his eyes. "Even if it does look stupid."

"EVERYONE WILL LAUGH!" wailed Thomas. "They'll say I look like a tram!"

"Racis-" The Fat Controller stared. Then he laughed. "THOMAS YOU GENIUS! We want a tram engine!"

"EH?!" asked everyone assembled.

"See, I was on holiday recently, I met a wonderful tram engine named Toby. The buses and lorries are taking over most of his work! He could do with a change! He has cowcatchers and sideplates. I better write to the sub-manager at once."

"Now hold on a minute!" protested the policeman.

...

As they pulled under Title Screen Bridge, Toby grinned so wide that it hurt. Henrietta laughed alongside him, as they pulled into the nearest station. It was now a few days later when he had officially arrived.

He looked around his new home, and then to Sir Topham Hatt.

"That's a good engine." the Controller said approvingly. "I see you brought Henrietta!"

"You don't mind, sir? The Station master wanted to use her as a henhouse. And that would, well, never do!"

"No indeed!" agreed the Fat Controller, who was not in favor of cannibalizing his engines. "Now, off to work!" He laughed.

Toby smiled, and pulled away.

He made the silly trucks quickly snap too it even faster than Thomas did. He soon got used to working with a full schedule, and did it with a smile on his face. He spotted a fat policeman riding his bike up the hill, and rang his bell loudly.

The policeman jumped loudly. "OI! YOU!"

"Try and stop me!" Toby laughed cheerfully. "Come along m'dear!"

At first, Thomas was jealous, but he was so impressed when Toby scared the pants off of the policeman (Currently working traffic lights thanks to his decision to bring in a steam engine) that they were firm friends ever since.

"SEE!" said Annie. "HE TAKES HIS COACH FIRST!"

Thomas growled. "Looks like things are back to normal."


	23. Episode 23: Dirty Objects

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF.

And cue the theme!

...

 **Mr Star...just why?**

Well, this episode has tar in it! Right?

 **Yeeeees?**

And so you want me to get in character for it, don't you?

 **Covering yourself in tar gets you in character?**

Uh huh!

 **And how does it feel?**

Hurts.

...

Toby and Henrietta were enjoying their new life on the Island of Sodor. Not the least because now Toby could actually interact with engines. The results had been...mixed. While Edward and Percy had taken to him, Gordon and Henry believed him to be some sort of devil-witch like person. They mostly tolerated him, but Gordon in particular was wondering whether or not they could prepare to burn him.

They did, however, look old fashioned and needed new paint. James was very rude to them whenever he saw them. "UGH! WHAT DIRTY OBJECTS!" and "WOW, YOU LOOK UGLY!" and "GET A JOB, HIPPIE!"

James was quite the wordsmith, you understand.

At last, Toby lose patience. "James." He asked one day at Elsbridge. "Why are you red?"

"Why SHOULDN'T I be red? I am a splendid engine!" declared James, flaunting it. "I'm ready for anything. like a boy scout! You'll never see MY paint dirty! Unlike Henry!"

"Oh!" said Toby innocently. "Ah, of course, it explains it now."

"Explains what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just I realized that that's probably why you needed bootlaces. To be ready, of course!" He grinned at James.

James went redder than ever (And that was no mean feat) and snorted off. It was such a insult to be reminded of the time he had needed a bootlace, to mend a hole in one of his coaches. "WELL...YOU STINK!" he called back, and Toby cheerfully trilled his bell.

...

Arriving at Knapford minutes later, at the end of the line, James left his coaches and got ready to pull some trucks. It was a slow goods, emphasis on slow, stopping at every station to pick up and set down more trucks. James hated slow goods trains. He hated all trains that weren't coaches, but slow goods trains especially.

He backed down on one of the trucks hard, slamming it's face into his tender. "DIRTY TRUCKS FOR DIRTY SIDINGS!" He sneered.

"We could ave you for race relations!" squeaked one truck.

"Ah shaddup!"

...

Arriving back at Elsbridge to pick up some trucks that Toby had left, James paused for a minute, and collected his thoughts to provided a eloquent summary of his feelings.

"YEUCK!"

That summed it up.

He whistled sharply, and starting with only a few, he picked up more and more trucks at each station until he had a long train. In most cases, he would have bragged about how big it was, but he was feeling more and more angry with every puff.

As he passed the field where he had crashed on his first 'official' day, James growled and angrily considered replacing Henrietta with a cow. He could see it as being such a good replacement that Toby wouldn't notice.

At first the trucks behaved well, but James's foul mood and constant bumping annoyed them so much, that they became determined to pay James out.

Presently, they came to Gordon's Hill. Soon they were nearly to the top. Heavy goods trains halt here to pin down their brakes. James had had accidents with trucks before and should have remembered this. He also should have remembered that trucks were never this quiet unless they were up to something.

"Wait James WAIT!" snapped the driver, but James didn't wait. He was running through the various insults in his mind for Toby when they next met. He rounded the bend, and the driver prepared to put the brakes on to give James a lecture.

But the trucks found their chance! "HURRAH! HURRAH!" They laughed, and banging their buffers, they pushed him down the hill.

"OH DEAR GOD DEJA VUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!" wailed James as he raced straight down the hill,

"On on on!" cackled the trucks.

"I'VE GOT TO STOP! I'VE GOT TO STOP!" moaned James. "OR THEY'LL NEVER LET ME LIVE THIS DOWN!"

He raced towards Maron. A very surprised porter stopped mid bend and stared as James thundered through the station. For disaster lay ahead.

James let out a feeble whistle, and closed his eyes as best he could.

There was a horrific noise. James bounced up into the air as he smashed into something. Something sticky (No, not like that) and black splashed all over James. He had run into two tar wagons...well technically three, but that one was alive. He was black from smokebox to cab.

Easy jokes aside, he appeared to be more dirty than hurt, but the tar wagons and some trucks were mauled to pieces.

Toby and Percy were sent to help, and came as quickly as they could.

"Hey Percy." Toby asked. "Whatever is that dirty little object over there?"

"Why, that's James! Thought you'd been introduced to the scumball of the Island!"

"See, I don't know. It's James's shape, but James is a splendid engine. You'd never see him dirty. He's ready for anything!"

"Ah, does that include being a complete arse?"

"Probably, probably so old chum. I mean, at totally arsery, he's the best!"

James stared off into space and pretended he hadn't heard. Eventually, after two or three more minutes of mocking, Toby and Percy cleared away the unhurt trucks (Several of whom would need counselling.) and then helped James home.

...

Arriving at Tidmouth, James was well aware that he looked like a right prat. The Fat Controller was waiting.

"Well done Percy and Toby!" He turned to James. "You? Letting your trucks out of control? I AM surprised!"

"Clever, sir." growled James through a plugged up nose.

Hatt sniffed the air. "You're not fit to be seen or smelt! You must be cleaned at once!" He turned to Toby. "Toby, you can have a new coat of paint."

"Could, uh, could Henrietta have one too sir?"

"Certainly."

"WHAT?!" shrieked James.

"Oh thank you sir! She will be pleased!" Toby ran off to tell her the news, and as Percy backed away to get the breakdown train, James was left sitting there, baffled.

"Wow. One of those days." he muttered, as the tar hardened on his paint.


	24. Episode 24: Off the Rails

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF. Oh, quick note, in the next chapter, once I set it up, I have something of note to ask of you who read.

And cue the theme!

...

 **Almost there.**

Wow. Feels like only yesterday that you asked me to do this, and I said Yes.

 **You said a lot more than that. Because you were high.**

Details. Right. Next episode!

...

Gordon was resting in a siding. This, as you can tell, was nothing unusual. He was also resting in the same part of the Sidings where Thomas would frequently run up and whistle at him back when Thomas wasn't busy doing other things. He was not a smart engine like that.

"Sometimes!" he declared. "It's really tiring to be such a large and splendid engine such as myself! So hard to have such a sleek and muscular body like mine! One does have to keep up appearances so!"

Henry sidled up beside him, somehow managing to sneak up without Gordon seeing him despite the fact that he was roughly the same size and far more prone to making odd noises. "PEEP PEEP! HELLO FATFACE!" He whistled.

"What CHEEK!"

"Actually, I said it with my mouth, not my cheek." Henry cheerfully whistled and began puffing away with a train of giggling and snorting trucks.

"That Henry!" Gordon said to his bored out of their skulls crew. "IS GETTING TOO BIG FOR HIS WHEELS."

"Funny." said his fireman, as he boiled a lobster. "I thought the operation was meant to fix that."

"Fancy speaking to me like that! ME! Who has never had a accident!"

Having just pushed Henry's train into place, a cheeky little green engine slowly pulled up besides him. "Aren't jammed whistles, crushed cars and burst safety valves accidents?" asked Percy innocently.

"Okay, first of all, you weren't even here for the last two of those! Secondly, what is wrong with the green engines on this island today? And thirdly, NO INDEED. It's high spirits!"

"Ah." Percy nodded. "It's the drink."

"IT MIGHT HAPPEN TO ANY ENGINE." snapped back Gordon. "Well, coming off the rails like Henry! WELL I ASK YOU. Is it right? Is it DECENT? IS IT-" He frowned. "Where did you go?"

Percy was already off, going to talk to James about how Gordon had clearly lost his sanity. Halfway there, he realized he was talking to the pot about the kettle, so he headed to where Toby was.

...

Later on, as Gordon enjoyed his apparent day off, he spotted Henry backing down to the express, for it was his turn to pull it. Henry looked panicked, but unfortunately to stop and allow the shunters to fasten the couplings, he had to stay by Gordon for a toxic few minutes.

"Be careful Henry! You're not pulling the Smelly Kipper now! Mind you stay on the rails today!"

"Okay, first of all, you broke your own whistle more recently than I crashed. Secondly, LA LA LA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" Henry huffed off maturely with the express, and Gordon settled back to sleep.

Not for long though.

"Wake up lazyarse!" said his driver. "We've got a special train to pull."

Gordon opened one eye. "Coaches or trucks?"

The driver winced. "Trucks."

"TRUCKS?!" screamed Gordon. "PAH!" It made him so mad he became cross eyed for a few minutes.

Gordon's fire was slow to start, and so Edward had to be called away from his work to push Gordon to the turntable so he could face the right way. "Right, come on then!" Edward started off, Gordon steaming furiously.

"I WON'T GO, I WON'T GO!" Gordon grumbled.

"Don't be silly, don't be silly! We're literally here now!" Edward snapped back as he pushed him onto the Vicarstown Turntable. "Trust me, we couldn't take you to Tidmouth after what happened last time!"

At last, Gordon was on the turntable, Edward backed off but stayed to watch. Because he wanted to. The movement had shaken his fire up, and he was now warming up nicely, making steam. That was not being made by Gordon's sheer rage.

Gordon was cross, again, and didn't care what he did at the moment. He waited until the turntable reached the halfway round point "I'll show em, I'll show em!" he hissed as the turntable swung around.

He moved slowly forward to jam the table, as he had done once before, but he couldn't stop himself and slithered into a very muddy and urine-resembling ditch. "OOSH!" He hissed. "Get me out! Get me out! I can feel my very SOUL BEING TAINTED."

"Oh shut up you great berk." said the driver, who was now standing with his fireman surveying their engine. "Not a hope! You're stuck you silly old engine! Don't you understand that!?"

"DON'T SASS ME!" roared Gordon. But he was in not much position to do anything, since he was in aforementioned ditch.

...

They telephoned the Fat Controller, despite literally being right opposite his office. Apparently someone was recording him, and so he spoke everything back to make sure he got it right for the cameras.

"SO GORDON DIDN'T WANT TO PULL THE SPECIAL TRAIN AND RAN INTO A DITCH, YOU SAY?!" He winked to Allcroft and Mitton, who looked uncomfortable. Perhaps that was just because for whatever reason, every time the Controller used a phone, the man at the other end became a chipmunk. "WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY!? THE SPECIAL'S STILL WAITING!" He switched back into normal mode. "Tell Edward to take it. And Gordon? Oh leave him! I can't be bothered!"

He put the phone down. "Did you get the footage?"

"Uh...yes."

...

On the other side of the ditch, some little boys were chatting.

"Coo!" said one, who apparently studied the Victorian Street Urchins guide to speaking. "Look at that mates! A blue submarine!"

"LAWKS! Don't he look silly! They'll never get im out!"

"At least I don't sound like you." Gordon muttered.

And then they began to sing. "Silly old Gordon fell in a ditch! Fell in a ditch! Fell in a ditch! Silly old Gordon fell in a ditch, all on a Monday mooooooooooorning!"

"IT'S FRIDAY YOU HELLIONS!" wailed Gordon, as the boys ran away. Jeremiah Jobling paused and considered asking the boys to become his new back up group.

Gordon was in the ditch all day. And when you have nothing to do but stare at the same piece of grass and water over and over again...you go a little mad.

"OH DEAR!" he wailed. "I SHALL NEVER GET OUT."

...

But that evening, they came for Gordon and made a road of sleepers under his wheels to keep him from slipping further into the mud. Marklin smirked as he saw this, as his ferry was leaving soon he wanted a memory to make him laugh before he left.

Strong ropes were fastened to him as the Breakdown Train lifted out his tender, and James and Henry, pulling hard, managed to place Gordon back on the rails and to safety.

"Bloody hell!" laughed James. "You don't half stink!"

"Take a bath!" Henry laughed at him.

Gordon was too tired for insults. As his wheels touched the rails again, he was vaguely aware of him being turned around on the turntable, and everyone else departing.

At last, Gordon crept into the sheds, a sadder, wiser and much more filthy engine.

To the left of him, he could hear discussion.

"So Edward, how was the special?"

"Oh you know Toby, it was wonderful! I didn't think that pulling trucks that carried the 'Best Engine of the Year' awards would mean I would actually be given that title!"

"You know, if Gordon had pulled them-" There was a pause. "Why hello there Gordon! And how as your day?"

Gordon said nothing. For once, he was literally lost for words.


	25. Episode 25: Down the Mine

Thanks to RosieAngelina and all others for reviewing, favouriting and ALL THAT FUN STUFF. Now, that thing I mentioned prior to this. Following this chapter, I will be taking a short hiatus from Abridged so that I can give you Thomas's Christmas Party at Christmas time. However, I do have a solution, I was thinking of writing a humanized Thomas story (Humor, definitely) and sort of doing bits of it in between the publishing of this chapter and Christmast Party. Then, once I've done that, I'll alternate. Leave comments in reviews or PM's based on what you think.

...

 **Okay, this is the last one for a bit. Then you can go and take a break before we do the Christmas one.**

And that's it for a year or so?

 **Pretty much. We need time to gather some new material. And of course, to see whether this is a success.**

Betcha it goes on forever!

 **Ha!**

...

One day, Thomas was at a non specific junction when Gordon puffed in. Thomas grinned cheekily. His promise to never tease Gordon again had vanished rapidly, not just because of his accident and slight memory loss, but also because he felt he needed to avenge his fallen pride.

Gordon, meanwhile, had spent the days since his humiliation completely silent. In fact, many of the engines were beginning to get more than a little worried. For although he annoyed them greatly, at the end of the day they were still...almost friends. So when he puffed up, looking as glum as he had been since his accident, Annie smiled at him.

Thomas sniffed the air. "Phew!" He remarked. "What a funny smell!"

Gordon mentally muttered "Oh no." in his head.

"Can you smell a smell?"

"I can't smell a smell." said Annie, who was beginning to get rather worried about where Thomas was going with this.

"Funny, it's weird that you can't. It's a funny, musty sort of smell."

"No one noticed it til you did."said Gordon bluntly, with the hope that maybe he could get out of Thomas's way before the punchline occured. "So it must be yours." Yes, he 'He who smelt it, dealt it' Thomas before that was even a proper thing. Not long ago, his falling in a ditch had lead to Thomas taking a perverse pleasure in teasing him about it.

"Annie, Clarabel, do you know what I think it is?"

"Not really-"

"IT'S DITCHWATER!"

"Not a very good punchline." muttered Gordon, having lost the will to snark back. Before he could answer properly, Thomas had puffed away, with the scandalized coaches following him.

The two coaches could hardly believe their lack of ears. "He's dreadfully rude, I feel quite ashamed! I feel quite ashamed, he's dreadfully rude!" moaned Clarabel, for once allying with Annie against Thomas's rudeness.

To Thomas, cheerfully puffing under Title Screen Bridge, they wailed at him. "You must not be rude! You make us ashamed!"

Thomas laughed. "Oh you two really need to get a sense of humor about these sorts of things!"

...

Arriving at Knapford yards, Thomas backed down into the Sidings to leave his coaches there. "That was funny! That was funny." he chortled. He glanced back. "oH have a drink you two! You look like you could need some joy in your life!" He felt very pleased with himself, even though he had momentarily become cross-eyed. It happened when he laughed too much.

Annie and Clarabel were deeply shocked. They were pretty much the only ones who had respect for Gordon the Big Engine.

Thomas whistled once more, then left his coaches to order their drinks from Percy, who had taken over as bartender seeing how Marklin had left the Island under 'unusual circumstances'. He went off towards a nearby mine to shunt some trucks, as he was want to do.

...

The mine had been abandoned for a good while now, and what had once been a temporary strike following Thatcher's time in power had become a permanent one when that piece of news specifically did not reach the Island. Therefore, it was the job of tank engines and crew members to take the trucks around.

Long ago, the miners who had dug for lead had left a lot of tunnels underneath the ground. The roofs were strong enough to hold up the weight of trucks, but not engines. They had tested this by using Edward to test this theory. Edward had refused to speak to them for a week. And since they were too lazy to fill the tunnels back in, most big engines were prohibited from coming here.

A large notice was placed to warn them of this: DANGER- ENGINES MUST NOT PASS THIS BOARD. The workmen were aware that this was practically a red flag to a bull, but it worked better than using their alternative method, which was dynamite. Many good trucks and materials were lost.

As Thomas puffed in, he glared at the board, his natural enemy. "Silly old board!" he scoffed.

"That's no way to talk about his mother!" said the fireman.

"What- No, I said board. Not broad."

"Oh. All right then."

"My mother!? Why shouldn't it be yours?!"

While the fireman and driver argued, Thomas glared around him. He had often tried to pass the board, but had never succeeded. This morning, however, he had made a plan.

"Fine! I'll go and turn the points, you jackass!" The fireman stormed over to the points.

 _Now for my plan!_ , thought Thomas gleefully. Bumping the trucks fiercly, he jerked his driver off the footplate. The driver looked up, vaguely wondering what had happened to the world for a moment, before turning his attention to Thomas who was following the trucks.

"Aye up!" he shouted. "Come back!" he yelled.

Thomas grinned, and suddenly realized that he was in deeeeeeeep manure as the floor gave way beneath him and he slammed down, face first into the ground. "Fire and smoke!" said Thomas. "I'm SUNK!" And he was. He wasn't playing Battleships though, which was the only situation where this was a good thing.

The driver walked over to him, calmly tapping his knuckles against his breast in a attempt to calm himself. "So Thomas." he said with complete calm. "This plan of yours. What exactly was it again? What did you think was over the other side of the mine that was so magical?"

There was a short silence.

"I may-" Thomas said hesitantly "-have overlooked that fact."

"Uh huh." His driver walked away, where he vented his anger upon a truck.

"Oh dear." said Thomas in a vain attempt that maybe someone would take pity on him and maybe get him out before someone called the Fat Controller. "I am a silly engine!"

A very familiar shadow appeared.

"Oh balls." said Thomas.

"A very naughty one too." said Sir Topham Hatt. "I saw you. I was just uh...here. For no apparent reason. Hey, I like to look at mines. No need to judge." He paused. "Wait, I'm lecturing you, aren't I?"

"Please get me out! I won't be naughty again!"

"I somehow doubt that...but I'm not sure we can. We can't call for the crane, and we don't have one yet that's smarter than you." Hatt frowned. "Hmmmmm. Wonder if Gordon could pull you out?"

Thomas froze, struggling with his pride and survival. "Yes sir." he said through gritted teeth. He didn't want to meet Gordon just yet.

...

"Down a mine is he?! I thought they didn't allow minors in there!" Gordon laughed to himself as he raced along the line, feeling more and more like his old sense once more. He raced through Title Screen bridge, much to the shock of the signalman. "Now there's a joke to laugh at!"

"Poop poop little Thomas" said Gordon as he pulled in, gleefully giggling at the sight of Thomas. "Not to worry! We'll have you out in a couple of puffs!"

"CIGARETTE!" moaned Thomas, who was currently going through a stage of withdrawal.

Gordon's winch was slowly lowered down and attached to Thomas. All the while. Gordon let out giggles that made Thomas want to bury his head in the sandy earth.

The strong cables were soon fastened between the two engines. "Are ya ready?" said the Fat Controller, sounding like Elvis. The cable tightened. "Heave!"

"I was feeling a bit sick." said the Fireman.

"NOT YOU."

Gordon backed up and began to pull. It was a lot harder than they all thought, but at last, Thomas was free.

As the others made some form of preperations, including the removal of the winch and the closing of the mine for the time being, Thomas coughed. "Uh. I'm sorry I was rude to you."

"You know Thomas. It's all right. You actually got me to laugh." Gordon sighed. "You know, right now, I'm in disgrace."

"That makes two of us. So am I." Thomas muttered.

"Why so you are!" Gordon smiled. "You know what, for all our bickering, the two of us can work really well together. Shall we form a alliance for the time being? You help me, and I'll help you."

Thomas laughed. "Don't think it will last long."

"No." laughed Gordon.

"But why not? Right you are" agreed Thomas.

"Well good. That's settled." said Gordon as he puffed forward, coupled up to Thomas, and buffer to buffer, the allies puffed home to their friends.

Hatt looked around. "Hang on...THEY LEFT US BEHIND."

The men looked at each other and shrugged. "It's been a long day."

"Got a bottle of whiskey in the office."

"Why not?"

...

"Snow's coming." said Edward that night.

"Again?" asked James. "That's the third time this year!"

"The entire Island has a weird relationship with the weather." noted Henry. "Just keeps doing that.

"Christmas soon!" peeped Percy happily.

"I know what I want...peace and goodwill towards all men and engines." Toby remarked.

"...Plus to get some ciggies." Thomas gave his opinion.

"That too!" replied Gordon.

And the seven engines rested. For soon they would be busier than ever.

Somewhere, Marklin sighed. He wanted to be home, celebrating Christmas. But there was no time for that now. He had to gain a new identity. Marklin couldn't go back to the Island...but as someone else? Perhaps revenge wouldn't be lost to him after all.

And so he puffed on into the shed. And braced himself for the transformation.

It was going to be a interesting time soon.


	26. Episode 26: Thomas's Christmas Party

Merry Christmas to all of you! Thank you to the reviewers! Also, releasing this early, BECAUSE I WANT TO WRITE MORE OF THESE!

And now, cue the special CHRISTMAS THEME.

...

 **Welcome back Mr Starr!**

Surprising how much I missed this! All right, so we're doing the Christmas special, right?

 **Definitely! Fingers crossed, should be up by December at least. All right, you ready?**

Ready as I'll ever be.

 **Then let's get going!**

 **...**

At last, it was finally almost Christmas on the Island of Sodor. All the engines were working surprisingly hard, for despite their cynicalness, they still loved the holiday and were desperate to get presents.

There was a mixture of activity all along the line. Henry and Gordon pulled people to shops, and then pulled the looters away from the very angry mothers who wanted the latest Transformer for their child. Gordon had come out with three dents in his boiler and Henry's tender looked as though someone had emptied a whole carton of eggs onto it. Because they had.

Percy, meanwhile, had taken over shunting duties in the yard for the moment. This meant he was often scurrying back and forth, selecting certain trains for certain engines, and occasionally serving up drinks in the Siding. He had also recently decided to start flogging Ringo Starr CD's for a cheap price. So far, he hadn't sold any, but he lived in hope.

Then there was Edward and James. While the two of them were constantly bickering quite a lot, they were also busy carrying Christmas decorations everywhere. The reason was because for some reason Bertie had refused to allow any more pine needles and shedding tinsel on his seats, and so they had to take over. Which was mightily uncomfortable when James's face was constantly shoved into prickly needles and Edward was constantly buffeted by stray Baubles.

And Thomas and Toby were busy carrying people and parcels up and down the branchline. Toby was enjoying his first Christmas with friends, though that may have been because it was the first time he had ever laid eyes on a Christmas tree. Because he was sure that what the guard had installed in Henrietta on their old line was more a skeleton of one.

Everyone was (relatively) happy. Only the coaches, Annie and Clarabel, were complaining. "It's always the same before Christmas!" they groaned. We feel so full! We feel so full!"

"Cut down on the jammy dodgers then!" crowed Thomas. "Oh come on! Where's your festive spirit?"

"At the coach shed with the air conditioning!" snapped Annie.

"Christmas day is almost here! And if there's one time where we can put aside all our squabbling and stuff, it's on that day!"

They passed Edward and James puffing along with the latest collection of Christmas CD's.

"SHUT THAT RACKET OFF!"

"THIS IS DEAN MARTIN, JAMES. HE'S A CLASSIC!"

"Balls to that!"

"...On that day." Thomas repeated, slightly less sure of himself. They pulled along the track, and by the side of it, they saw a cottage. A familiar figure stood there, waving to them.

"It's Mrs Kyndley!" said Thomas cheerfully. "The old bat's made it another year! Peep peep! Happy Christmas!" Thomas always felt better for seeing her, not the least because she had a bod to die for.

"Christmas." he declared loudly. "Would not be Christmas without Mrs Kyndley!"

"Then what would it be?"

Thomas had no answer to this.

...

When work was over, Thomas went to see the other engines. As he puffed onto the turntable, he heard snatches of conversation.

"-he doesn't like Dean Martin, so he said!"

"The nerve!"

"So anyway, I said to him-"

"Did you get me anything Gordon?"

"A punch in the nose!"

All of their coats had been polished, while Toby's had only just been repainted following the incident with the tar wagons. Gordon turned his attentin from Percy to Thomas. "Huh!" he said. "Just look at us! Five glorious engines! Your driver's going to have to work hard to get you looking as smart as us!"

"Never mind that!" Thomas whistled. "I've something important to say!"

"We know Thomas." Henry said. "We got the Last Christmas CD today too. It's great!"

"No! I mean, yes, it is good, but still! Do you realize it's a whole year since Mrs Kyndley saved us all from a nasty accident!"

"I kept telling you to go to the toilet!" sighed James. "But would you listen, no!"

"You remember, when she was ill in bed and-"

"Yes of course!" Edward interrupted. "You told us how she waved her red dressing gown of the window to attract her toyboy! And then inadvertently warned you about a landslide ahead!"

"And you and Toby gave her presents." Percy joined in, not wanting to be left out. "And the Fat Controller sent her to Bournemouth to get better!"

"There are a lot better places I'd have sent her." muttered Gordon. "Besides, I don't think it's been a year. For starters it was snowing last year, but it wasn't then!"

"Details!" snapped Thomas.

"But!" said James and Henry together. "The rest of us have never thanked her properly." They stared at each other. "Jinx!" they said at once.

"Exactly!" said Thomas. "So now I was thinking we should give her a special Christmas party!"

There was a pause, and then Toby puffed up, ringing his bell. "Hello all of you!" he said chirpily. "What's wrong?"

"Thomas wants us to do more work than ever!" James protested. "A Christmas party! For her?!"

"Technically it'll be for all of us." Edward suggested. "It'd make the perfect cap to Christmas Eve." He frowned. "We have some left over decorations. And CD's."

"And I'm pretty sure I can bribe Carlin to get some presents for her." Henry agreed. "He's thinking of putting in a transfer to you, Percy. Says you'll be less stressful."

"Oh joy."

Soon, everyone grew very excited, and the drivers felt sure that the Fat Controller would agree, as indeed he did. After a lot of pointing out that Kyndley and Co had funded the railway for several years.

The engines were all busy making plans, when suddenly silence fell.

...

"WHY IS IT SO QUIET?!"

"Shut up Percy!" snapped Gordon, Henry and James.

The Fat Controller trudged through, bearing bad news. "The weather has changed badly, and the Missus is snowed up! We tried to get to her, but...well, my doctor has forbidden me to do lots of things. Risking my life is one of them. Toby says he'll rescue her suicidlly, you must help too Thomas!"

"Why me?!" snapped the tank engine.

"Because it was your fool idea in the first place!" snapped Bertie the Bus, who had just pulled up to the party. "I can't get up there! Ergo, the loser who wants her out of the house should do it!"

"There's no party unless you do!" Thomas sighed. "And no cigarettes!" Thomas snapped to attention. He hated snow.

But he said bravely. "I'll try sir! We must rescue her, we must!"

"There's a good engine. You and Toby will do great!"

"Really ******* believe that?" asked Carlin.

"Nope."

...

Thomas, armed with snowplow and hope, charged the snowdrifts fiercely. Maybe it was better now that Annie and Clarabel weren't constantly reminding him of his failures. Sometimes he sliced through them and smacked them aside, and sometimes they stuck fast and the men had to loosen them. Toby followed with Henrietta, cold and worried, filled with a beverage cart.

"Uh, Toby?"

"Yes m'dear?"

"Where's the brakevan gone?"

"OH RODS AND SIDEPLATES!" Toby hurried back to get it, with the angry workmen standing by it tapping their feet. But once they reached the cutting near the cottage, they could go no further.

"Look at that." exclaimed Thomas's fireman. The snowdrift looked like it couldn't be destroyed by a heavy drill, let alone a engine.

"Bloody hell!" Thomas said. "It looks like Hunter S Thompson split his entire morning's worth of cocaine here!" He whistled.. "Peep peep! We're here!"

A answering wave came from the upstairs window, as Mrs Kyndley descended. She appeared to have forgotten to wear anything beneath a green dressing gown. Then they all heard a familiar sound, a rumbling. Thomas's eyes widened.

"Hang on a minute! That's Terrance!" He gulped. "So he's here to help too! AND HE'S STILL SMILING!"

Terrance the Tractor rolled forward, grinning like a loon. Sure enough, he had a snowplow, and began to work hard to clear a path to the railway line and safety for the Kyndley woman.

At long last, after a great battle with the snow, it was done. Percy took the tired workmen, and the drunk ones too, in the brakevan to their homes. Terrance said goodbye to Mrs Kyndley, and promised to take care of her cottage, as the two engines set off.

Terrance sighed. "Maybe one day I'll get invited."

"One day, Terrance. One day."

...

 **Okay, next-**

There was a knock at the door, and the producer got up-

 **No need to narrate everything Ringo! Hang on? Miss Allcroft? We're to go now? ...Okay, uh, Ringo! Come on!**

 **...**

The engines made good time, for no more snow fell that day. But as they arrived back at the yard, it was dark, not a sight could be seen.

Thomas's metaphorical heart sank.

And then suddenly all the lights came on! And what a sight awaited them. The two coaches, Annie and Clarabel, sat on opposing sides of the shed, Bertie the Bus nestled up by one of them and cheerfully grinning. In the shed itself, Gordon, Percy, Edward, James and Henry let loose a chorus of whistles to greet them. A Christmas tree that looked magnificantly well groomed stood besides the final, empty berth, currently being attended to by Jerimiah Jobling and Mr Carlin. Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver were arriving, followed by Mr Mitton, Mrs Allcroft, Mr Asquith the Producer and Ringo Starr the Inspector! Mrs Kyndley swooned at the sight of the last one.

The Fat Controller got up on a podium. "Well done!" he said. "I'm so very proud of you all!"

Kyndley thanked the small engines especially. "Thomas and Toby are old friends!" she said, handing out cigarettes. "And now Percy is my friend too."

"AYE!" shouted Gordon ."What about us you old-" The three other engines whistled loudly, as Percy became so excited that he bubbled over with joy.

"Three cheers for Mrs Kyndley!" he called.

"Peep peep!" they all whistled. The band started up, carried in by Terrance, and Ringo was convinced to sing a few songs.

...

"We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas! We wish you a merry Christmas! And a happy new year!"

Everyone whistled loudly as he finished.

...

As Christmas morn dawned, the engines were joyously awaiting their presents.

"Oh Edward! You shouldn't have!" said James in delight as he stared at his new bright dome. He placed it next to a pile of other presents, bodywash (Gordon) a mirror (Henry), a collection of new rhinestone encrusted wheels (Toby) and two nearly identical model engines of himself (Thomas and Percy).

"Well I saw it and I thought, you!" Edward chuckled, as his driver put aside Henry's gift (A VHS tape of Star Wars) next to Toby, Thomas and Percy's (A book from some Reverend Awdry, a Pro Truck Wrestling tape and a buffer enhancing kit respectively). "Right, like my one, everyone?"

Gordon nodded, though he couldn't see how a 'How to Treat Engines With Respect' guide would help him much. Henry whistled loudly in appreciation of the Environmentally friendly lightbulbs, Percy gave him a wink as he held up the new radio, Toby and Henrietta both marvelled at the History of Arlsburgh cassette and Thomas was...looking at his with confusion."

"What is this?"

"Ah, that's the Nicotine Patches. I figured it would work better for you rather than having to cadge ciggies from us." Edward stared at James's present. "Oh James!" he said with joy. "Dean Martin's best hits!"

"Ah well." James laughed. "Figured I should get you something." Edward chuckled, and watched as Sand and Heaver opened up Gordon's present.

"My...My old line?!"

"I pulled a few strings." Gordon coughed in embarrassment, as his driver removed Henry's and James's presents (A new whistle and a jug of ditchwater respectively) from his buffers. "Hatt was more than happy to do it."

"I would HUG you if I could."

"Please don't!" Gordon coughed. "Ah well, thank you all. I liked the sweater, Percy!" Percy grinned. "And the hat." Toby laughed. "But Thomas, I don't seem to have a present from you."

"Well." grinned Thomas. "That''s because-" His eyes shifted to the yard, and Gordon stared in shock as a long train of coaches, specially painted for him, appeared. "Figured you'd like them."

"Like them?! I LOVE THEM!"

Thomas shrugged. "Least I could do." He looked over his presents. Gordon had given him a alarm clock to wake him up on time, Henry had given him a five year subscription to Snowplow's Weekly, James had thoughtfully given him a pair of bootlaces, Percy had given him a tin of paint to cheer him up, and Toby and Henrietta had chipped in for a Anti-Police excuse book.

Henry was grinning from side to side. Most of his presents had been good, Thomas had given him a doctor's diagnostic kit, James a game of Operation, Toby, Percy and Henrietta all had given him a collection of parts in case he broke again, and Gordon had reluctantly given him a 'Permit to Whistle'.

Percy laughed as he stared at all the new toys. "Wow! I can't believe you remembered all of them!"

"Well we did our best!"

Thomas looked over to Annie and Clarabel. "Hey girls!" He pointed to their present. "There you are. Earplugs for when I rant on and sing."

"Thanks Thomas!" bubbled Clarabel, and Annie reluctantly nodded. "But we got you something as well!" Thomas looked down at the last present, and as his driver unwrapped it, he gasped.

"Is that...Is that a-"

"Option to get new coaches? Yes."

"No way! I want you too forever!"

Toby sighed. "Thanks for all of these reminders of Arlsburgh." He looked over at Henrietta. "We thought we'd lost a home. But we gained a new one."

"Don't get sappy!" Berite warned as he tooted away. "Thanks for the promise of a race Thomas!"

Everyone sighed as the humans began to return.

"So, you're not coming back for a year at least?" Hatt sighed. "Shame really. I've gotten so used to you."

"Oh not to worry!" Mitton said cheerfully. "They see the footage we've got, we'll be back in no time!"

"Of course, we'll have to overdub some of the more questionable elements." Allcroft mused. She turned to Kyndley. "You have a good group of peoPle here."

Mrs Kyndley could think of nowhere else she would rather live, than with them on the Island of Sodor. Soon, Bertie looped round to take everyone home. The engines whistled. Ringo and Mr Asquith sat by each other.

 **"Happy Christmas Ringo. See you in a year?"**

"See ya in a year, Steve!"

Sir Topham stepped forward. "Ahem. Engines. If you'll direct your attention to the corner of the sheds."

They did so and gasped. For there was a TV, newly cleaned and polished. Hatt smiled, as he walked back to his car, leaving Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends to enjoy their Christmas.

...

And once all of that was done, Sir Topham Hatt sat in his house and unwrapped his own presents. From his daughters and son, from his grandchildren, from his ex-wife (With a telltale warning sign that it was smelling) and finally from 'His Engines'.

It was a postcard of the seven of them sitting by each other, signed with each of their names, and reading 'To the Best Controller of them all'.

He sighed. "Don't cry!"

"I wasn't going to, sir."

"Not you Butler!"

...

(AND A HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO!)


	27. S2 Episode 1: Thomas, Percy and the Coal

_Dear Miss Allcroft._

 _You will be happy to hear that I greeted your proposal to film another series of your 'documentary' of how our railway operates with something approaching euphoria. True, several of my engines came up to me and angrily pointed out that calling the series 'Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends' was incredibly insulting to them, considering that the footage chosen showed Thomas as being a 'Class A Idiot' to quote Henry. I pointed out, however, that there had to be a snappy title and Thomas was far better known compared to some of them. This probably gave Gordon, Henry and James a bit of a chip on their lack of shoulders, but you know what they say about omelettes and eggs._

 _Things have changed significantly since the last time you were on our Island. Your documentary series has led to a significant upgrade in tourism, which is great! Problem is that the seven engines, fine for the traffic in 1984, are now struggling more and more. Not the least because we've finally agreed to the expansion of all lines across the Island. The Docks are going to become a major source of income for many workmen, and we have added a extensive re-calibration of the yard. Not to mention the work that will be going on in the final weeks of 86 on the viaduct. Oddly enough, we've been able to update the truck as well. The new generation has mostly supplanted the older one, helped perhaps by the fact that their faces can actually move and emote compared to the original._

 _And of those seven engines, I must give you further updates on their activities in the year in which we have had to deal with the consequences of the decision._

 _Edward is currently in charge of his own branch line, after many a argument with me, I finally caved in and gave my most faithful engine what he desired. Quite aside from that, he's been taking quite a bit of stick from the bigger engines once more. He's personally told me that he's taking it in good humor because he knows that they will probably be eating their words at some point. He's also briefly taken up the role as official Master of the Yards until such a time as we can find a responsible engine that can take up his workload._

 _Percy has, for the most part, done the incredibly smart thing and stayed off the radar. As the official station pilot for the most part, he tends to have taken up his role as bartender at the Sidings and run with it. Literally. He stole the entire bar one night in a drunken rage over a comment that James made, and refused to give it back until I reluctantly had to get James to apologize. Since then, he's wisely kept his mouth shut for the most part, though I get the feeling that he's beginning to get rather broody with being trapped in the station and being forced to help the big prats, and again, it may have something to do with the transfer of Mr Carlin to act as Percy's driver. I sense we may have another Thomas on our hands, though at the very least, Percy does seem to have learned from some of that...engine and his mistakes._

 _Onto the big prats themselves, Henry has actually gone through the most improvements of all three of them. Which isn't much, but always look on the bright side, as Eric Idle said. He's gone greener than usual, and has already started a committee that has railed (No pun intended) against my attempt to expand the Island for fear of destroying some scared woodland. Unfortunately, I've had to humor the little contemptible engine, and have made sure that we have not damaged anything overly important. Yet. Apart from that, he still groans and moans a lot, but I get the feeling he's doing it more to stay in with the cool crowd._

 _Speaking of which, James. Remarkably, despite the fact that literally everything that has happened to him should have taken his ego down a few pegs, I am now convinced that James's ego will continue to grow until it consumes the entire planet. Nothing has slowed him down, not the fact that his paintwork was temporarily rendered into that of a bumblebee (And let's hope that never happens again because I cannot take the eyesore), not the crash into the James Fanclub that left no one injured aside from his pride because no one turned up, and not even that lamentable foray into the pop world. I still shudder every time we had to hear 'Ode to Me, The Red Wonder' and that hideous synthesizer on the radio._

 _Then there's Gordon. Oh Gordon. In some ways, he has changed a bit for the better overall. He and Thomas rarely spat as much as they did before you came here, and I believe that alliance of theirs is still holding strong despite what they would claim. He also appears to have gained a bit more respect for the coaches, though that may be because James, in a fit of rage, personally sold his Christmas present of the special coaches to a private contractor for six years of work. Gordon nearly mauled the little red idiot to death, and quite frankly, I would have let him. From what I hear, the coaches are having fun. And since then, he's been almost intolerably superior in his belief that he is the only sane one here._

 _Toby, bless him, has adapted wonderfully. He and Edward tend to swap stories of what weird thing has happened on that day, and generally, considering that he has to balance the egos of the three big engines with Percy's increasing growing pains, I think the fact that he hasn't snapped and killed one of them is remarkable. True, there was that regrettable incident where he personally threatened to shove Henry in the scrapyard himself if he didn't stop playing his Beatles CD, but then so did most of the other engines. He and Henrietta are still going great in their relationship, although I'm beginning to wonder if Henrietta is even alive considering how she doesn't have even the minor face that the other coaches have. So possibly insane to boot._

 _And of course...Thomas. Oh. Oh Thomas. To begin with, his ego has recovered somewhat, and while his two coaches are still nagging him, frankly I'm starting to think that he would require a surgery to remove most of his excessive smugness and self-belief. So far, he has succeeded in not antagonizing the bloody bus or the terrible tractor too much, and has mostly remained cigarette free. Mostly. There have been one or two slip ups. However, since that abandoned mine he once crashed in mysterious burned down in mysterious circumstances, he seems to have gone clean, with only a token whiteness whenever I mention that accident. He is still Thomas the Tank Engine, at the end of the day._

 _So yes. This should be fun._

 _Also, one last note. You will probably hear a lot of Take On Me being played. My engines are still going through the stage of wanting to listen to Ah-Ha, and I can't stop them._

 _Sincerely._

 _Sir Topham Hatt, 1986._

...

 **Mr Starr! A pleasure to see you again.**

Aye, what did I tell you, Steve! Big hit! Can't wait.

 **Then let's get going!**

...

It was a beautiful morning on the Island of Sodor. As a little blue tank engine pulling two coaches crossed one of the newer bridges, he marveled at the scenery. Almost like Sodor had gotten a bigger budget. Thomas the Tank Engine's blue paint sparkled in the sunshine, as he puffed happily along his branchline with Annie and Clarabel.

And unsurprisngly, he was feeling very proud with himself. He rushed through the valley, where several woodland creatures stared at the rarely spotted Sudrian Tank, and then hurried on towards Elsbridge.

...

"You know Toby." reflected Percy. "I've been thinking. I need a change."

"You want house training?"

Percy gave Toby a look. "Toby, I swear to- No! I mean look! We've been here for a year or so now and we're just doing the same menial jobs over and over again. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to pull the coaches for a bit, but I want to be where the action is!"

"Well, just don't go the Thomas route." Toby smirked. "Though if you did get James to crash-"

"TOBY!" Percy laughed with mock horror. "I swear, sometimes you are worse than the others. Hold up...here he comes."

Thomas wheeshed around the corner with a certain amount of flair.

"Hello Thomas." droned Percy. "You look splendid." Percy was only saying what Toby had advised him to, in a sort of groundhog day tradition. But Thomas puffed up and practically expanded outwards.

"YES! Indeed!" boasted Thomas. "Blue is the only proper color for a engine!"

"Explains why the Flying Scotsman was blue." Toby said in such a normal voice that it quite quickly went over Thomas's head. "Oh I don't know." mused the tram. "I like my brown paint."

"I've always been green-"

"Hippie!" snorted James as he passed through.

"-I wouldn't want to be any other color either."

"Well...WELL ANYWAY-" huffed Thomas, angered that his opinion had been challenged. "-blue is the only color for a REAL engine! Everyone knows that!" And with a angry 'so there!' whistle, he puffed off.

Percy said no more. He just grinned at Toby.

...

Later, at the yard just by Tidmouth Station, Thomas was resting on a siding when Percy arrived pulling a long train of trucks. Thomas looked at the coal hopper he was located by. For a moment, he entertained the thought of interrupting his sun tan and leaving this potentially dangerous area.

The large hopper was filling Percy's trucks up with coal. Thomas abandoned this plan, as he was just getting the best spot right on his back. Thomas was, shock of all shocks, still being cheeky. He never learns, does he?

"Careful!" he warned. "Watch out with those silly trucks."

"SILLY ARE WE?!" shouted the newly re-faced Trucks, no more the painted demons that they once were. No these were brand new demons! "Go on! Go on!" they muttered rebelliously.

"And by the way." went on Thomas, completely death to everything that wasn't his own voice. "-those buffers don't look safe to-" He glanced back as Percy smacked into the buffers, then at the space where the truck should be, then at the coal hopper. "-me?"

The last load poured down.

"HELP! I'M CHOKING!" cried Thomas. Though to be accurate, it sounded more like "MMLP! 'M'M MMOKING!" due to all the coal in his mouth. "GET ME OUT!" or rather "MMT ME MMT!"

Percy was worried, but he couldn't help laughing, though out of nerves or genuine mirth he would never admit. As the workman leaned on the lever again and again in a attempt to stop the flow of coal (Ironically adding more and more) Thomas's smart blue paint was covered in coal dust from smokebox to bunker.

"Ha ha ha!" chuckled Percy. "You don't look really useful now, Thomas. You look really disgraceful!."

"I'M NOT DISGRACEFUL!" snapped Thomas, spitting out as much coal as he could. "YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE! GET ME OUT YOU FUSSY LITTLE GREEN ROLY POLY MONSTER!"

Percy was suddenly very afraid.

...

"Hey, I thought most of you guys were recalled!"

"We are." moaned one of the last painted face trucks as he was pulled away by a tired Edward. Thomas, sitting in the work shed next to Tidmouth, fumed on his own once more, while Annie and Clarabel made sympathetic noises.

It had taken so long to clean Thomas, and to remove the coal from each part of his body, that he wasn't in time for his next train. Toby had to take Annie and Clarabel. The tram said nothing to Thomas, for fear that the tank engine may flip out and kill him painfully.

"Poor Thomas." whispered Annie to Clarabel. They were both most upset. Or at least they pretended they were until far away from Thomas, where they began to laugh gleefully.

Thomas frowned. And then the penny dropped. "HANG ON A MINUTE!" He roared. "WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT THE FLYING SCOTSMAN!?"

Along the way, they passed a baffled Fat Controller and a signalman getting into a argument with the man responsible for the coal accident.

"HOW COULD YOU DUMP TWO TONS OF COAL?!" Hatt exploded. "IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE."

"It's jammed!" insisted the coal hopper man.

"It's new! How could we have a mistake this big!?"

"Maybe Marklin did something to it." muttered the signalman, sharing a joke about the mysterious circumstances behind Marklin's vanishing act.

Hatt looked up. "AND WHY IS THERE A BOOM MIC OVER MY HEAD?!"

"You wanted us here." protested the cameraman.

"Oh...carry on."

...

In the sheds that night, Thomas was incredibly cross. Toby had spent the better part of the day snickering along with the coaches, and thought it a great joke. Percy, unfortunately, was cross with Thomas for thinking he had done it on purpose.

"FANCY!" He snarled aloud in a rare moment of silence. "A REALLY USEFUL ENGINE like THOMAS, becoming such a DISGRACE to the Fat Controller's railway." Emphasis not added.

"Toby!" snarled Thomas. "Tell Percy that as far as I am concerned, HE IS DEAD TO ME."

"And tell Thomas that I won't speak to him for the rest of the night."

"Tell Percy that because he is dead to me, IT WON'T MATTER."

"Tell Thomas that he's a POO HEAD!"

"Tell Percy that-"

"ENOUGH! ENOUGHENOUGHENOUGHENOUGH!" Toby screamed. He raced out of the sheds and headed off towards the empty berth at Tidmouth.

The two other engines sat in silence.

...

The next morning, Thomas was more cheerful. Maybe it was because Percy was now suffering. He had brought his trucks from the junction, his heavy trucks, and Percy was tired. Thomas was sure this had nothing to do with them arguing all night.

As Percy backed up, Thomas's massive coal eating grin was like a red flag to a paralyzed bull. It was probably angry, but was in no condition to do anything.

"Have a drink." said Carlin.

"Oh ta. Where's the booze?"

"I wish. Then you'll feel better!"

The water column stood at the end of the siding with some more unsafe buffers. Percy puffed forwards, forgetting to uncouple his own trucks. Thomas sat silently and watched.

"Hang on! I can't stop!" and Percy couldn't. The buffers couldn't stop him either! "OH ECK!" He shouted. "HELP!"

One splintering later, the buffers were broken and Percy was wheel deep in the two tons of coal that had been shifted the previous night. It was time for Thomas to leave. He had seen everything.

"Now Percy has learned his lesson too!" he chuckled, unaware that really Percy hadn't needed to learn one.

Hatt glanced out the window. "OH HELL!" He swore. "GET ME THE BUFFER MAKER!"

...

That night, the two engines made up their quarrel.

"You know, I actually didn't cause that accident on purpose Thomas." said Percy. "You know that, right?"

"Of course!" said Thomas magnanimously, now that he was vindicated. "And I'm sorry I was cheeky too. Your green paint looks splendid again too!" He smirked. "In future, we better be careful of coal."

"Too late!" crowed Toby outside the shed, and pulled off. There was a pause, and then the roof opened up dumping coal on both engines.

"TOBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

"Let it go Thomas."


	28. Episode 2: Cows

"Steve?"

 **"Hmm?"**

"Why are there cows in this?"

 **"Ask the camera crew."**

"In the studio, I mean."

 **"Oh, to get some ambiance."**

...

Edward was getting old-

"HEY!"

-his bearings were worn, and he clanked as he puffed along.

"I'll wear your bearings if you don't shut up with the old comments there!" snapped Edward, in a unusually grumpy mood, as he was taking empty cattle trucks to the market. Not any particular market, just Market. Maybe it had something to do with the idea of taking animals to their deaths was rather too much for the sensitive engine, or maybe it was because Edward knew it was him who would probably have to take the rotting carcasses back to wherever it was they were usually dumped.

The sun shone, birds sang (Nothing in particular) but Edward was heading for trouble. As he passed through Lower Suddery, there was a distinct clank as one truck rolled off. After restarting, Edward received the news halfway across the viaduct that apparently their client would not accept four trucks, but rather five. One long trek back, Edward was rapidly losing patience.

"Come on, come on!" he puffed angrily.

"Oh oh oh oh oh!" screamed the trucks. Edward puffed and clanked, as the trucks rattled and screamed some more.

Some cows were grazing nearby, and Edward felt immensely guilty about what he had to do. He tried to console himself with memories of what many cows had done to him (Repeatedly mistaking him for a unusual shaped and colored hedge, for a starter) but it didn't make him feel much better. These cows though were not used to trains. The noise and smoke disturbed them. And as Edward clanked-

"ENOUGH WITH THE CLANKING!"

-as Edward yelled at the narrator to stop with the clanking, they broke through the fence and ran across the line. One coupling broke, and some trucks (One really) and the brakevan were left behind.

The guard stared in bafflement at the cows, and began to wonder, being a city boy, if this was what Martians looked like.

Edward felt a jerk (Both in the sense that he felt a tugging sensation and that he felt terrible) but didn't much notice. He was used to trucks. This was also back in the days before trains without brakevans became common place. The un-safety conscious idiots.

"Bother these trucks! Why can't they come quietly and just give me a rest for once!?"

He was at the next station before he or his driver had realized what had happened. His fireman had noticed, but he was not the talkative type.

...

Later on, at Tidmouth Sheds, Gordon and Henry heard about the accident. They laughed and boasted. "Fancy allowing cows to break his train. They wouldn't dare do that to us! We'd show them!"

"They'd have to MOOOOve out of the way!" Henry added.

"Yeah! Cause we're a CUD above the rest!" howled Gordon.

Edward stared straight ahead, trying not to punt the two engines off the line. But Toby, who was more free with his speech nowadays, pulled up and was very cross. "You couldn't help it Edward! The Chuckle Brothers here have never met cows! I have and I know how troublesome they can be!"

"Well you said it about Henrietta."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME HENRY!?"

Edward growled, and puffed off as the three engines got into a argument. He, unlike some engines, had a actual train to pull.

...

Some days later, and many cow puns as well, Gordon rushed through Edward's station "POOP POOP! MIND THE COWS!"

"Not even a pun." muttered Edward rebelliously as his passengers, baffled by this exchange, slowly got on his coaches.

"Hurry hurry hurry!" puffed Gordon.

"Don't make such a fuss, don't make such a fuss!" snapped the coaches, in a real snappy mood that day. A long stretch of line lay ahead, and in the distance was a bridge. To the keen eye, there seemed to Gordon that there was something on the bridge. His driver clearly thought so too, as he immediately put on brakes.

"Awww, we're almost to Crosby." sighed Gordon melodramatically.

"Woah Gordon." The driver said as he shut off steam.

"PAH! It's only a cow!" said Gordon, in clear need of having to look up the word 'irony' in the dictionary. "SHOO! SHOO!"

"We're nowhere near a cobblers." said his fireman.

He moved slowly onto the bridge, but the cow wouldn't shoe. She had lost her calf, and was feeling lonely. She was a very clingy mother, in that way. "Moooooo." she said sadly.

Everyone tried to send her away, but she wouldn't go. She was like a barfly in that sense.

Eventually, Henry arrived, coming from Crosby with his own express train. Gordon cheerfully grinned. "Henry old chum!" he called. "Just the engine. There's a creature on here that won't move. You're a animal lover, right?"

"What's this? A cow? I'll settle her!" Henry cleared his throat. "BE OFF! BE OFF!"

"Moooooooooo." said the cow.

Henry looked befuddled, but rearranged it behind a smile. The cow, now interested in Henry, made a point to stay in the way of Gordon, but moved towards the green engine. Henry backed away nervously, with his massive smile still stuck on. "I don't want to hurt her." he protested weakly to Gordon, who was looking in annoyance at him. In fact, he was backing away at such a rate that one might have assumed that there was a actual serial killer on the track.

At the next station, Crosby once again, Henry's guard told the porters about the cow, and warned them that the line ahead was blocked.

"Hang on! That must be Bluebell!" said one porter. "Her calf is here! Ready to go to market!"

The driver, standing by the guard, frowned. "Why weren't they together?"

"Bloody animal rights activists! Some idiot gave them a anonymous tip off!"

"Edward." growled Henry.

"Percy will take the calf along."

Percy soon appeared, pulling a single van alongside Henry. A barber waved his fists. "Mama mia!" he said. "These-a bloody engines will-a drive me outta the business!"

Henry's frozen smile didn't deter Percy, as he puffed back to the bridge, where the passengers were beginning to become annoyed. At the bridge, Bluebell was very pleased to see her calf again, and the porter led them towards the cattle truck. Percy watched this with a mixture of excitement and amusement, excitement for his secret plan with Edward to get these two to the safe field of cows, and amusement at the expressions of both Gordon and Henry.

"Not a word!"

"Keep it dark!"

So whispered Gordon and Henry as they passed each other on the bridge. To say they felt rather silly would be a understatement.

The story, of course, soon spread.

...

And later that night, Gordon was the last of the engines to arrive back, Percy having wisely lain low after the mysterious loss of the two cows.

"Well well well." chuckled Edward. "TWO big engines afraid of a cow!?"

"AFRAID!?" sneered Gordon desperately, trying to ignore the knowing smirk from James, the joyous grin from Thomas and the knowing smile from Toby. "RUBBISH! We didn't want the poor thing hurting herself by running up against us!"

"Yeah!" Toby smiled at Henry. "Don't smile at me like that!"

"We stopped so as not to excite her. You see what I mean, dear Edward?"

"Yes Gordon." said Edward, with a completely innocent look on his face. Gordon felt somehow that Edward saw only too well.

The rest of the evening saw remarkable silence from both Henry and Gordon, but the other four engines were rather chatty. In particular, they seemed fascinated by the subject of cows.


	29. Episode 3: Bertie's Chase

The cows have chewed me bloody feet, man! Next time you want ambience, get a megaphone and shout moo!

 **Someone's a little gruuuummpy.**

Man, what happened to you over the two years?

...

One morning, Edward was waiting to pick up passengers from Thomas's train. Several passengers were getting more and more angry as they paced back and forth in the express coaches. Edward himself was growing steadily more and more grumpier, mainly because he hadn't slept much the previous night.

I wonder why that was.

...

THE PREVIOUS NIGHT.

"TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE ON MEEEEEEEEEEEE!" belted out James

"Take on me!" followed Gordon and Henry.

...

"Peep peep! We're late! Where is Thomas!? He doesn't usually keep us late without giving us some sign of why!?"

Inside Edward's cab, his driver, fireman and guard were beginning to go slightly insane. For they too had been at the karaoke party with James, and thus were worse for the wear. And unfortunately, Sidney Heaver had passed the point of sobriety a while ago.

"OH DEAR! WHAT CAN THE MATTER BE!?" He belted out. "JOHNNY'S SO LONG AT THE-"

"Never you bloody mind about Johnny!" snapped the driver as he laughed. "Just you climb on the cab and look for Thomas!"

"Why don't you do it?"

"Because-" said Charlie Sand "-my head is aching like hell this morning and I can't be arsed!"

"But why can't Barry-"

"Barry has GUARD things to do! NOW JUST DO IT!" Charlie winced in pain at his own shout. Sidney decided not to argue, and climbed up onto the cab as carefully as he could when drunk.

"CAN YOU SEE HIM!?"

"No need to shout." Sidney said mildly. "And no." He peered across. "There's Bertie Bus in a tearing hurry! No need to bother with him though. He might be on a coach tour or something. Or more likely, he needs the toilet."

"Oh I wish you hadn't said that." said Charlie, clutching his stomach.

"You know-" Edward remarked. "-statements like that could lead to some irony later on."

"Ah, leave off Edward." The fireman clambered down into the cab, missed the window and smacked his body on the ground.

Once he had climbed back in,, Edward started off. "Ah well." he reflected. "We shouldn't wait too long...you know, someone needs to have a word with Sir Topham Hatt about how hypocritical it is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well if we go before the train comes, we get in trouble because there wasn't a train there. But if we stay until the train comes, we get told off for being late."

Neither driver nor fireman could argue with that in the state they were in.

...

Edward pulled out of Wellsworth station and headed through the Suddery Junction. He glanced back at the level crossing, and then ahead, tuning out all sounds except those that he considered important so that Charlie's wailing about his need for a toilet did not distract him.

So he did not hear a horn honking, and a sound of screeching tires.

"STOP! STOP! I'VE GOT THE BLUE BASTARD'S PASSNEGERS!" wailed Bertie.

"Did you hear something?" Edward asked his driver.

His driver groaned, and sped up.

Bertie stared, realizing that it was no good. Edward was gone. "BALLS!" He declared. "BOTHER!" Bertie said once more. As Edward rounded the next bend, he spoke aloud once more. "BOTHER THOMAS'S FIREMAN BEING A LAZY ASS AND NOT COMING TO WORK TODAY? Why did we agree to help the passengers catch the train?"

"That'll do Bertie!" said his driver.

"No seriously, why? I was not consulted on this!"

"A promise is a promise and we must keep it!"

"Must we?"Bertie grumbled as the crossing gates opened and he drove off towards the next station. Lower Suddery. His passengers were actually rather excited, as this had been the first bit of excitement in a while. Mrs Kyndley whooped and waved her handbag about, nearly taking the Barber out. Jem Cole, a local farmer/fixer upper, looked across at Jerimiah Jobling and held out his autograph book, which Jerimiah graciously signed.

"I'll catch Edward or BUST!" said Bertie as he raced on down, for he had spotted a bikini clad woman parading around outside her house.

As he continued onwards, racing faster and faster, he raced up the Hackenbeck Tunnel. "I feel like I've been here before." he reflected.

Minutes later, as he climbed yet another hill, he groaned out. "OH MY GEARS AND AXLES." As he toiled up the hill, he moaned aloud "I'll never be the same bus again!"

"And a-god forbid that happen!" sighed the Barber.

"Bloody hell, he doesn't stop does he?" muttered Jobling.

"You have no idea." grunted Bertie's driver

"Hooray! Hooray! I see him!" cheered Bertie as he reached the top, causing the humans to let loose a whoop of triumph. "Oh balls, Edward's at the station! Wait, no...he's stopped at a crossing!"

"He's not taken his medication recently." the driver sheepishly explained to the passengers, who all nodded wisely.

"HOORAY!" Bertie said once more as he tore down the hill.

"Well done Bertie!" shouted the passengers. "Go it!" Bertie skidded into the yard

"WAIT! WAIT!" he called, but he was just in time to see Edward puff away. Edward looked back, and was about to say something when he heard his driver scream out in more pain at the agony, for some reason the Lower Suddery station refused to include a toilet.

"I'm sorry!" wailed Bertie. "I'm the WORST BUS EVER!"

"Oh get other yourself!" snapped his driver.

"Calm down!" Jem said, handing the driver some tablets.

"Never mind!" said most of the passengers.

"After him quickly!" Jobling encouraged.

"Third time lucky, you know!"

"Mrs Kyndley, that's a tree. Bertie's over here."

"You think we can catch him at the next station?" they asked the driver.

The driver thought for a moment, and waved over the stationmaster. "Well there's a good chance." he replied. "Our roads keep close to the line and we can climb hills better than Edward."

"But isn't Edward a bank-a engine?" asked the Barber.

"Shut it, Mario. I'll just make sure." The driver turned to the station master and spoke to him. Bertie and the passengers waited impatiently. Because apparently waiting two or three seconds was too much for them.

"Yes! We'll do it this time!" said the driver exercising that rare trait known as optimism.

"HOORAY!" cheered the passengers. At this point, they would have hooray'd anything. A meteor comes down? HOORAY! The train dies? HOORAY! They play one of James's songs? ...No.

Bertie started up with a roar and chased after Edward once more.

There was a pause, and then Bertie sheepishly returned to actually let the passengers get back on him. Ignoring the dark looks from them, he took off like a shot as he began praying to himself that this would work.

...

"Bloody hell, there are a lot of hills!" panted Bertie as he drove through the seventh by road that went through the country. As he rounded the corner of the latest road, he spotted Edward leisurely taking his time crossing the tier bridge. Putting on a grin, Bertie rushed under him.

"Almost there!" Jobling trilled happily. "I shall write a song about this!"

"Oh god save us." muttered Mrs Kyndley, who was not a fan of this new age rock and roll m'larkly.

...

"This hill is too steep! This hill is too steep!" grumbled the coaches.

"I've been up worse! I've been up worse!" snapped back Edward as he snorted in front. Not cocaine mind, though he did severely wish that he had some right now. At last, they reached the top and ran smoothly into the station.

Edward glanced over at the sign, Suddery. He sighed and relaxed for a moment. "Peep peep! Get in quickly please." he whistled as the driver rushed forward into the toilets and locked himself in there.

Sidney sighed. "Thank god. He was whining so damn much!"

At last, Charlie returned, much calmer, climbed into the cab and waited. The guard blew his whistle (Resembling Ringo Starr to quite a extent.) and the driver looked back. But the flag didn't wave.

"Maybe his arm is tired. Listening to you, I know that every part of me feels bloody cream crackered." snapped Sidney.

Then they heard Bertie. Everything seemed to happen at once, not the least that Bertie swerved so many times it looked like he was drunk. Maybe it was to do with the fact that his driver had collapsed from all the stress. The Stationmaster, a omnipotent being, told the guard and driver what had happened...last night on the latest episode of Doctor Who. And then about the Bertie saga.

"Sorry about the chase, Bertie." Edward said sheepishly.

"And...so...you...should be!" panted Bertie.

"Same to you mate."

"Nah, it's my fault...late at...junction, you didn't know...about Thomas's passengers."

"Or what a idiot his fireman is."

"Oh we knew that."

"Peep peep! Bye Bertie, we're off!" whistled Edward

"Three cheers for Bertie!" called the passengers. Bertie waited until the pesky passengers and Edward were gone, and then raced back to tell Thomas that all was well.

...

At Tidmouth, Thomas smirked. "He won't have-" His eyes widened as Bertie rushed in. He glared at Gordon, who smirked and mouthed 'Five pounds'.

"Thank you Bertie." Thomas said through gritted teeth. "You're a very good friend indeed."

"So what happened to your fireman?"

"Oh, apparently some idiot locked him in our shed after that party last night."

Bertie groaned.


	30. Episode 4: Saved from Scrap

So Ringo, today we're doing a episode with a traction engine in.

 **Neato. Can I have one?**

No. Our budget already got blown on your narration for this series.

...

It was one of the busiest days of the year on the Island of Sodor. The recently expanded Knapford Yards was the sight of quite a lot of chaos. Of his seven engines, the Fat Controller was seeing at least four of them in action. Percy hurried past with a train of coal trucks, exchanging good mornings with Thomas, who was pulling a long line of freight, and both whistled sharply at Gordon, pulling the express.

James was lounging in the corner, vaguely wondering what type of job he would have to come up with a excuse for would be thrown his way.

The Fat Controller works his engines hard, but they are really proud when he calls them really useful. They also call up the union, just in case that there's something going on that's illegal.

...

Meanwhile, back at Tidmouth, Edward was going around on the turntable. Thomas had just reversed after leaving his trucks for Henry to pick up when Edward puffed forward. "i'm going to the scrapyard today!" Edward declared to Thomas.

"What, already? You're not that old!" replied Thomas cheekily. He was only teasing. Mostly.

"Oh HARDY HA!" snapped Edward, still not quite forgiving Thomas or his fireman for the incident with Bertie. He puffed off, leaving Thomas to grin smugly at his retreating tender.

"Now, for my face wax!" the little blue idiot declared.

Edward, as he passed the sheds on his way to the scrapyard, began to wonder if he was doomed to be trapped in the same cycle of wanting respect and never quite getting it.

...

The scrapyard was full with rusty old cars and machinery. It was also the resting place of several of Bertie's more unruly cousins, and resembled a elephant graveyard. Even though there were workmen still there, doing the things that workmen were likely to do, there was a atmosphere of tension running through the entire yard. The scrap itself was usually broken into pieces, loaded into trucks and then Edward would arrive, bring them to the steelworks and watch them being melted down and used again. It was a odd feeling this. For while Hatt had been very adamant that no engine would be scrapped on his railway, Edward still felt the uncanny sense that he was wearing part of his lineage. Thankfully, most of the things were dead, or had long since passed on.

But today there was a surprise waiting for Edward. It was a traction engine. He had a face like someone had peed on his sandwiches, green paint that was peeling and had turned a autumn like yellow and a demeanor of a engine who had lost all hope in life.

"Hello!" Edward said cheerfully. "You don't look like you belong here! You're not broken and...well, not too rusty. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm Trevor" He sighed. "I'm breaking up next week!"

"With your girlfriend?"

"They're going to break me up next week." Trevor clarified.

"Damn! I didn't think they still did that sort of barbaric stuff. What a shame!" said Edward.

"My driver says I only need some paint, polish and oil to make me as good as new! But my master says I'm old fashioned."

Edward snorted. "Okay, first of all, master? That guy needs to get himself checked out, you're not a slave! And second of all, people call me old fashioned all the time. But I give no cares at all! The Fat Controller says I'm a useful engine."

"Still a 'slave' though, am I right?"

"Well-" Edward reflected, having not had the chance to talk to someone with a similarly philosophical view on life for a while. "-I suppose it depends on how you look at it. I think of ourselves as being workers. And I get some money-"

"You do?! I didn't get anything!"

"Damn. Your master is a right bastard!" Edward looked over once more. "So what sort of work did you do?"

"My master would send us from farm to farm. We'd thresh corn, haul logs, occasionally try out some of their drinks and lots of other work. The children loved to see us." Trevor sighed, remembering. "Oh yes. I like children."

There was a awkward pause.

"You know, I keep forgetting that that sounds rather wrong."

"It does." Edward admitted. "But I suppose it's a sign of the times. We're not getting any younger, are we?" He paused. "Oh damn, there's my guard...Trevor, it was nice to see you."

"And I you! It's nice talking to someone who cares...what's your name?!"

Edward had started off. "Edward! I'm Edward!" He set off from the station, and whistled goodbye to Trevor, who looked forlorn once more. "Broken up! What a shame! Broken up! What a shame!"

"Didn't even know you had a girlfriend." said Sidney Heaver.

"Shut it, idiot! I must help Trevor, I must!" As he pulled out onto the Suddery Junction, he thought of all his friends who liked engines. But strangely none of them would have room for a traction engine at home. And the fact that at least four of them were hippies and hated tech would not be helpful at all.

"It's a shame, it's a shame!" Edward panted angrily as he passed the Suddery Castle, also known as the Suddery Crumbling Ruins.

Then: "PEEP PEEP! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"You mean you're letting go of this dream and just moving on with your life?" asked Sidney hopefully. But there, on the platform stood the very person.

"Hello Edward! You look upset! What's the matter Charlie?" the man asked the driver.

"Traction engine in the scrapyard Vicar." said the driver. "And a live one."

"Ouch!" Vicar Teddy, as he was known, shuddered. "Sounds painful.

"He'll be broken up next week."

"Indeed! If I was in there, I'd be broken up as well."

"What- No, I mean physically broke up. With a crowbar. Jem Cole says he's never drove with a better engine."

"Hang on, when did you get a chance to chat with Jem!?" asked Sidney incredulously.

"Well while you were getting the latest Playboy-" The Vicar gave a look to Sidney, who grinned sheepishly. "-I was chatting with the driver! He told me a lot about Trevor, and quite frankly, I'm with Edward on this one."

"Please sir! He hauls wood and drinks and gives children rides!" Edward was aware of how pathetic that was, but he figured he had to contribute something to this conversation.

Teddy smiled. "We'll see." He said, as he took his kids over to his wife. He bent down. "Now listen kids, I can't quite get you the horse you wanted-"

"YOU'RE MEAN!" cried one boy.

"I WANT A DIVORCE!" howled the other one.

"-but I can get you a metal one!"

Edward frowned and then smiled. "Excuse me, sir. I have a idea..."

...

Jem Cole came around on Saturday, grinning at Trevor in a way that the old traction engine hadn't seen for quite a while. "The Reverend's coming to see you Trevor! Maybe he'll buy you!"

Trevor was excited, but dare not show it. "Do you think he will?" he asked. "Don't dangle this false hope before me Jem!"

"Oh, he will when I've lit your fire and cleaned you up!" Jem smiled. "You can thank friend Edward for this!"

"Oh Edward, if this works, you'll have a friend for life!"

...

The Vicar and his two boys arrived that evening. Both boys were so excited, mainly because they never got to stay up this late unless some spectacularly bad people were getting their asses handed to them by their father, a black belt in karate and a former veteran.

Trevor hadn't felt so happy for months! He chuffered around the yard, pulling several large pieces of scrap like he was competing in a 'World's Strongest Engine' contest.

"Show your paces Trevor!" said the vicar. Trevor looked befuddled at this, so the Vicar amended it to "Show us what you've got!"

Trevor took the group on a ride around the scrapyard, through the gates, all the while cheerfully singing once more. If this was to be his last night, then he wanted to enjoy it.

...

Later, the Vicar came out of the office smiling. "I got him cheap Jem! Cheap!"

"Should I be offended" muttered Trevor.

"You here that Trevor! The Reverend's saved you and you can live at the vicarage now!"

Trevor frowned. "Can?"

"If you wish, there's a place where you can rest and not do so much wor-"

"No sir! Peep peep!" cheered Trevor.

Smiling, the Vicar turned to his car, ushering the boys in. He looked up, and Edward was standing there, looking worried. He gave him a thumbs up, and Edward whistled so hard that nearly everyone was woken up.

"What did you do to convince him?" Charlie asked.

"It was Edward's idea. I told him that people may not be so willing to work at your scrapyard or receive your scrap, if they discovered that you had condemned a sentient being to it before he was ready. I believe the police are currently at his former master's home for cruelty towards Trevor."

Edward grinned, and looked at Trevor. "Come on then!" he laughed. "Let's go!"

...

Now Trevor's home is in the Vicarage Orchard. And he sees Edward every day, and usually, when he has time to stop, they share a drink of Apple Cider, in which Trevor has insisted he take at least one every day for his arthritis. Not only has he finally been paid, but his paint is spotless and his brass shines like gold. Trevor enjoys his new work, but his happiest day is the Church Fete.

With a wooden seat bolted to his bunker, he chuffers round the orchard giving rides to children. True, it took Vicar Teddy a while to work out how not to crash, but once he did, he was away.

...

And long afterwards, you will see him shut his eyes in his own shed, remembering.

"I like helping children." he tells his driver, who merely smiles and shakes his head.

...

"Oh, you're back Edward! Scrapheap treat you well?"

"Actually Thomas, I saved a life today. What did you do?"

Thomas ignored him.

Edward glared at the face cream. If only someone had the bright idea of doing something to it, he just wanted to see the look on Thomas's face when that happened.


	31. Episode 5: Old Iron

Okay, Mr Starr, I'd like to apologize for the fact that we brought you a non-vegetarian meal earlier...and I'm sure the five men you put in hospital apologize too.

 **Sorry bout that mate.**

...

Wellsworth is probably the best place to have to wait for a train. It doesn't smell like weed like Vicarstown, doesn't have a lack of toilets like Lower Suddery, has not the stench of shame that Knapford contains and is not Tidmouth. However, with all that said, even waiting there, you're struck by the feeling that whoever came up with the idea of sentient trains should be shot, and then run over by said train.

One day, James had to wait at the station until Edward and his train came in. This made him cross (Well okay, crosser) and so when Edward arrived with the new standard red express coaches, James glared at him with the force of a thousand suns. Or so he believed. "LATE AGAIN!"

Edward laughed. "Sorry mate, got a little stuck at a signal. You understand."

"Bloody hell!" James snapped as he fumed away, letting out curse words. One may wonder why James was waiting there for so long, and that would be because he wanted specifically to be able to complain to Edward that he was late.

...

After James had finished his work, and had gotten called out for bringing in a express train fifteen minutes late, he headed back to the yard, and in particular towards the shed. He puffed onto the turntable, and glanced around nervously in case the wind started going particularly bonkers.

He stewed as he turned around. Literally, his driver had decided to cut out the long waiting hours and cook his stew in his boiler. He was still feeling very bad tempered, and not just from the stew. "EDWARD IS IMPOSSIBLE!" He grumbled.

"Pretty sure he exists."

"He clanks around like a lot of old iron! And he's so slow he makes us late!"

Thomas and Percy, resting at the sheds, were cross. Because they had chosen this day to find some respect deep down in their hearts for Edward.

"Old Iron!? Slow?"

"Why Edward could beat you in a race anyday!"

"Really!?" scoffed James. "I should like to see him do it!" And he angrily clanked into the shed, to sulk and sleep. Before he did so though, he smiled gleefully at Thomas's face mask. An idea had crept into his mind, and he was beginning to think that such a prank would make him the top dog among the tender engines.

...

Next morning, James's driver was suddenly taken ill. "WHAT WAS IN THAT STEW!?" he wailed, as he could hardly stand. The fireman rolled his eyes, dragged him out and shoved him over to Thomas's driver, who was having his own trouble as Thomas's sleep mask had stuck his face into a constant smile, no matter what his emotion. The fireman uncoupled James, ready for shunting. James was impatient to get started so he could finish.

The fireman turned away for a second to get a towel to wipe his face. Suddenly the signalman shouted and he spun back around. There was James puffing away down the line!

"OI! JAMES! COME BACK!"

"Wait, NO SHUNTING OR ME TODAY! HOORAY!" cheered James, blind to anything but his own escape.

...

"All traffic halted!" the signalman announced at last. He turned around, and then he told the fireman what had happened. "There were two boys on James's footplate, fiddling with the controls!"

"It's always boys!" wailed the fireman, before wiping his brow once more. "Phew!"

"They tumbled off and ran, when James started up." Signalman shook his head. "My kids would never do stuff like that!"

"Aren't your kids in borstal?"

"Besides the point." There was a loud ringing, making both jump, and then the signalman answered the telephone. "Yes. He's here! Right...I'll tell him." He slammed the phone down. "They've somehow managed to get hold of a inspector, and he's coming at once. He wants a shunter's pole and a coil of wire rope! Also, some extra tea."

"What for?" wondered the Fireman.

"Perhaps he wants to film a naughty film. Search me mate, but you better get them quickly. I know this Inspector. He's pretty much Chuck Norris."

...

The fireman was ready when Edward arrived, carrying Inspector Norris on board. The inspector saw the pole, the rope and the tea. "Good man! Jump in!" He paused. "And pour me a drink as well."

Edward peeped and started up, Percy and Thomas whistling behind him to encourage him. "We'll catch him! We'll catch him!" puffed Edward gleefully.

Further on, James was laughing. "So then I said to the horse, hey dude, why the long face?!" he howled once more.

He sped through Knapford, scaring Gordon and Henry right out of sorts.

"Didn't know he was scheduled to come through here?"

"And if he was, on time too!?" gasped Henry.

"What a laugh! What a laugh!" James chuckled as he raced through onto a stretch of straight track. "Hang on, am I going faster?" Indeed, he had suddenly began to go faster and faster. "Uh, driver, slow-" He realized with a sudden jolt of horror that he had no driver. "Uh, oh, uh- WHAT SHALL I DO?! I CAN'T STOP! HELP! HELP!" He wailed, sounding for all the world like a damsel from a old 30's film.

...

"We're coming, we're coming!" called Edward. And no, that's not a example of his super engine hearing, but rather because James was shrieking so loud that the normal laws of sound had broken. Gordon and Henry looked at each other as Edward rushed through Knapford.

"Huh."

"Huh."

Edward was puffing. Never before had he puffed this fast, not even when he had been young and fitter. He felt his boiler rattle and clench, as the firemen shovelled in more and more coal, and Charlie Sand sped up the process even more. His face was red, and Edward was panting up behind with every ounce of breath and steam that he had, even as he felt some of his wheels buckle from the pressure. Sparks flew, not only from his funnel but from the very rails themselves. He rounded the bend and at last, he caught up with James.

"EDWARD!" wailed James. "i! CAN'T! STOP!"

"YOU THINK I HAVEN'T NOTICED!" snapped Edward, or tried to, whatever passed for lungs were hammering out breath so hard that he was running out of the ability to talk. His tender bounced as it hit the little bumps and curves on the rails, and he felt as though his entire body was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion.

"Steady Edward!" called his driver, who himself was holding down all the necessary controls to keep up with James that he could. As Sidney and James's fireman once more went at the fire with a vengance, having to maintain this exact speed just to keep in front of James, Inspector Norris took his moment! Edging along, making sure not to place his hand on the boiler, the inspector stood on Edward's front holding a noose of rope in the crock of the shunter's pole

"YOU BETTER KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" bellowed Sidney.

"I HOPE I DO." He was trying to slip it over James's buffer. But the engines were swaying and lurching so much that it was nearly impossible to do so. Once the inspector narrowly avoided slipping off, and he closed his mouth to fight back the bile that rose. He swung the pole once more, and at last- "GOT HIM!" He shouted. He pulled the noose tight, and it was only by Edward grabbing hold of the pole with his mouth at that very moment that his own arms weren't ripped off from the strain of having to hold back the engine.

"Now!" snapped Sidney, and Charlie rushed forward. Gently braking, Edward's driver checked the engine's speed, and the second that James was level with the cab, James's fireman scrambled across and took control.

"You did it Edward!" called the driver. Norris sat down with some relief on James's cab floor. "Edward!"

Edward was still holding onto the pole for dear life, his eyes wide with panic and his entire being shaking wildly. He dropped it and struggled not to throw up.

...

"So the old iron caught you after all." moaned Edward in a chuckle as he swayed once more, leading James forward with the rope. James was unusually humble.

"I'm sorry Edward. Thank you for saving me"

"S'alright."

They pulled into Crosby as they arrived side by side. The Fat Controller was waiting. "A fine piece of work." he said to the artist drawing his picture. "Oh and you two. James, you can rest and then take your train."

"At this point I'll shunt for a week!" James said gratefully.

"I'm proud of you Edward. You shall have your worn parts mended."

Edward, aware that that meant all of his parts, whistled. "Oh thank you sir! It'll be lovely not to clank." He swayed, and then collapsed.


	32. Episode 6: Thomas and Trevor

**Okay Mr Starr, we're still going! ...Mr Starr? Oh god, can someone try and find him!? He's probably wandering around the studio in a alcoholic trance again!**

...

Trevor the Traction Engine enjoys living in the Vicarage Orchard. True,he gets to hear the many boring lectures from some of the lesser preachers, but on the plus side, he does get a great view of the changing seasons. His shed is also relatively deluxe, and he was pretty sure that Vicar Teddy had implied that he would get another traction engine to talk to as a pen pal. Edward came to see him everyday, but sometimes Trevor didn't have much work to do.

"Sup." Edward said one morning, following the James incident.

"Bloody hell! You look like you've been in the wars!"

"Certainly would have been easier than what I had to do. Anyway, this is my last visit for today, I've got to go and get some overhauling done. But I have a surpri-" Edward frowned. "You don't look happy."

"I do like to keep busy all the time." Trevor sighed. "And I do like company...especially chlldren." He paused. "Sounded weird again, didn't it?"

"Yeah, yeah, let's not say that as much." Edward smirked. "Well, it's funny you mention that Trevor. Cheer up! The Fat Controller has some new harbor scheme set up. He has work for you there. I'm to take you right now to meet Thomas today."

"Ah!" said Trevor in excitement. "The harbor! The seaside! Children! That will be lovely!"

"Well you're jumping to a lot of conclusions quickly but sure." Edward looked around. "So...no crane to lift you up...this is a problem."

"Yeah, we really should have thought this through more."

...

"Edward, were all the chains necessary?"

"We had a incident a year or so back when we tried to take a crane to the docks. One of the reasons we phased out the old trucks. Trust me, you're safer chained up than let loose on this thing."

...

Thomas was on his way to the harbor with a trainload of metal pilings, and a (for the moment) permanent smile that made him look like plastic surgery gone horribly wrong. "Swear to god I'm going to murder James once this day is over." he muttered angrily. The pilings were needed to make the harbor wall firm and safe. He arrived at Elsbridge yards, and looked to Edward. "All right, let's get this over with."

"Hello Thomas." said Edward calmly. "This is Trevor, a friend of mine. He's a traction engine."

Thomas looked and did a double take. He eyed the newcomer doubtfully. "He's a what engine!? IS HE RELATED TO TERRANCE!? BECAUSE I CAN'T DEAL WITH ANOTHER GRINNING DEMON FROM HELL!?"

"I'm a traction engine." said Trevor, who was used to far worse. "I run on roads instead of rails."

"SORCERY!" gasped Thomas.

"Can you please take me to the harbor? The Fat Controller has a job for me."

Thomas looked at Edward pleadingly. Edward was thinking of his overhaul however, and merely glared at Thomas. "Yes." said Thomas through clenched teeth. "Of course." But he was still puzzled.

One transfer later, the workmen had coupled Trevor's truck to Thomas's train. Soon, they were ready to start their journey. Thomas whistled at Edward, who was too busy thinking of the overhaul to care.

As the odd couple puffed away, Edward frowned. "How did we get Trevor onto that truck?"

The driver shrugged. "World is full of mysteries."

...

"I'm glad the Fat Controller needs me!" called Trevor as they went over a bridge. "I don't have enough to do some times!"

"Wait!" Thomas said in shock. "You WANT to do work!?"

"Of course! It's fun! I can work anywhere. In orchards, on farms, in scrapyards, and even at harbors!"

"Well bully for you! But you still don't run on rails!" puffed Thomas the Racist Engine.

"I'm a traction engine! I don't need rails to be useful!" said Trevor. "You wait and see."

"Uh huh, sure."

"You know I had a chat with Bertie the other day. Talking about snowdrifts...and snowplows."

Thomas shut up for the rest of the journey, or tried to, but his mouth had for whatever reason decided to stick open. He wondered if he was coming down with lockjaw, and if he was, if he would be justified in slamming James into the back of the shed.

...

But when they reached the harbor, they found everything in confusion. Trucks had been derailed, locking the line, stone slabs lay in pieces and there was a distinct smell of booze and tears in the air.

"We must get these pilings past." said the driver. "They are essential. Trevor, we need you to drag them round this mess."

"So we're not doing anything, right?" Thomas asked innocently. "I'd just like to catch up with James and, er, give him a talk."

"Oh no you don't!"

"Just the sort of job I like." said Trevor happily. "Now you'll see Thomas! Now I'll show you what a traction engine can do!"

Jem Cole started Trevor up, and the traction engine hit Thomas in the back.

"OW!"

...

Trevor was as good as his word. He dragged the pilings clear with chains and towed them into position. "Who needs rails!?" he asked rhetorically to the air where Thomas was supposed to be. "Coward!" he laughed mockingly.

Later, Thomas returned with his two coaches, and was amazed to see how well Trevor had cleaned up. "Bloody hell!" he muttered as he turned the corner. Thomas had brought Annie and Clarabel to visit him, carrying in them a present for Trevor. Thomas sighed, and was aware that he had a hearty meal to digest. He had to eat his words. Despite himself, Thomas was most impressed. "Now I understand how useful a traction engine can be!" He declared out loud.

"So you won't be racist again!" snapped Annie.

"I never was a racist!"

"Yeah! He just didn't like things that weren't the same as him!" said Clarabel with no hint of irony in her voice.

The coaches were full of children, Trevor gave them all rides around the harbor. They all liked this best of all, and he was greeted with cheers each time he returned, though that may have been because he accidentally blew off their teacher's hat.

"He's very kind." Annie muttered begrudgingly.

"He reminds me of Thomas." added Clarabel.

"Let's not go that far."

Everyone was sorry when it was time for Trevor to go. The children cried goodbye and Thomas pulled him back to a junction. There was a silence, and then the teacher turned to tell the children it was home time. And then realized that they were without a train.

They did have two very irate coaches though.

...

Once off the truck, a small tear came into Trevor's eye. Not even Thomas was that heartless, and so pretended not to see. He whistled gaily to make Trevor happy. "I'll come and see you when I can." he remarked. "And Edward'll be back in a few days. The vicar can look after you now, and there's apparently plenty more work in the orchard. But we may need you at the harbor someday again."

"That would be lovely." said Trevor happily.

"Yeah."

Traction engine and steam engine looked at each other.

"Well...good bye."

"Goodbye."

...

That evening, Trevor stood in the orchard shed remembering. He thought of his new friend Thomas, the harbor and most of all, the smiling faces of the children. Then he went happily to sleep, in the shed at the bottom of the orchard.

...

Late that night, Thomas woke up.

"OH BALLS! I FORGOT THE COACHES!"


	33. Episode 7: Percy and the Signal

Hiya guys! Toonie here! Much thanks to all the readers who have favorited it, didn't think it would get this popular, I must admit. Also, if you want to review, even if it's just writing a 'This sucks' or 'Rot in hell Toon Guy!' then please do so!

And now, CUE THE THEME.

...

All right Stevie, I'm ready...Stevie?

 **Sorry, we're getting some problems with the cameras.**

Oh, how so?

 **Well, every so often there'll be a glitch. Just for a millisecond, if we hadn't tried to slow it down to make sure that none of the crew members are in the shot too much, we wouldn't have noticed...we're not sure what it spells out yet, but it's a message of sorts...ah, never mind, Ringo, go ahead.**

...

Percy works many places over the Island of Sodor, but for the most part, he has recently been working at the yard near the big station. Often he is seen pulling trucks, and many are not sure for which party the punishment is being given.

He loves playing jokes, but they can get him into trouble. Henry knew that all too well, as he had been stuck in the same position at Knapford for a few days now.

One morning, he was being very cheeky indeed, even by his standards.

He rushed up in the Tidmouth yards and sidled up besides Gordon. "Peep peep! Hurry up Gordon the train's ready!"

Gordon thought he was late and let out of a blast of rude words. He then paused in thought as he realized that today was supposed to be his day off. "HAHAHA!" laughed Percy, who had no concept of when a laugh was necessary, and showed him a train of dirty coal trucks. Gordon thought how to pay Percy out, only to then be presented with a bill for parking in the wrong area.

That got his day off to a good start and no mistake.

...

Next it was James's turn, and Percy specifically went in a loop twice just so he could arrive as James was resting by the Breakdown Train. James was bearing the signs of a scuffle with Thomas, who had finally gotten the full use of his face back again.

"Stay in the sheds today James!" said Percy, barely hiding his snickering. "The Fat Controller will come and see you!"

Now, let us be frank. If this situation was happening to us, there would more than likely be a reasonable thought in your mind that trusting the resident prankster with news was a bit like giving the codes to all nuclear weapons to a Anti-War demonstrator. You know that. I know that.

James did not know that, for it has been mentioned a number of times that reasonable thoughts died in his brainbox.

"Aaah!" though he aloud. "The Fat Controller knows that I'm a fine engine! And handsome too! He wants me to pull a special train!"

"Uh yeah that's it!" Percy rushed off before he exploded with laughter. James's driver and fireman could not make him work, both in the sense that he would not do his work, and that he refused to even start.

Now what James was trying to accomplish by not, for example, asking the driver and fireman if this was true or not, since the Fat Controller would have certainly sent someone reliable to tell them, is a mystery that will last until the end of time.

This in turn caused the other engines to grumble dreadfully, as they were forced to do James's work.

Gordon snarled and angrily threatened James with all manner of painful acts preformed upon his cab. Henry hissed and fumed and muttered curse words that should pass through the lips of neither engine nor human. Even Edward, who James had supposedly entered in a truce with, remarked as he passed the lazy sod that he probably should have left James to crash.

At last, after about twelve hours of this, and a dramatic slow down with work, Inspector Norris arrived.

"Show a wheel James."

James swiveled his eyes to his driving wheels. "There."

"Smartass." Inspector Norris said loudly. "You can't stay here all day!"

"Actually he can." cut in the driver.

"Stow it mate!" snapped Norris.

"The Fat Controller told me to stay here. He sent a message this morning!" James looked smug, feeling that he had got the better of Norris in this exchange.

"He did not. How could he? He's away for a week in Wales!"

"Oh?" said James mockingly.

"Oh." he said in contemplation of just who had delivered the message.

"OH!" he said as the penny finally dropped into the abyss that was his brain. "WHERE THE HELL IS THAT MISERABLE GREEN SCROTUM WIPE PERCY!?" Somehow, he started forward just by pure rage, and both driver and fireman grabbed on quickly to stop him from causing a nasty accident.

Inspector Norris glared at the foolish boys, who had come back for more after the previous week's stunt.

...

Percy had wisely disappeared in the rough direction of Vicarstown.

...

When the Fat Controller came back (Mysteriously with a woman who appeared to be staying at his house) he did see James, and Percy too, in the yard. Gordon promptly began selling tickets, and within three minutes they had already sold out.

Both engines wished that Hatt had stayed just a few days longer. Mainly because his curses were turning the air blue.

...

But one day after that, Percy was being careless, even more so than usual. He hurried out from Ffarquhar Sheds and grinned at Gordon and James. "I say! You engines! I'm to take some trucks to Thomas's junction."

"Ah." said Gordon. "This is of course different from the many times previous that you have taken trucks there, right?"

"It is! Thank you for noticing. The Fat Controller chose me especially! He must know that I'm a really useful engine!"

"More than likely he wants you out the way." James said bluntly. James had, in a rarity for him, hit the nail smack on the head with that one, but Gordon shushed him. He looked across to James, and both of them began making a plan.

"James and I-" James grinned to back Gordon's statement up. "-were just talking, funnily enough, about signals at the junction. See, you can't be too careful with signals, but then, we don't need to mention that to such a clever-" Percy swelled with pride "-understanding-" More swelling occurred "-wise and really useful engine like you Percy." Percy felt, among other emotions, flattered.

"We were just talking about BACKING signals." said James, hit with one of those rare brilliant flashes of intelligence that only can come from the mind of a completely self-centered twit. Gordon grinned and winked to James, with his dodgy eye. "And they need extra special care indeed! Isn't that right Gordon?"

"It is indeed, James!"

"Would you like me to tell you about them Percy?" James and Gordon knew how to work someone. Gordon offered honey covered bait, and James provided the hook. Percy, bolstered by the taste of the praise, grinned.

"No thank you James! I know all about signals!" He ignored Thomas snickering to himself quietly. The blue engine rushed around the corner in order to leave before giving the scam away. Percy was worried.

 _I wonder what backing signals are?_ he thought as he puffed off.

The two engines waited until Percy was gone to burst out laughing.

"Oh, no thank you James! I know all about signals!" Gordon mocked.

"Yeah, except for the signals that he's being FOOLED!" cackled James, and this in turn set Gordon off.

Toby, observing this from afar, realized that the two engines had crossed the point of no return with regards to their sanity.

...

"Never mind!" Percy said to himself as he passed the ruins of the castle and Thomas, again. "I'll manage- Thomas!? You were just in front of me a minute ago!"

"Loop line!" Thomas said cheerfully. Percy was not aware that Thomas had successfully set up Gordon and his express coaches to see what was about to occur. Percy pushed that odd tidbit aside, he puffed crossly to his trucks and soon felt much better.

It would not be a feeling that he would feel for the rest of the day.

...

He came to a signal and glared at it. "Bother! It's at danger!" He looked ahead, it was not too far away until Dryaw, and here he was stuck at Elsbridge. It was a damn shame.

The signal moved to show line clear. It's arm moved up instead of down. Percy started backwards, he had never seen a signal do that before. Mr Carlin, his driver, was busy talking to the fireman of certain things that Percy...did not understand involving human women. This meant that Percy was left to work out his insane logic in his own head.

"Down means go, and up means stop! So upper still...must mean go back! Ah HA! I know, it's one of those backing signals!" Percy prided himself on his smarts. Carlin finally looked up and started.

"Oh ****!" he swore. "Come on Percy, off we go!" He stared in shock as Percy went backwards. "STOP YOU FOOLISH ******* ENGINE! YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG BLOODY WAY!"

"But-But it's a backing signal." said Percy in a protesting manner.

"THE **** IS A BACKING SIGNAL!?" Carlin snapped.

Percy told him about Gordon and James. Carlin laughed, and explained, though he felt like he was back in Henry's cab for a bit after seeing the thunderstruck look on Percy's face.

"Oh...Oh...OH DEAR!" Percy gasped in shock. "Let's start quickly before they notice-"

POOP POOP!

It was too late. Gordon had seen everything, and was howling with laughter.

Percy stayed still for a few minutes, his mind going into overdrive trying in vain to work out just where exactly he had gone wrong. Then, at last, he puffed on, pulling under the Elsbridge...bridge.

...

That night, the big engines talked of nothing but signals. Percy, having been kicked out temporarily by Thomas, was not in the mood for it. They thought the subject funny. And Percy thought they were being silly.

Even as Edward and Toby laughed, they were a little worried.

"This is going to be a bootlace incident for weeks." groaned Edward.

"There's going to be so many damn signal jokes." muttered Toby.

How right they were.


	34. Episode 8: Duck Takes Charge

Theme is being CUED UP!

...

Fix that thing mate?

 **Hmmm? No, actually, for whatever reason it's getting more and more frequent...it's a mystery, I tell you. Now, Ringo, new character being introduced...**

...

"Do you know what?" asked Percy.

"What?" grunted Gordon.

"Do you know what?"

"Not personally, no."

"Do you know what?"

"Silly beggar!" snapped Gordon. "Of course i don't know what! If you don't tell me what what is, then how can I know that the what you're talking about is the what that I know!"

There was a pause as both James and Percy tried to wrap their heads around this rather odd statement, before Percy continued on. "The Fat Controller says that the work in the yard is too heavy for me. He's sending a bigger engine to help."

"RABBISH!" said James.

"What!?" echoed Gordon and Percy at once.

"What do you mean, what?"

"What was that word you just said?!"

"Rabbish!?"

"RABBISH?" Gordon said loudly. "What the hell is that?"

"It's that red thing that's like a vegetable." Percy explained.

"No, that's radish!" snapped another truck.

"Wait, do you actually mean rubbish?" Gordon asked in shock. "Because you were far off what it actually sounds like!"

"Maybe you're not pronouncing it right!" James fumed, before turning back to Percy. "Any engine could do that work! If you worked ore and chatted less, this yard would be a sweeter, better and a happier place!"

Percy stared. "Now that's harsh even by your standards." Angrily, he went off to fetch some coaches for some person or another. It had been two weeks since Signalgate, as it had been inevitably been christened, and thus far so many jokes had been directed at him it had lost what little humor it possessed and became a nuisance.

"That stupid bloody old signal!" he snarled, as he remembered the misunderstanding and had gone backwards instead of forwards. "No one listens to me now, they think I'm a silly little engine and order me about!" He puffed grimly. "I'll show em! I'll show em!"

The only thing that stopped him from going on a serial killer style rampage was the fact that he didn't know how.

By the end of the afternoon he felt tired and exhausted. More so than usual. He brought some of the coaches for Henry's next train to the platform. He sighed and began considering heading to the Sidings to get drunk when he noticed a figure.

"Hello Percy." said the Fat Controller, in a chipper mood for some reason. "You look tired."

"Not half sir." said Percy, his usual polite manner evaporating. "I don't know if I'm standing on my dome or my wheels."

"You look the right way up to me." laughed the Fat Controller, but in that split second his mind went into overdrive. It was clear that Percy was somewhat unhappy, and there had been several cries for help that the Controller had ignored in the hope that it would go away. But it hadn't, and Percy was going down the Thomas route once more, of teasing engines and then getting comeuppances.

So Hatt made a quick choice. "Cheer up, the new engine will be here soon! He's bigger than you, and can probably do the work alone. Would you-" And here you would not be able to tell but for the slight hitch in Hatt's voice that he was seriously running over all problems in his mind. "-like to help build up my new harbor? Thomas and Toby are going to be helping."

Percy grinned. "Oh yes sir! Thank you sir!" He puffed off to the yards to await his next order, and the Fat Controller congratulated himself on a smart choice.

Now all he needed to do was meet the new engine and he could go home and...arrange a date.

...

And soon, the new engine arrived. He had a shrewd, cunning look about him, like he was already aware of many things that no other engine was. He looked over his new surroundings with a slow, laid back interest.

"What's your name?" asked the Fat Controller.

"Montague, sir. But they usually call me Duck. They say I waddle." Duck fixed Hatt with a glance. "I don't really, sir. But I like Duck better than Montague."

Hatt had the feeling that he was being examined and judged just as much as he was examining and judging Duck. "Good. Duck it shall be." He coughed, and Percy puffed up besides him.

"Here Percy! Show Duck round." Sir Topham turned. "Oh damn it! Look, there's another old truck!" He hurried off to see the truck, which was more a excuse for him to ignore Duck's penetrating gaze.

The two engines went off together. Soon they were very busy. Percy was unsure about the engine. He seemed a decent sort, and he hadn't insulted him or made cracks about signals just yet, but still...there was something that indicated a kind of calculating intellect.

...

Duck pushed some of the red coaches, that had replaced the green coaches over the years, into Knapford for one of the other engines to take. Gordon, Henry and James watched Duck quietly do his work.

"Seems a simple sort of engine." Henry muttered.

"How about some fun?" lazily asked Gordon.

"We'll have some fun and order him about." James snickered.

Duck, of course, heard everything, but said nothing, just kept the expression of a lowly country bumpkin on his face as Henry and Gordon moved out, making utterly ridiculous quacking noises as they did so.

And then:

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH.

Smoke billowed everywhere. Duck coughed, but was surprisingly okay about it. Percy growled as he puffed through the smoke. James, meanwhile, had been howling so hard at this spectacle that he was late for his own train. As he hurried off, feeling redder than ever, Percy puffed besides Duck.

Percy was cross, but Duck took no notice. "Percy." He said casually. "They'll get tired of it soon. The other engines at my railway did."

"These aren't your typical engines." grimaced Percy. Duck examined his friend's face, noticed the slight tick in his face and, keeping the same expression, probed further.

"Do they tell you to do things Percy?"

"YES THEY BLOODY WELL DO!" answered Percy angrily.

"Right!" said Duck, his voice finally achieving something of a interesting tone to it. "We'll soon stop THAT nonsense!" Percy looked doubtfully at him, but Duck merely laughed and said. "Ah Percy. Once you get to know me, you'll understand...how shall I put this? I'm a bit of a revolutionary. Now-" He whispered something to Percy, who grinned steadily more and more wider. "We'll do it later!" Duck puffed off in one direction, and Percy in another.

...

The Fat Controller was looking forward to hot buttered toast for tea at home. He was also busy examining his bit of crumpet. "Hmm? Why yes Alice dear, I'd love to go out again. How about...tomorrow? Maybe? All right the-"

There was a extraordinary noise! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH! And then what sounded like a lot of pigs oinking at once.

Hatt got up, stared outside and growled. "Alice. I'll call you back." He slammed the phone down. "BOTHER!" he said, wiping his mouth. He grabbed his hat and hurried to the yard.

...

At Tidmouth, Duck and Percy sat calmly on the points and turntable outside the shed, refusing to let the engines in. The oinking noises had been a vain attempt to get Duck riled enough to attack the three engines. As for that Duck, he was grinning lazily once more, but this time his eyes had steel in them. Gordon, Henry and James were, not surprisingly, furious.

Whistles were being blasted, words were being swung like loaded weapons and it was upon this scene that the Fat Controller ran in and belted out. "STOP! THAT! NOISE!"

"THEY WON'T LET US IN!" hissed Gordon.

"AND MY TRAITOR OF A EX-DRIVER'S JAMMING THE TURNTABLE!" howled Henry.

"VIVA LA REVOL-" Carlin sighed. "I'll...I'll go home."

"Good choice!" snapped Hatt. "Well Duck?"

Duck's smile, dripping with awareness and 'Look at me, aren't I the Cat's Pyjamas', changed not one iota. "Beg pardon sir. But I'm a Great Western Engine."

"Oh god, your previous owner said you went on a bit about that."

"We do our work without fuss. But, er, begging your pardon sir. Percy and I would be glad if you inform these, uh...engines, for lack of a better word, that we only take orders from you."

This officially set the engines off again and whistles echoed across the yard.

"SILENCE!" snapped the Fat Controller. Everyone shut up, as he hadn't used that tone of voice for a while now. "Percy and Duck, I am pleased with your work today but not with your behavior tonight! You have caused a disturbance."

Duck put on a sad expression, but internally he was counting down in his head. Gordon, Henry and James sniggered. It was a fatal mistake.

"AS FOR YOU!" snarled the Fat Controller, whirling around. "You've been worse! You are indirectly responsible for this disturbance! Duck is quiet right. It's my railway! And I'm making the rules!"

"But-" stuttered all three engines, all three realizing with a rapidly rising horror that they had been played.

...

After Percy went away, Duck was left to manage alone.

He did so.

Easily.


	35. Episode 9: Percy and Harold

Cue the theme!

...

 **Well that's not right...how is that happening? Hmm? Oh, go ahead Ringo.**

...

At Knapford Harbor, work was still going on to make sure that it would open on schedule. Percy was working hard at the harbor, and was enjoying himself immensely now that he didn't have any of the three engines breathing down his non-existent neck.

Today, the workmen needed stone for their new building, and Percy was pulling the stone to the building site, where Miss Jenny, a new forewoman, was waiting. Toby helped, but sometimes they would come across loads of stone that was too heavy. This meant that Percy had to fetch them for himself.

The second Percy had finished unloading the last of his stone, he puffed away towards the resting area, where Duck had brought cool, refreshing mugs of beer. Sometimes he met Thomas there, and this was one of those days.

"Nice job Percy! Fat Hatt will be very pleased with you!" Thomas winked, and Percy grinned back. The two downed their beer and were just about to talk about the latest tv show, when there was a odd sound. The source of this sound soon became clear.

A airfield was close by, and had sprung up rather quickly overnight. Percy would often here the airplanes zooming overhead, causing him to wonder if a nest of angry wasps had been left in his funnel again. But noisiest of all, and the source of the main noise, was a white helicopter that seemed to radiate smugness from every blade and every little smirk that he aimed down below.

"Stupid thing!" Percy said. "Why can't he go and buzz somewhere else!?"

"Well firstly, he's not a bee. Secondly, his helipad's here for the moment. They've been talking about reopening Dryaw station again and letting him be with the other planes."

"Thomas, stop using logic! You sound just like Toby."

...

One day Percy, although not of his free will, stopped at the airfield. He glared at the white helicopter for a bit, before finally getting bored and deciding to make conversation.

"Hello." he said grimly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Harold." said the helicopter in what can only be described as the most nasally RAF voice possible. "Who are you?"

"I'm Percy." The saddletank looked awkwardly and cast around for a topic of conversation. "What whirly big arms you have!" He was rather desperate.

"They're nice, splendid arms." said Harold proudly, and already Percy was wondering when the hubris would come into play. "I can hover like a bird, fly like a eagle, maneuver like a corkscrew and as charming as a fox. Don't you wish you could hover?"

There was just enough emphasis on the 'you' part to get Percy's gander up. "Certainly NOT! I like my rails thank you!" It was a weak comeback, but Percy was not used to moral outrage.

"I think railways are slow!" said Harold. "They're not much use and quite out of date!"

"Oh yeah!? Well I think helicopters are!"

Harold whirled his arms and buzzed away.

Percy looked up. "Well." he muttered, never one to admit when he had lost the argument. "Run then, you coward!"

...

Percy found Toby at Anopha Quarry, where he was casually sitting and thinking to himself. The tram glanced over to the scowling tank engine and sighed. "All right Percy, what's wrong this time?"

"I say Toby!" Percy groaned. "Damn helicopter's making me speak like him! That Harold, that stuck up whirly bird, thinks I'm slow and out of date!"

"Oh really?" Toby said, quite bored.

"Yes! Just let him wait, I'll show him!" Toby nodded as Percy rambled on, before closing his eyes and falling asleep. Percy collected his trucks and started off, still fuming in rage. "Stupid Harold! Stupid sky! STUPID EVERYTHING."

...

As he reached the watermill, Percy glanced around. "Huh. Typical." He yawned. "Nothing to do but pull trucks. I left the station why again?"

"Oh stop your moaning!" snapped Mr Carlin, who was already lighting up yet another cigarette. He suddenly glanced up and froze. The fireman, looking curious, glanced up as well.

Soon, they heard a familiar buzzing...

"Percy!" whispered Carlin. "There's Harold! He's not far ahead! Let's race him!" Carlin was really bored, in case you couldn't tell.

"Yes, let's!" said Percy, gleefully.

"Wait, shouldn't we-" The fireman was shut up as the train increased in speed. He fell back and decided to embrace the madness. Percy pounded the track, rushing past the ruins of the castle. Harold jolted in shock as he realized the challenge that was being thrown down. The trucks screamed and swayed back and forth as Percy pushed on. But they were trucks, so no one cared.

"Well I'll be a ******* ding dong dang!" said the driver, once more flashing back to a memory of Henry as he massaged his bruise. He had gotten it from Percy's increase in speed as well.

As they entered the valley, they spotted Harold, and the race was on! Harold swung down, clipping a bush and then swung out of sight briefly. "Go it Percy!" yelled the fireman, now fully in the action. "You're gaining!"

Percy had never been allowed to go so fast before, and was having a absolute blast of a time. "Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" he cackled to the trucks, indulging in his inner Thomas.

"We don't want to, we don't want to!" they grumbled and wept. But it was no use. Percy was bucketing along with flying wheels.

And Harold was high and alongside, watching on and always just a step or two behind or in front.

The fireman was shoveling in coal for dear life. They eventually straightened out, and they raced over the tier bridge with such a display of speed you would have thought that he would take off eventually. "Well done Percy! We're getting ahead! Oh good boy, good boy!"

"He's not a ******* dog!" snapped Carlin, but even he was getting high from the speed and power that was being pushed into Percy at this moment. Percy rushed around a corner, and realized from his regular visits that they were nearing the end of the path. And sure enough, a distant signal warned them that the harbour wharf was near.

Percy whistled back. "PEEP PEEP! Brakes guard, please!"

Carlin, still keeping his eye on Harold, who was now neck and neck with Percy, carefully checked the train's headlong speed. They rolled under the main line bridge and came to a sharp halt on the wharf itself.

After a few minutes to catch their breath, Percy groaned. "Oh god alive! I'm sure we've lost. And I'm...I feel like I'm dying!" The fireman grabbed hold of the cab roof and scrambled up to look up into the sky.

"WE WON! WE WON!" He shouted aloud, deafening Carlin. "Harold's still hovering! He's looking for a place to land!"

Harold practically drooped onto the ground. Percy could hear his mournful grumbling even through the heroic trumpets that was playing through his mind.

"Listen boys!" The fireman called, as many workmen gathered about to see what the fuss was about. "Here's a song to Percy!"

"Can we not?" asked Carlin desperately.

"Said Harold Helicopter to our Percy, "you are slow!"  
Your railway is out of date and not much use you know!  
But Percy with his stone trucks made the trip in record time  
Aaaaaaand we beat the helicopter on our own branchline!"

This was as far as the fireman got before Carlin and the workmen began pelting him with money just to shut up. Percy loved this. "Oh thank you!" he told the workmen. He enjoyed the last part best of all, and was a very happy engine.

The fireman on the other hand, was not. But who cares about him?


	36. Episode 10: The Runaway

Theme is being CUED UP!

...

Okay, am I up?

 **Indeed you are Mr Starr...damn recorder! There, that should sort it. Fingers crossed.**

...

"Urrrrgh, shouldn't have had that curry vindaloo! Gah!"

"I think it's less the curry Thomas, more the ten drinks you downed!"

"Don't get on my bloody case, Duck!"

Thomas the Tank Engine was ill, with a unspecified problem that was causing him to moan, groan and make odd noises. Workmen were trying to make him better, but it was no use. Perhaps because on the Island you didn't need a degree in engineering to be able to work with the engines.

"Edward must take you to the works." said the Fat Controller.

"The non-specific works?" Edward asked grimly. "And why me sir, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Because have you asked James to care about another engine?! It's like trying to get blood out of a stone!"

Edward conceded the point, and Thomas was loaded up upon a flatbed and taken off. Thomas felt very miserable, and made sure that Edward and his crew knew exactly how miserable it was that he felt.

Then the Fat Controller spoke to Duck, or at least he did until the smell was removed. "I want you to help Percy and Toby while Thomas is away!"

Duck was delighted, and not just because it meant that he didn't have to deal with the three big engines and their rubbish for a while.

...

Duck took over the running of Thomas's branchline. He already knew Percy, and soon made great friends with Toby and Bertie. And it just so happened that one day, he met Terrance the Tractor, who gave him a big welcome too.

"Take care of Thomas's coaches." he advised. "He's sure to miss them while he's away. Also, does my face frighten you? People say I should smile less."

Duck smirked and carried on, pulling the coaches behind him. It was lucky that no one noticed that he seemed to be taking far more of a interest in the various nooks and crannies of the line.

Duck was very gentle with the coaches. Annie and Clarabel were impressed. "Such nice manners" they told each other. "It really is a pleasure to go out with him."

"Much better than Thomas." said Annie one day as they crossed the Watermill. Duck's smile grew wider, but even so, he cast a casual look into the mill itself. His eyes flickered, and he took note of every detail.

...

"WHAT HO YOU LOT!"

"Oh god, he's back." Percy said to Toby.

"Well, it was nice while it lasted." grinned Toby.

When Thomas came back into the sheds, Annie and Clarabel how well Duck had managed them. Thomas was so pleased to be back, and to describe his various ailments, that he couldn't be cross for long.

And for the most part following this brief excursion, everything went as smooth as it could be on the Island. Thomas would often pass Duck, in between shunting, sitting on sidings and examining the various people who passed by. It was odd, but they never speculated on it.

The works had left Thomas's handbrake very stiff (Jokes in the reviews, please) and had made it seem as if the brakes, when applied, were hard on, when in fact they were not.

There had already been one or two incidents, mostly when approaching Elsbridge, when Thomas had skidded past the platform and unleashed a torrent of curse words. As a result, he and his coaches soon became rather infamously known for over-running the platform. To say Thomas found this most embarrassing would be a understatement.

Gradually, through practice (And several broken trucks that were often used as said practice) his driver and fireman learned to be extra careful.

...

But one day, Thomas's fireman was struck down with a similar bug to that of James's driver, and a relief man had to take his place. All was good as they approached Elsbridge and waited for the next train.

The fireman had fastened the coupling, and joined the driver and stationmaster on the platform. They did this at the end of the platform, as they were waiting for Henry's passengers, and wanted to see the green engine before heading on back.

But the fireman had forgotten all about Thomas's handbrake, which was hardly his fault considering that the driver had been up all night taking care of the actual fireman and so had not told him properly. Thomas simmered happily.

"Not long now." he remarked, as he saw Henry slowly approaching. In actuality though, Henry sped up a bit more to avoid being nagged. He was grinning quite cheerfully, mostly because whatever mixture had been put into Thomas's face-mask had been put into his as well, so he was frozen with a cheery grin.

But Thomas's brakes were not hard on, and suddenly he felt them move.

"Huh?" came the eloquent remark from Thomas. He tried to stop, but he couldn't without his driver and fireman. "Oh ECK!" he said, his smile finally dropping as panic set in, even ore eloquently as he carried on past the platform. He tried to whistle a warning, but he couldn't do that either. Henry would have stared open mouthed, but his jaw was unable to move anymore than it could.

As he raced off, he let out a terrified "HELP!" but the guard, driver, fireman and passengers were all stranded on the platform.

They stared off into the distance.

"Well." said the driver. "Let me call Bertie and hear him gloat."

...

"STOP STOP!" shrieked Annie and Clarabel. Thomas's mind was trying to focus on happy times such as his race with Bertie, but with plenty of speed he was still going on.

The signalman by Title Screen Bridge saw the train pass him and he sounded the alarm, which echoed down the line.

...

In Knapford Yards, James's driver rushed to the signalman. "Call-"

"I know!" The signalman grabbed the phone and dialed a certain number. "STOP THE RUNAWAY!"

...

Inspector Norris kicked down the door of his office, for the third time that week, and strode out to the Dryaw Airfield. There, ready for action, stood Harold the Helicopter.

The Inspector was already formulating his plan as he climbed aboard. Together, they took off into the sky. Well, not so much the Inspector, cause if he did, he would crash to the ground in agony.

Harold raced over the Island, over the Tier Bridge and through the valley, ignoring Percy, who appeared to be under the belief that they were having another race. And at Suddery, Thomas was finally tiring.

"I-NEED-TO-STOP." He panted. "I-NEED-TO-STOP!"

...

As they approached Suddery Station, Thomas saw Harold land with a bit of a bump in the car park. The Inspector lurched out and rushed onto the platform.

"OH-HECK-I'M-BUSHED!" moaned Thomas. They entered the platform slowly enough for the Inspector to act. Judging his moment, the Inspector scrambled into the cab as Thomas passed and slammed the brakes hard on.

Thomas moaned in agony as his brakes were applied, and at last, he stopped. Both he and the Inspector were very relieved-

"ESPECIALLY ME!"

-Yes Thomas, we know. Then they thanked Harold.

"Think nothing of it old chum!" said Harold cheerfully. "Glad ta be of service!"

"Oh stop with the bloody accent." moaned Thomas.

"Phew!" remarked the Inspector. "We must never let this happen again Thomas." Wearily Thomas agreed with him...though he wasn't really in a position to do otherwise.

...

At Brendam Docks, a crate was slowly lowered down.

"Hey, what's in it?"

"Dunno. Let's leave it for now. Tea's on."

As the workmen left, there was complete silence for a moment. There was suddenly a slow creaking noise, and slowly but surely, the crate shattered into tiny splinters of wood. Through the woods teamed a figure, definitely not a steam engine, all in black save for his buffers and his sallow, grey face.

He surveyed the Docks, and then he smiled as he slunk away into the sheds.

 **"It is good to be home."**


	37. Episode 11: Percy Takes the Plunge

Much thanks to the many good readers, reviewers and favoriters (Not a word, but roll with it) out there!

Theme is being CUED UP!

...

 **Okay, seriously, this is the seventh time I've called you this week! Come on, pick up! Ah, right! Hello, listen, I'm up in Shepperton Studio, recording room number 130? Yeah, look, you've been sending me batches of footage, and for whatever reason, there's been problems with equipment once I get it. The last one was the worst, I'm recording it with Mr Starr now- Oh, that reminds me, go ahead Ringo!**

Thanks mate.

 **Yeah, I'm here. What do you mean, there's nothing wrong with the footage!? Look, do I have to send you the goddamn-**

...

One day, Henry wanted to rest at the Harbor, but Percy was busy entertaining some engines. Henry moaned as he spotted the three of them sitting together, thick as thieves. It had been rather a long day.

Henry had recently taken up working a sort of night shift of kinds at the Harbor. Thus he was privy to all the workmen's rumors flying about, but in particular, that of a mysterious crate that had cracked open in the night. The mystery had been further confounded by another rumor, spread not just by workmen, but by engines who had briefly come from the mainland to work, of seeing a black shadow move around the sheds and yards, watching. There was almost never anyway to prove that this thing had even existed beyond the starved imaginations of tired people, but even stranger was that both workman and engine agreed alike that this did not resemble a steam engine.

Henry was jolted from his thoughts by discovering the points to the shed.

...

Percy, meanwhile, was telling them about the time he had braved bad weather to help Thomas. Which was pretty damn incredible, considering as that hadn't happened yet.

"It was raining hard! Water swirled under my boiler! I couldn't see where I was going, but I struggled on!" Percy frowned, he had no idea where these thoughts were coming from but he fed them.

"Ohhhh Percy, you are brave!" said one of the twin engines, feeding his ego.

"Well, it wasn't anything really! Water's nothing to a engine with determination."

"Tell us more Percy!" exulted the other twin.

"What are YOU engines doing here?" hissed Henry snappily. "This shed is for the Fat Controller's engines! Now go away and leave me alone!"

"But we are!" protested Twin 1.

"Are what?"

"Fat Controller's engines!" Twin 2 explained. "We just wanted to get out of the Clay pits and get some actual airtime before the camera crew officially come to our place!"

"I repeat my last sentence!" snapped Henry. "Silly things! Camera hogs!"

"Says the person who had a entire season to him last time." muttered Twin 1 as both engines moved off.

"I HEARD THAT!"

"They're not silly!" snapped Percy angrily. He had been enjoying himself. "A bit...naive perhaps, but not dumb!"

"You only say that because they'll listen to your made up stories! They are silly, and so are you!" Henry scoffed. "I mean, you've basically turned into us at this point with your flaunting and your peacock like fascination with getting acknowledged! Did the signal teach you nothing?!"

"Only that bad things lead to me getting a new friend to help us in the fight against tender engine supremacy!"

"And for another thing! Water's nothing to a engine with determination?! PAH! All the determination in the world won't help when you've got your fire damp!"

"Anyway-" slyly remarked Percy. "-I'm not afraid of water, unlike some other green engines I know of. I like it!" And he ran off singing. "Once a engine attached to a train, was afraid of quite a few drops of rain!"

"OH HAR HAR!" Henry roared after him. He sat upon his wheels, depressed. "No one's ever going to let me forget about the time I wouldn't come out of the tunnel in case the rain spoiled my paint." he huffed.

He glared at the seagull. "And what are you looking at?!"

...

In another part of the harbor, Percy puffed up alongside Thomas, still sniggering. Thomas was sitting and looking next to a board on the Quay. "Danger!" He said aloud.

"Will Robinson? Also, I can read, you know."

"We mustn't go past it. That's orders."

To Percy, this was like pulling out three red flags and waving them at a line of angry bulls. "Why!? When did you ever listen to what you were told!?"

"Danger means falling down something." Thomas said, in a rare instance of being incredibly naive. "I ran past danger once, and fell down a mine!" Thomas paused upon reflection. "Plus side, they closed that place down years ago, so there'll be no chance of me- US getting trapped down there again."

"I can't see a mine!" said Percy, being stupider than usual. He didn't know that the foundations of the quay had sunk, and the rails now sloped downwards into the sea. He could have plainly seen it, if not for two reasons. One, he was a idiot. And two, he was so determined to spite this attempt at orders that even if he had seen it, he would have rationalized it as something else.

"Stupid board!" snapped Percy like a child...and so he began to make a plan.

Thomas, meanwhile, rolled his eyes and decided to see if they could get their hands on a spare crane for when the inevitable happened.

...

Later that day, as he pulled some trucks along Tidmouth way, he whispered to the trucks. "Will you give me a bump when we get to the quay?"

This was a new experience for the trucks, as they had never been asked to bump a engine before. They giggled and chatted among themselves. "Driver doesn't know MY plan!" bragged Percy, and Carlin gave him a funny look.

"Oh **** this one needs some goddamn pills!" he snapped to the Fireman, who shrugged.

"On, on, on!" cackled the trucks. Percy, whom I believe we establish was a idiot today for whatever reason, believed that they were helping him.

"I'll pretend to stop at the station, then the trucks will push me past the board! Then I'll make them stop! I can do that easily." Every wise engine, and nearly all of the stupid ones, know that you cannot trust trucks. Especially when you have told the trucks to bump you. There was also another problem that Percy had failed to put into his plan, which will be revealed shortly.

"Go on! Go on!" shouted the trucks, and bumped Percy's driver and fireman off the footplate.

"Oh!" Percy was jolted, and began to try and brake. It was then that he remembered the first flaw of his plan, that he couldn't stop without at least a modicum of control from Carlin and his fireman. He slid past the board.

It was then that he realized the second flaw, as previously mentioned. "OH BALLS THERE'S NO STATION HERE!" He was frantic. "THAT'S ENOUGH! OH GODDDDD-GLUGGLUGLUG-"

It should go without saying that the glug glug was the sound of Percy sinking into the water. Carlin, for once lost for words, gestured wildly to the fireman in absolute bafflement, not that his fellow crewmember could provide any helpful insight into the mind of Percy.

Percy was sunk.

...

"You are a very disobedient engine!"

Percy knew that voice. At least he assumed that it was who he thought it was, being face down in the water was doing havoc upon his eyes. "Please sir! Get me out sir! I'm TRULY sorry sir."

"No Percy, we can't do that until high tide! I hope this teaches you to obey orders! Now, ferryman, get me back to the ground before I puke!"

"Yes sir!" A fish popped up and squirted water in Percy's eye. This was just the end of a lovely day for him.

...

"See, Percy, I feel like I should be saying I told you so about falling down things."

"OH SHUT UP THOMAS."

It was dark by the time anyone had brought cranes to rescue Percy. He was too cold and stiff to move by himself, so they dumped him on a flatbed and left him for the morning.

But what no-one had noticed was that in the background of this great palaver, there was a engine moving. A solid engine, with no funnel or dome, just a square body painted entirely in jet black. He looked at Percy, and grinned even more savagely than before.

 **"So-"** he murmured softly. **"-after all this time, you are still here. You seem to be settling in very well."** Laughing to himself, he headed off towards a old haunt of his. For he knew his way around. After all, for a while this had used to be his home.

...

Next day, Percy was to be sent to the works on Henry's goods train. Percy had spent the entire night praying that it be anyone, even Gordon and James, rather than Henry. Obviously he had not been loud enough.

Henry had remained remarkably quiet until coupled up and ready to steam. "Well well well." he chuckled. "Did you like the water?"

"No." said Percy with as much misery as possible.

"I am surprised! You need more determination Percy! Water is nothing to a engine with determination." Henry smiled even wider. "You'll like it better the next time." And he started off.

Percy was quite determined that there would never be a next time.

...

"Sir Topham, the new engine."

Hatt smiled and ambled over. "Ah, good morning. I believe you are the experimental BR Class 08 Diesel shunter I ordered?"

 **"Indeed sir."** The voice was deep, and practically dripping with honey and charm on it.

"Ah, good. The new coat of paint looks good. What's your name?"

The diesel smiled. **"Well sir, if it's all the same, I'd like to be called...Diesel. I can't wait to get to work! I've heard so much about your...engines."**

The Fat Controller could not escape the feeling that he had seen this engine somewhere else before.

...

NEXT TIME: THE DUCK AND DIESEL TRILOGY BEGINS.


	38. Episode 12: Pop Goes the Diesel

Much thanks to the many good readers and reviewers out there!

Gotta say, these next three are some of my favorites out there!

And now, the theme!

...

 **Okay, Miss Allcroft, I apologize...okay, you're going to tell me what happened? Ringo, start the next narration. Okay...lay it on me.**

...

Duck is very proud of being Great Western. He talks endlessly about it. But he works hard too, and has the ability to make everything run like clockwork.

It was a splendid day when everything began to go wrong. Duck was thinking to himself as he waited for the turntable to reach the other side, and he was wondering what it was he had to do.

...

"Come along, come along!" called Duck as he pulled some express coaches along. They twittered and laughed, for they had never had such a friendly and gentleman like engine since Edward. Duck's mind was elsewhere, on business that was known only to himself for now.

As he dropped the coaches off at Knapford, he hurried into the yard to shunt some trucks. The trucks and coaches were behaving well, and even the passengers had stopped grumbling. This was a occasion so rare that in olden times, it would have been celebrated with a full blown banquet.

As he returned towards Knapford Yard, Duck smiled cheerfully. The other engines didn't like having to be bustle about, especially when Duck was around to guilt them into doing their work.

"There are two ways of doing things!" Duck told them as he did every few days or so. "The Great Western way, or the wrong way! I'm Great Western and-"

"Don't we bloody well know it?!" groaned the three big engines. Henry frowned.

"Gordon, where's my tender gone?"

Gordon glanced over. "Huh. Odd." He smiled. "Sorry, can't waste time! You heard what Duck said!" He puffed off, followed by a cackling James.

Henry was left alone until a fitter took pity on him.

...

That day was the last easy one that Duck would have for the next few weeks. The next day started rather well, as he, Gordon, James, Henry and Percy waited outside Tidmouth Sheds for the Fat Controller to arrive and make their announcement.

Now Duck probably meant well, but his slight pushy behavior, combined with the memory of that fateful encounter before Percy had left Tidmouth as a permanent resident, had soured the big engines towards the GW engine.

So they were very glad when a visitor came.

But this visitor carried himself very differently. In previous times, engines had usually made loud entrances, or perhaps had snuck down under the radar until someone finally noticed them. But he purred smoothly towards them. He backed down onto the turntable and waited as it turned.

And the other four engines were silent. For this was something they had only heard about.

A diesel.

As he pulled in besides Duck, he looked the Great Westerner over and smiled. It was a cold smile, one that looked like it was very easy to slip on. He glanced over the other four, and some level of recognition seemed to occur in his eyes.

As for they, a strange feeling of having known this engine, if only briefly, was in the back of their heads.

The Fat Controller introduced him. "Here is Diesel. I have agreed to give him a trial run. He needs to learn." Hatt turned on his heel and looked at Duck. "Please teach him Duck." He looked down at his watch. "Ah damn it, I've got that shareholders meeting to go to." He walked away, but not before shooting a glance back to Duck and Diesel. Both of them were looking at each other, almost like they were daring each other to break some sort of masquerade.

As the car drove off, Diesel's smile increased. **"Good morning."** He purred in a oily voice. **"Pleased to meet you Duck."** He put just enough emphasis on the last word to make it clear that he wanted to speak another word entirely. His eyes, though never seeming to quite lose sight of Duck's face, shifted somewhat. **"Is that James!? And Henry?! And Gordon too!? And little Percy!?"**

The four engines whistled, already feeling as though this would make a very fine engine indeed. Diesel smiled. **"I am delighted and honored to meet such famous engines!"**

Duck ground his teeth. "Yes, well, there shall be time enough for you to get to know them." He puffed ahead. "It's time to get to work."

 **"Ah, yes."** And here if it was without any doubt that Diesel was smooth, he laid it to rest, as he practically purred. **"The yard, of course. I shall see you later, engines." He followed after Duck at a leisurely pace."**

The silly engines were flattered. "He has very nice manners." They murmured. "We are pleased and honored to have him in our yard."

...

Duck growled as he puffed on. They stayed silent for two minutes as they traversed the busy line, before Diesel spoke up.

 **"You are a interesting one, Montague. I am so interested in seeing this Island and the line...I do wish you to know, however, that your pointless distrust of me will come to nothing. I merely wish to work with you. Besides, I know why you came here."**

"Well that's no secret." Duck said casually. "I came here to work."

 **"Not quite."** Diesel's smile seemed a mockery of concern. **"I know the real reason. I know much. I know about Shining Time."**

For the first time, Duck felt a jolt of fear. He didn't show it though. "Come on!" he shouted for the benefit of Edward, Thomas and Toby, in the yards. Diesel purred after him.

They entered Knapford Yards, Diesel passing through the Sodor Shipping company building and finally speaking once more. **"Your worthy fat-"**

"Sir Topham Hatt TO YOU!" ordered Duck sharply. Diesel was clearly a good actor, for he looked legitimately hurt.

 **"Your worth Sir Topham Hatt thinks I need to learn. He is mistaken."**

"Ah, you and he have that in common at least."

Diesel seemed practically to swell. " **We Diesels do not need to learn. We KNOW everything. We come to a yard, and we...improve it."**

"By replacing all the Steam Engines with Diesels, yes, I've seen the way that your kind works." Duck muttered. He was not prejudiced against diesels as a rule, but those who delighted in ridding the world of the steam engines were practically his enemy.

 **"We are revolutionary!"** Diesel finished off.

This touched a nerve. "Oh!" said Duck. "Well then, if you're revothingummy, then perhaps you should get my trucks ready while I go and get Gordon's coaches ready." He was about to puff off in a huff when he paused. "Oh, one other thing." Duck's scowl deepened. "It wouldn't matter if you told them anyway."

Diesel smiled. **"We shall see."** And delighted to show off, he purred away to a section of line that was on the outskirts of Knapford and near Brendam.

...

When Duck returned, having grown sick of the conversation at Knapford for all they mentioned was Diesel, he watched intently as Diesel tried to shunt the trucks on a siding. These trucks were old, empty, past it and hadn't been touched for a long time.

So naturally, Diesel found them hard to move. Duck turned to some of the other trucks, who grinned back at him. For once, engine and trucks alike were waiting for the show. He pulled, and pushed, backwards and forwards!

"OOO-EEEE, OOOH!" The trucks groaned. "WE CAN'T! WE WON'T!" they shouted aloud. But Diesel, who had terrified other trucks before, would not give in. Of course, he had not dealt with Sodor trucks for such a long time, that he was rather out of practice. Duck watched with vivid interest.

Diesel lost patience. He let out a roar that sent the trucks shaking. He gave a great heave, and the trucks lurched forward, their old wheels falling apart from the sheer force.

"Ooooohh eee, ohhhh!" They screamed aloud once more. "We CAN'T! We WON'T!" This time it was genuine, as some of their brakes snapped, and their gears got jammed right in the sleepers.

 **"Grrrr- rrrrrrr!"** snarled Diesel.

"Hahaha!" chuckled Duck loudly. Diesel recovered and tried, in vain, to push the trucks back. But they wouldn't move, having finally just given up the ghost and hoped to just be allowed to die.

Duck nimbly and quietly ran round to get the other trucks. "Well-" he said brightly "-much thanks for arranging these Diesel, ah, but I must go now!"

 **"Don't you want this lot?!"**

"What, this pile of rubbish? No thank you!"

Diesel gulped, a murderous look in his eyes. **"And I went to all this trouble-"** he almost shrieked. **"-why didn't you help me!?"**

"You never asked old chum!" Duck grinned. "Besides, you were having a ton of fun being rev-whatever it was. Goodbye!" And he puffed off cheerfully, to the sound of trucks cheering everywhere.

Diesel stared for a moment, and then let out a roar that echoed across the entire Island.

...

Diesel had to help clear the mess. Several of the workers crossed themselves and took a good strong drink, as picking up the dead trucks gave a whole new meaning to the term 'graveyard shift'. Diesel hated it, and not least because all the trucks were laughing and singing at him.

"Trucks are waiting in the yard!  
Packing them with ease-l!  
Show the world what I can do!  
Gaily boasts the Diesel!  
In and out he creeps about  
Like a big black weasel!  
When he pulls the wrong trucks out-  
Pop Goes the Diesel!"

And they found this song particularly hilarious.

Diesel let out one last groan, as he scuttled away to sulk in the sheds with the breakdown train. **"I left this accursed Island to gain some respect! Ah well...I can work this to my advantage. Mr Boomer will be delighted. And the first to go...will be that miserable engine Duck!"**

He smiled. **"Or my real name isn't...Well, let's not give the game away too early."**

...

TO BE CONTINUED.


	39. Episode 13: Dirty Work

Much thanks to the many good readers and reviewers out there!

And now, the theme!

...

 **Fascinating Miss Allcroft! And then what happened!?**

...

Diesel, the new engine, was sulking something fierce. His work mostly took him back and forth the three main goods yards, Knapford, Tidmouth and Brendan. And in every yard, the trucks would not stop singing that **GODDAMN** song at him.

In fact, Diesel had already decided that they must have a secret underground network. He'd go off to do some work, begrudgingly at Knapford yards, and then get a blast of the first two lines of the song, then head off to Tidmouth and receive the rest.

No amount of threats offered by the black diesel could get the trucks to stop. They had smelt blood and they were on it like a pack of rabid hounds.

Hounds with suspiciously high voices. Apparently the procedure that gave them faces had been rather akin to neutering a certain other...aspect of truck life.

Duck, for his part, was horrified at how the trucks had united against Diesel. It was true that he didn't like Diesel very much, but he also knew that for most times, it was all engines verses the trucks. They needed to rely on each other, despite Diesel's potentially dangerous information. And if he could win him over...well, that would get rid of a major problem.

"SHUT UP!" He ordered and bumped several of them hard.

It was a cold day at Brendan when the most recent of these incidents occurred. Gordon, Henry and James had arrived at Brendan to see the show, and to cheer on Diesel. Despite how utterly slimy he was, he clearly had a hold over these three through a number of compliments and subtle presses to the ego.

Diesel, having just finished his latest work, backed up, growling.

"I'm sorry our trucks are so rude to you Diesel!" Duck said politely. Diesel was still furious though.

 **"It's all your fault."** he hissed. **"You made them laugh at me!"** He seemed to be trying to get the three big engines on his side.

"Rubbish-"

"Don't you mean Rabbish?" Gordon cut in. James glared at Gordon.

"Ahem. Nonsense." said Henry. "He may be a absolute arse, but Duck would never do that." He glared at Duck, and Duck stared back, bold as brass. "We engines have our differences, but we never talk about them to the trucks." He shuddered. "That would be dis...dis- Help me out, Gordon."

"Disgraceful." said Gordon.

"Disgusting." put in James.

"Despicable." finished Henry.

All three big engines stared at each other.

"That was nice, the way you did that." James admitted.

"You think? You know, maybe that should be our thing, you know, Gordon says Disgraceful, and then you say-"

Diesel toned out the inane ramblings of the three main engines and began to think hard. Already, he was calling upon the many incidents that he could recall happening in the week or so since his arrival, and together with what he knew from the three engines of old. But he didn't want them to be rid, no, he wanted Duck gone.

He hated Duck. Hated how Duck rarely lost his cool and always seemed to be on top of things mostly. Hated the fact that his supposed big news had not affected him in the slightest. Hated how easily Duck had managed to convince a few other engines not to trust him. More than anything, he wanted Duck to be sent away, out of reach for what he was planning. So he made a plan.

He cackled under his breath.

"Something wrong with your throat, Diesel?"

 **"Ah, er, nothing!"** Diesel sidled away so he could cackle in private. He had already decided that he should tell lies about Duck.

...

"Old up, 'ere e comes!" The trucks braced themselves for a good old fashioned sing song, when they did a double take. Diesel was smiling. Normally, he had a face like a storm cloud. This was new.

 **"I see you like jokes."** Diesel's smile seemed so...natural, to the trucks. This, they thought, was a engine they could truly understand. **"You made a good joke about me yesterday, and the days before that. I laughed and laughed."**

 **"Oh, well-"** Some of the trucks blushed. The various different types of trucks, such as cattle, open topped or vans, were rather dependent on their leaders, a group of trucks who were supposedly deadly to any engine who pulled them. And here Diesel had been sly, in going to the leaders of the Truck Families, he had integrated himself into their trust. Already the word was being passed down among the ranks, _listen to this one, he's different._

 **"You know-"** Diesel applied a voice so sweet it was like it was drenched in honey. **"Duck told me one about Gordon recently."** He smiled. **"I'll whisper it, if you wish to hear it."**

It could be said that every truck in Brendam leaned in close as Diesel whispered the joke. He then muttered **"And that Duck, such a prankster, said something about Henry and James that would make your ears burn-"** and once again he whispered.

 **"Now, don't tell Gordon I told you."** And he quickly oiled out, sniggering to himself as he did so.

The jokes sank in, and laughter echoed across the yards.

"Ho Ho Ho!" chuckled the trucks.

The leaders of the trucks looked to each other with a glint in their eye. The leader of the Open trucks and his deputy were already snickering to themselves as a idea occurred to them.

"Gordon will be very cross when he knows." said the leader of the Vans, a Old Box Van with a tendency to laugh out loud.

"Let's tell him." guffawed the leader of the Cattle trucks.

"Yes!" cackled the Salt Wagon, leader of all the various wagons. "That'll pay Duck out for bumping us."

And Diesel, listening to them cackle away, smiled to himself.

...

All trucks laughed rudely at the engines when they went by. And soon, the rumors spread out across the Island, thanks in no small part to the manipulation of the Leaders of the Trucks.

It was even worse when all three engines had to pass the trucks as a convoy, and then the mocking reached a fever pitch.

...

"I can't take it!" Gordon was in the midst of a nervous breakdown. His paint seemed to be molting off him, and he had taken up Thomas's lamentable habit of smoking cigarettes in a attempt to stop his buffers from shaking. "It's spreading to the coaches now! I can't even take the bloody express!"

"Oh you think that's bad!" James snapped back. He had begun to drink a lot more than used to, and had taken to wearing a hideous blue tarpaulin as a makeshift coat, hence he stank of whiskey and shame. "I'm getting ODD looks from the people at the Works, and apparently there's rumors that they think I may need to be retired!"

At that moment, Henry steamed in. For the most part, he had taken it better than them, with only a minor tic in the corner of his eye to show that he was even being adversely affected by the news. But his face was grim. "You would not believe what I've found out!"

And soon Gordon, James and Henry found out why what had happened, happened. There was a complete silence for all of two seconds before the three of them roared with anger.

"DISGRACEFUL!" snarled Gordon.

"DISGUSTING!" screamed James.

"DESPICABLE!" growled Henry. "We can't allow this! There have been worse insults, but coming from him-"

Gordon froze. "Listen you two." he said urgently. "How empty will the shed be?"

"Edward's at his branch, Thomas at his, Percy at the harbor and Toby's doing some work for Hatt." James recited.

"Right! That leaves us, Diesel and...him. Henry, where did you get the news?"

Henry growled. "One of the bloody brake vans! The ones with faces. He's the supposed leader, trying to get the other brake vans to care about taking the fight to us or some such. But from what I gather, that traitor only started the rumors to those lot at Brendam. I think the more widespread allegations have come about because of the trucks spreading them."

"Well then." Gordon smiled. "He did it to us. We'll do it to him. Let's see how he likes it."

...

It had been a long day, and Duck was tired out. He was so tired, that even as he made his way through Tidmouth, he didn't see the expressions on the other engines's faces. He pulled his last train of trucks into the yard and took a deep breath.

He had spent the previous few days doing a lot of hard work, which had piled up mysteriously. If he hadn't been so tired, he would have found that suspicious, but the trucks had been cheeky and noisy, and all Duck wanted was to rest in the sheds.

He pulled out of the yard and moved back around to the sheds proper. He got on the turntable back first and waited as it turned slowly around. And he was greeted by the three engines.

And this time, they were barring his way.

"Weeeeeeeeeeesh!" they hissed menacingly at him, and this time Duck felt genuinely confused.

"Keep. Out." snarled James with genuine malice.

"Stop fooling you lot." said Duck wearily. "I'm tired."

"So are we." growled the engines.

"Then you'll understand why I wish to sleep."

"We're tired of you!" All three drew strength from the other's presence. "We like Diesel. We DON'T like you. You've told terrible tales about us to the trucks!"

Duck snapped back at that statement. "I don't!"

"You do."

"I DON'T!"

"You do!" Henry bellowed, taking aback even Diesel. At this, the Fat Controller raced (So much as he could race) across to stop the noise.

"What's going on!" he snapped irritably.

"Duck called me a Galloping Sausage!" grunted Gordon. Hatt raised his eyebrow in bafflement at this seeming odd statement.

"Rusty Red Scrap Iron!" hissed James.

"I'm Old Square Wheels!" fumed Henry, trying hard not to cry.

"Well Duck?" The Fat Controller asked, trying not to make any snarky comments back to the other three engines.

Duck considered his next words very carefully. Normally, this would come easily to him, but at the moment, his tiredness was weighing on him heavily. "Well, I only wish sir-" he said at last gravely. "-that I had come up with those names myself. He who has should congratulate themselves. If the dome fits-"

Hatt suddenly came down with a very large coughing fit at the exact moment that all three engines began to hurl threats at the other engine.

"And he made trucks laugh at us!" The engines protested. The Fat Controller recovered, having been trying not to laugh himself. "Did you Duck?"

"Certainly not sir! No steam engine would nor should be as mean as that! These three should know by now that if I have a problem with them, I make it clear on the spot!"

Hatt looked at Duck for the longest time. And then Diesel slowly lurked up, having a feeling he would have been called on.

"Now Diesel, you've heard what Duck has said."

Diesel affected the air of a saddened and shocked friend of the family. **"I can't understand it sir! Duck of all engines. But I'm dreadfully grieved sir, but I know nothing."** And then he looked directly at Duck. Duck started back in horror.

"I see." said the Fat Controller, with a neutral tone. Diesel squirmed and hoped he hadn't. Duck was still staring at Diesel in horror.

"You." he whispered under his breath, too quiet for anyone to hear. "You sneaky-"

"Well Duck." Hatt sighed sadly. "I think it would be best if you left the sheds for a while."

Duck stared. "But-But sir! You can't believe-"

"You must go to Edward's station for a while. I know he would be glad to see you."

Duck struggled internally, his desire to pound Diesel's face into the wall conflicting with the orders. "As you...wish, sir." he ground out as the turntable was winched around.

Duck trundled sadly away out of sight of the sheds.

And all the while, Diesel smirked in triumph.

...

It was later at night, and the yards were mostly silent.

Mostly.

For in the corner of Brendam, a special train was being put together for one, last purpose.

 **"Now."** said Diesel calmly to the leaders of the trucks. **"You understand what it is I'm thinking."**

"Oh yes." said Open Top. "We know."

 **"Good."** Diesel shunted the Renegades Brake-Van, Open Top, the Deputy, Salt, Cattle and the Old Box Van in that order. **"Now...Edward will wish for Duck to do his work. You are experts at this, so I expect you know what to do. And while that happens, I believe you have instructed the other trucks to cause general panic?."**

"Oh yes." hissed the trucks.

 **"Oh."** Diesel said calmly as they reached Wellsworth. **"And one last thing...when you kill Duck, when you kill that poxy little Great Western Engine...tell him that the rest of this miserable island will fall soon enough!"**

Following behind, Toby stared in shock at this. Hidden, he puffed off towards Knapford.

...

TO. BE. CONCLUDED.


	40. Episode 14: A Close Shave

Much thanks to the many good readers and reviewers out there!

Oh, quickly to respond to a comment. Arseyman (And no, for those wondering, that's his user name, I'm not randomly calling a guy a arse), I'm actually glad someone picked up on that! Season 1 is close to my heart but I think Season 2 may be my favorite, mostly because it's got so many great episodes! Plus, the Duck and Diesel trilogy's a ton of fun, and it allowed me to actually begin hinting at a bit more of a over-arching plot (Stay with me on this.). Hope you're having a fun time reading!

And now, with that in mind, opening theme!

...

 **Miss Allcroft, Ringo and I think this could be the start of something great! Can we get Diesel back? He'd make a great villain- What?**

Do you want me to-

 **Yeah yeah! What do you mean, he's not allowed back on the Island!? Oh, someone found something out about him? ...Okay. Shoot.**

...

Duck the Great Western Engine puffed sadly towards Edward's station. As he crossed the viaduct, he became slightly tempted to throw himself over the side and just end it all. He was prevented from this only by his driver and fireman, who were already cursing up a storm about Diesel and what they would do to his crew when next they saw them.

If they ever did.

Duck was interrupted by this thought as he arrived at the entrance to Wellsworth. Edward was already there, having gotten up bright and early.

"Hello there, Duck was it?" Edward puffed forward. "So...no one's telling me much, save that you're to work with me for a while...mind filling me in?"

"Oh, it's just not fair!" Duck complained. He snapped back to professional mode. "God, I didn't think I'd get this involved. At all."

"Involved?"

"Gah, ignore me. You know Diesel?"

"Not personally." Edward had met Duck a total of two times, once when taking Thomas to the works, and once when they had been forced to share the sheds. He seemed a pleasant enough chap, even though he knew that he held some secrets, and he took Thomas's warning that Duck was concerned about Diesel seriously as a result.

"He's been telling lies about me. And he's made the Fat Controller and all the engines think I'm horrid!" Duck shook his head. "You know, if it wasn't me he had done it to, I might even go as far to say that I admire him."

Edward smiled. In doing so, he held eye contact with Duck. The two engines stared each other down, each testing the other, each seeing if the other was friend or foe. At last, Edward's smile grew bigger. "Well I can tell you aren't. And for all the jokes, so will the Fat Controller. You just wait and see."

"I don't like not having anything to do." Duck admitted.

"Then help me out with these trucks."

...

For most of the day, Duck was happy to work with Edward, and he set to work at once. The yard had been left in disarray following a drunken fight between two yellow tank engines, who looked as though they were going to mock Duck, only for Edward to glare and send them scurrying away. After tidying that up, Duck assisted the number 2 with sending trucks and coaches to the right places.

But every time he passed Gordon, Henry and James, they ignored each other.

He tried to get a word from Percy, but even that was difficult. Percy was constantly looking worried at him, as if Duck was pulling strings. Thomas was cordial enough, and Toby was nowhere to be seen.

Which was odd, now that Duck thought about it-

"Ah! Here we are." Edward gestured to a final train of trucks. "Mind acting as the back engine?"

They started on their way, passing through the Suddery Junction with good time to spare. Duck enjoyed the sun as it beat down on his paintwork, even though he felt a little unnerved in having to deal with, for the first time, a brakevan with a face. And not a pleasant one at that.

Eventually, they reached Gordon's Hill, which had recently taken on a more autumnal color scheme since the last time the camera crew had been there. The trucks were silly, heavy and noisy, so not much different than usual. The two engines had to work their socks off, pushing and pulling them around for what passed for the afternoon.

And at last, they reached the top of the hill.

"Well-" Edward said with delight. "That's that. I'm to leave these trucks here, according to the station master. You can go and take a wander round the Island if you want." He said this with casualness, but Duck caught the in joke of his sight seeing.

Grinning ruefully, Duck rolled off. "Goodbye!" he whistled, and rolled gently over the crossing to the line.

Duck loved the feeling of coasting down the hill, running easily with the wind whistling past. Especially as he hadn't exercised in so long. As he reached the Suddery Junction, he slowed down to examine the tracks. This was one section of the line he hadn't been on. His fireman snapped a few pictures, but suddenly, he heard a sound he didn't expect to hear.

It was a guard's warning whistle.

Curiously, he peered forward (Even though he knew that the sound was coming from behind him, it did no harm to check) and then back. "Funny...we haven't a guard!"

The driver looked back. "OH FLIPPING HECK!" He shouted, and shook the fireman's shoulders. "Barry! Full steam! There's a runaway!"

...

"Hurrah! Hurrah hurrah!" laughed the truck leaders. Diesel had placed them exactly in the right position, with the Old Box Van in front, it could give the other trucks a extra burst of strength as they raced down the hill towards Duck. "We've broken away! We've broken away!"

Duck started quickly and began driving as fast as he could. But even now he could hear the hideous cackles of the Renegade Brake Van and the cries from both Open Top and the Deputy. "CHASE HIM! BUMP HIM! THROW HIM OFF THE RAILS!"

"Hurry Duck, hurry!" said the driver.

"What do you think I'm doing?!" Duck shouted back, feeling that feeling of panic rise up in his boiler again. Twice in one week, this was not natural for him. He raced through Edward's station, and had cleared the platform in seconds. But the trucks were catching up, at such a speed that even the most eagle eyed trainspotter would have just seen a blur.

Duck spotted a junction. "There! We can lose them in there!" As he whirled around, he felt his wheels briefly leave the rails for a minute and praying for a miracle, he kept as still as he could. Luckily, he landed back on the rails and continued on, but it had cost him precious time, and the trucks were coming nearer and nearer to him.

He stared in horror at the old ruins of the castle, but swallowed it down. Without realizing it, he had been switched onto the loop line and was heading back to Edward's station.

"As fast as we can!" shouted his fireman. "And then they'll catch us gradually!"

Duck grimly acknowledge this, as he reached Wellsworth once again. And this time, even though they knew what was coming, the signalman couldn't change the points. The trucks were now within coupling distance of Duck.

With a sudden jolt of the points changing, both Salt and Cattle Wagons rammed forward and the brake-van was jammed into Duck's back. "We've got him!" crowed Open Top.

The driver was gaining control as they thundered over the viaduct. "Another clear mile and we'll do it!"

"The crossword?" asked his fireman, who had taken a bump to the head.

"OH GLORY! LOOK AT THAT!" Duck shouted in thunderstruck horror.

James was pulling out on their line at the Crosby station ahead. And judging from the speed he was going at, not only was he trying to give the tourists something to look at, but he was also needing water. And at any minute (But particularly those in the next three minute bracket) there could be a crash.

Duck's mind was filled with bloodstained corpses, and he, would be responsible.

"It's up to you now Duck!" cried the driver as he slammed the brake lever down. Duck put every ounce of weight and steam he had against the trucks.

"Phew, need a little top me up." James said cheerfully as he took a long draught of alcohol from the water tank. Why was there alcohol in the water tank? Because the filler was drunk.

Duck's wheels were jammed firmly on the rails, but even so, they wouldn't stop turning. Sparks flew from the sleepers, and Duck could feel his brakeblocks catching fire, even if just for a second. He was almost under the bridge, and he felt as though he was going to give out completely. The trucks were laughing away, and with horror, Duck realized that they didn't care what happened as long as they got someone. His eyes were filled with the back of James's coaches, red filled his vision and even as he desperately felt his side rods buckle and his whistle strain with the amount of blowing, he realized with gradual panic that it wasn't going to be enough.

"It's too late!" he groaned, and shut his eyes in the vain hope that maybe he wouldn't be able to remember it. Suddenly, he felt the points switch and he veered into a siding.

Duck's fireman had launched himself onto the platform at the last minute, and had startled the signalman into changing the points.

The siding was where the Italian Barber had set up shop. He was shaving a customer.

"So, how's-a the stock exchange treating-a you!"

"Not too bad." muttered Jerimiah Jobling, almost unrecognizable. The Italian Barber turned to get some more lather, and stared open mouthed at the sight of Duck's terrified face rushing towards him.

"GET DOWN!" Duck screamed as he saw the white wall of the barber shop approaching. His last thought before slamming head first into it was _'Who on earth would be so stupid as to put a barber's on the end of a rail?'_

The impact shook the building, not to mention the huge engine shaped hole in the front.

...

"A, nothing like a good old fashioned crossword!" Thomas turned to Percy. "Hey, what's a five letter word for a accident?"

"CRASH!"

"Thank you." Thomas started as he looked for the source of the sound. James rushed in, sans coaches and sans, it appeared, his sanity.

"Duck! BARBER SHOP! TRUCKS! DISASTER! MOTHER! HELP!"

Gasps greeted this. Sir Topham turned. "Thomas, get the brakedown train. If you're lucky, you can assist that poor engine. James, Percy, you will follow on soon enough. I wish to talk to all of you before we go."

"Er...right?" Thomas took off.

Diesel, having quietly been sidling away, was suddenly stopped by a sharp feeling in his wheels. He glanced back, and there was-

"Toby, good man, bring him forward." Hatt smiled serenely as Toby pushed the diesel forward. "Now...let's clear something up right away. Duck is, and never has, been the result of any insults or nicknames or collusion with the trucks."

"Wha-" Gordon gasped. "But...But you sent him away!"

"To get him out of the way and for his own safety, which has clearly failed, so that the real culprit could be lured into a false sense of security." Hatt looked at Diesel. "Well well...I can't believe it took me this long to put the pieces together."

"What do you mean sir?" wheeled Diesel desperately.

"A number of things. I never suspected Duck, and as bad as most of my engines-" He glared at the three large ones in particular "-can be, spreading rumors is not something I believe them to do. To trucks, that is." Hatt smiled. "Toby overheard. And he has had no reason to lie to me since he never met you in person." A growl emitted from Diesel, but was stifled by the sudden changed on the Fat Controller's expression. "Diesel, if you are wise, you'll shut it...as I say. This accelerated the discovery, but I had already started...see, my contacts on the other railway sent me information that a BR Class 08 matching your description was reported missing."

Silence now. No responses from anyone.

"That's right. Missing. Not stolen. Because the crew, the very specialist crew who know how to work you, were still in their homes, baffled as all hell. And then Edward told me something earlier that fitted another possible idea..."

"You-"

"Diesel, I don't doubt you are really named Diesel. Or that you are a genuine shunter diesel that would have come to my railway at some point. I do, however, cast aspirsions on you having been here before. At least in your current form." Hatt looked stern. "All those veiled references of you being here before and seeming familiar gave you away...Diesel. Or should I call you by your real name?

Marklin."

There was a huge number of gasps.

"Marklin was reported, on the last few days of 1984, arriving at a known knock-off works. Apparently, he was preparing to gain a new identity, perhaps as a steam engine, perhaps as a diesel...but something went wrong. The workers weren't exactly great at fixing things, and they made a bad situation worse." Hatt pulled out a series of pictures. A black tank engine, gutted like a fish, lying on the ground with a horrified expression on his face. "And so Marklin died. But according to the sheds, he haunted the area until it was closed. And thus, we come to my personal theory...you made your way to the Other Railway. After a time, you heard the news that a second series of the documentary, the one that airbrushed you out once we found out just how much you were behind the problems of that year, was being made. And you knew we needed more engines."

Diesel was silent.

"So then, you took control of Diesel. You stole away, because you didn't need a driver nor a fireman to help steer you as in the old days. You posed as a engine to be delivered, you got to the Island, and you lay low...you spied and took note of all the changes. And then you presented yourself to me...and you fooled nearly all of us."

Diesel raised a eyebrow. **"Well, it's a fun theory. Adds a lot of loose ends together. I must congratulate you, FAT CONTROLLER, you'd make a excellent novelist...but it's all a load of bull of course."** But he was twitching,

"Well then Diesel." Edward said calmly. "Explain this to us...where has your crew been?"

There was a tranquil silence...and then Diesel EXPLODED.

 **"YOU THINK YOU'RE SO SMART DON'T YOU!? YOU IDIOTS THINK THAT YOU'RE TOP OF THE RAILS, DON'T YOU!? Your time is over, you're old fashioned relics of the past! You replaced me over and over again! You demeaned me repeatedly by making me clean up your messes! So what if I tried to ruin your lives, you only succeeded in ruining mine!"** He frothed. **"Ohhh the pain I went through! The unimaginable agony of being torn apart and put back together in such a shoddy way! You will know, except you won't come back! My hate is stronger than all of you combine! I will NOT DIE!"**

"No." Hatt's face was cold as ice. "And I doubt that we have seen the last of you. But let the diesel go. I can tell you're struggling. Look at you."

Marklin was shaking. **"No no nonono!"**

"You're getting angry, Marklin...I don't believe that you can haunt this Island for too long...I imagine that my old friend Vicar Teddy will be along soon. Ready to banish you."

There was a hiss, and suddenly Diesel's eyes rolled back into his head. And then, his mouth opened and thick black smoke poured out. The engines screamed, and Edward puffed forward.

Marklin was staring at them. Even now the smoke was being ripped apart, cast to the wind. **"I will NEVER give up! I will be back! You have not seen the last of ME!"**

And then he was gone.

Teddy stepped outside. "Is that taken care of, Sir Topham?"

"Indeed Vicar. I thank you." Hatt smiled. "Didn't even suspect that he was being slowly exorcised."

"But-" Gordon's expression was that of a man who has just discovered that his wife is in fact a male fish. Henry's eyes had glazed over, James was staring open mouthed and Percy was just boggled.

"The Island has a history of ghosts. Be it the narrow gauge engine that fell to his death, to the scrapped engine haunting the yards...it's not too hard to imagine once you've learned those legends." Hatt walked onto James. "Edward, when he awakens, send Diesel back to the mainland with my deepest apologies...now. To see if Duck is all right."

...

Duck, meanwhile, had woken up.

On the plus side, he was not dead.

On the minus, he felt he soon wished he would be.

The silly trucks had knocked their guard off his van, and left him far behind even after whistling a warning. But the trucks didn't care, they felt very pleased with themselves. The Brake-Van's face had been crushed inwards, both Open Top and the Deputy had been derailed to such a extent that it was clear they would never ride the rails again, Salt had twisted inside out, Cattle was on the verge of collapsing and even the Old Box Van looked as though it's wheels had been torn apart.

And when they heard Duck cough out a "I'm alive!" they felt themselves shrink.

No more flawless reputation for them.

"Beg pardon sir." said Duck casually. "Scuse my intruding."

"NO! I-A WON'T!" shouted the barber flamboyantly. "You have frigthened-a my customers!"

Jobling's expresison indicated that he was more concerned with the bad haircut he had recieved than the train in the wall.

"I'LL-A FIX YOU!" And he lathered Duck's face all over. Poor Duck looked like a drunk Santa.

...

Soon, Thomas arrived to clear the trucks away, and then the Fat Controller came to the door.

"I-A WILL NOT HAVE-A ENGINES POPPING THROUGH-A MY-A WALL!" fumed the barber passionately.

"I understand and appreciate your feelings." Hatt picked up a soup can and looked into it in interest. "And we shall pay for the damage. But you must know this. This engine, and it's crew, have done what many have thought impossible. They've stopped the deadliest trucks on the Island from claiming any more victims. And in doing so, they've prevented a very serious accident, and prevented deaths of fellow humans. It was a very close, um, shave."

Duck groaned visibly.

"Oh." The barber frowned. "OH! EXCUSE-A ME!" He filled a waterbasin. "This-a will sting."

"What will-" Duck screamed as the cold water washed his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't-a know you were being a brave engine."

"That's all right sir." said Duck honestly "I didn't know that either."

"You were very brave." Hatt praised. "I'm so proud of you." He sighed. "Dear god it's been a long day."

...

The Fat Controller watched the rescue operation, if Thomas dragging Duck back could be considered one. Then he had more news. "Soon as you are properly mended, you're coming home."

"Home sir? You mean...the yard?"

"Where else?"

"But sir. They don't like me...they like Diesel."

"Not now." Hatt hesitated, and then realized that the truth right now would be too complicated for him. "I never believed Diesel and sent him packing. The engines are sorry and want you back."

...

A few days later, when he came home, he was greeted with a rousing welcome of whistles...for Duck the Great Western Engine.

And things, for the moment, returned to normal.

...

Marklin roared in anger as he ghostly paced back and forth.

There was a sudden roar of tires, then a screech. A figure dismounted the motorcycle and strode over to the ghost. He removed his helmet and spoke with a American accent.

"Well Marklin...you remember me. PT Boomer's my name. You have a lot of explaining to do.

...

 ** _If you are confused...then at some point I'll explain better. And if you think that there's no reason to include ghosts, go back to Season 5...I'm building up to that as well. Hope you enjoyed!_**


	41. Episode 15: Better Late than Never

Much thanks to all the reviewers, especially the ones that have only just started. Would like to thank those who thought that the Marklin twist wasn't too obvious.

Junior, Mike, cue the theme!

...

 **Oh just, just great!**

What, what is it?

 **Well the episode we were supposed to record today's been corrupted. The Missing Coach is going on the backburner, and, uh...ah, replacement footage! Right, here's a script, read off it!**

This doesn't seem professiona-

 **I know that! But still...**

...

The engines were finding life difficult. In a multitude of ways.

For example, following the Marklin incident, as it was now known, there were certain tensions springing up between the various engines. Duck, despite generally being rather forgiving of Percy, was rather more critical of the three big engines. Once again, the old tensions between tender engines and tank engines were rising up, though in this case it was more of a personal vendetta on Duck's behalf. The three engines took out their guilt on Edward, biting at every word and comment he made.

Added to that, there was a general sense among the trucks that they had been rather hard done by. Not only had their leaders been killed (Cutting off Marklin's intended revolution) but now the engines were treating them with hostileness without them even doing anything to provoke it.

But perhaps most worryingly, one day, Edward had been taking Trevor to do more work at the harbor when both of them had boggled at the amount of workers and builders, all sitting in the breakdown train and mending the viaduct.

"Bloody hell!" Trevor swore.

"Never seen anything like this before!" Edward told him. He puffed on slowly.

It didn't take long for the reasons to be made clear. The arches needed strengthening.

"But enough about the radio program!" cracked Toby when he heard the news, getting a rare laugh from all the engines.

The Fat Controller didn't want to close the railway while the work was done, for two reasons. A: He didn't like the idea of putting all the volatile engines together for a long period of time as the bridge was fixed up. And B: He was aware that he had already lost a lot of supporters for the increase in accidents this year.

So repairs took a long time. Especially considering how dangerous most of the scaffolding was in such a precarious position, and considering that many heavy engines repeatedly crossed it to get to Crosby station.

The engines themselves had to take care when crossing the viaduct. And their delay often made them late, not only for Crosby but for their journey to the junction, where they knew Thomas would be waiting to collect his passengers.

"Oh heck!" groaned Henry as he pulled express coaches through the very tight squeeze.

"Bloody nora!" Edward muttered under his breath as he pulled a mixed train of goods and coaches across.

Thomas, of course, was not sympathetic at all to their plight.

...

In fact, he grew crosser and crosser. "Time's time!" he would grumble to any who would hear and, begrudgingly, listen. "Why should I keep my passengers waiting, while Henry and James dawdle about on viaducts! Must be a nice life that allows you to do that!"

"Oh don't you BLOODY start!" snorted Henry, on edge most of the time. "Look here you little toerag-"

"Oi, less of the little!"

"-If we hurried across the viaduct, it might collapse! And then, not only would you have no passengers at all, not only would you be lost a dear and close friend who puts up with your crap far more than he ought to, but you'll also be seeing the backside of a lawsuit for a unsafe working environment and several from the victim's families! What would you do then!?"

Thomas kept a piously smug expression on his face. "Run my train on time for one thing!" He hurried away before Henry could answer, which consisted of four letter words that were so filthy it would have made a brothel owner blush.

"And for another, I'd get some peace!" snapped Thomas in private. Annie and Clarabel rolled their eyes.

...

Bertie was impatient too, for not entirely different reasons. He was timed to arrive as little as three minutes, just after Thomas. But now, his passengers found that instead of going straight from bus to train, they had to be kept waiting for Thomas to arrive.

They were, naturally, not very patient.

Soon Bertie, waiting outside Tidmouth in the cold, grew cross with Thomas. "Late again!" he snapped as he finally caught sight of some blue paint and Thomas panted wearily in.

"I-I SWEAR, I swear they make those hills bigger than they used to!" rambled Thomas as he braked to allow the angry passengers to board. Bertie pulled up besides the red faced tank engine.

"You know, we may be friends, but I thought you could go faster, Thomas." Thomas glared at the bus, who grinned mischievously. "It's time for another race! I think I could beat you now!"

Thomas's dander arose at this perceived challenge to his honor. He let off steam loudly. "Balls to you!" he said rudely. "Rubbish! It's those main line engines! They dither about on viaducts, and then blame the Fat Controller's workmen! It's just a excuse if you ask me!"

As he puffed off, Thomas shut down the annoying thought that he was perhaps acting like the pot that called the kettle 'Impetuous' but he continued on his way, sulking furiously.

...

The next day found Thomas in no more of a better mood. Especially considering that James was later than ever. Not only that, but he appeared to be carrying a goods train instead of passengers.

"Sorry Thomas." he huffed. "I was held up at the station! We lost carriages, so the passengers had to squeeze into these goods vans...and then the viaduct came along and made it even worse!"

"Oh it's lucky for you that I'm a guaranteed connection!" grumbled Thomas, and before James could answer he puffed self-importantly away. James lit up the countryside with blue language the like of which would not be found in a 18 movie.

"Come along, come along!" Thomas puffed, as he passed through the Hackenbech tunnel. He had the oddest feeling of deja vu, but bit it down. Annie and Clarabel were doing their best, but Thomas found he couldn't save much time. He whistled at the two workmen, still stuck at one of the signals, and hurried across a long stretch of line.

Suddenly, Thomas saw Bertie ahead, and stopped briefly at the level crossing. Bertie was steaming from the radiator.

"Not a good look for you Bertie." remarked Thomas. "What's the matter? You should be at the station by now, you're late!"

"I've noticed!" growled Bertie. "I feel dreadful. All upset inside and driver says he can't make me better! Thank goodness you're late too!" Thomas rolled his eyes. "Can you take my passengers? They'll never get home otherwise."

"Of course." said Thomas, who now felt sorry for Bertie. And he was also aware that the passengers looked as though they would tear him apart if he refused. He promised to get help at the next station, and puffed through the now open gates.

He set off again, and already he felt much better and cheerful. And Bertie's passengers, travelling in Annie and Clarabel, all reached home safely. Except for a drunk gentleman who threw up in Annie, and was thus taken to the police station to cool off.

...

When Bertie was better, he came to thank Thomas. "I'm sorry I teased you." he said through gritted teeth.

Thomas felt magnanimous in victory. "That's all right. I'm glad I can help. There are times when being late can't be such a bad thing after all."

And with a last, cheerful greeting, the two friends went back to work.

...

Oh, and one last little postscript.

The very next day, Thomas was pulling a load of trucks up to Crosby to help with building work. To do so, he had to cross the viaduct.

Two hours later than he should have been, he puffed in red in the face and unable to look the mocking James and Henry in their eyes.

Karma's a funny thing.


	42. Episode 16: Break Van

Much thanks to all the reviewers.

Cue the theme!

...

 **Okay, so we're going to have to try something new today...we're going to have to recap what actually happened on the episode that was to recorded**

That sounds complicated, but okay.

 **...**

Donald and Douglas are twins. They had arrived from Scotland to help the Fat Controller, but only one engine had been expected.

That's the cliffnotes version.

In actuality, the Fat Controller had been grimly realizing that he needed more engines that were able to pull long loads of goods trains, especially as they entered the Autumn to Winter period, where passengers and cargo were piling up something fierce. So having sent for one engine, he had done a double take at the sight of twins. And failing to have gotten to the bottom of it, he had shrugged and decided to see which engine would preform better.

But then the incident of the coach had happened. A special coach, that had been specifically set aside for the Duke and Duchess of Boxford's arrival to see whether or not they should take up retreat there, had gone missing, according to the official story, it had accidentally been shunted elsewhere. Not helping matters was that the twins had swapped tenders in a attempt to cover up for the other engine.

It had not worked.

Therefore, the Fat Controller was now tossing a dice back and forth to see which one he should send away. The twins meant well, he was sure, but they did cause confusion. Not just because they were twins, but because their accents were so thick it was like trying to get information from them in Gaelic.

Eventually, he had resolved to give them numbers, Donald 9, Douglas 10. And even so, he still planned to send one engine home. It was not a prospect he relished.

...

As for the others, they mostly got on with the Scottish twins. There had been friction from Gordon and Henry towards them at first, but that had been sorted out when it was clear that neither twin would take crap. Donald had even gone as far to threaten that he would "Rip tha bloody dome off and take it down to Glasgow and kick tha hell out of ye!". The rest of the engines got on well, especially Duck and Edward, who were both glad to get extra help.

But that didn't help with another incident.

Thomas one day whistled to Douglas, but was surprised to see that he didn't react. He was sitting in the yard, having a good long think sadly.

There was a brake-van in the yard, the brother of the one who had been killed while fighting Duck near the barber shop, that had taken a dislike to Douglas.

Things always went wrong when they had to take him out. His trains were late, and Douglas was blamed, so he began to worry that the Fat Controller's fat finger would be pointing at him.

Donald, his twin, was angry. And never be close to a angry Scot as the Spiteful fool found out when he buffered into him hardly."

"Yer a muckle nusiance!" said Donald.

"Muckle?"

"Don't change tha subject! It's to leave ye behind I'd be wantin!"

"You can't." said the van, smugly. "I'm essential."

"Och aye!? Yer're a bloody pain in the arse, that's what you are!" Donald burst out. "Ye're nothing but a bit o screeching an noise when all is said and done! Spite Douggie would ye, TAKE THAT!"

Donald rammed into the van with the force of a shotgun blast. "OH! OH! OH! I'll be onto the trade reps for that!" cried the van, who was able to dish it out, but not take it.

"And there'll be more comin, should ye misbehave yerself!"

...

The van behaved somewhat better after that, and Douglas seemed to relax more with this change in attitude. But then, one day, the inevitable happened. Donald had a accident.

I'll give you a moment to suspend your shock.

The rails were slippery, and he couldn't stop in time.

"Why tha hell have they been greasin up the tracks?!" He wailed. He didn't get a answer as he descended, tender first, into the nearby signalbox. Donald stared. "Now who put that there?!"

Everyone was annoyed, but the Fat Controller was most annoyed, particularly because he had been romancing a woman at the time of the incident and it had interrupted a very important moment for him.

"I AM disappointed with you Donald! I did not expect such, er...CLUMSINESS from you!" He glared angrily, stepped forward and tripped over a brick. Swearing, he staggered up. "I had decided to send Douglas back and keep you!"

"I'm sorry sir." said Donald, though not too convincingly.

"I should think so too! You've upset my arrangements." Hatt looked mournful for a moment. "In more ways than one! Now while you have to get your tender mended, I'll have to get someone else to handle the work...the only one to do that is James! Do you know how TERRIBLE he is going to be for the next few days?! He won't like that."

...

"Goddamn trucks! Goddamn rails! Goddamn Scotland! Goddamn twins! Goddamn EVERYTHING!"

The Fat Controller was right, as you could tell, James grumbled dreadfully. And could not go one moment without getting roundly mocked for how badly he was taking it.

He angrily buffed down on the trucks in Tidmouth yard, noticing with horror that Henry, Gordon and Douglas were gathered around, playing cards while they waited for their next job. All three exchanged mischievous looks.

"Anyone would think-" said Douglas loudly. "-that Donald had his accident on purpose! I hear tell of a engine and some taarrr wagons."

"SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP!" James screamed. "IT'S! NOT! FUNNY!" To say he was frazzled would be a understatement. He didn't like being reminded of his own accident.

"WELL WELL WELL!" gasped Douglas in shock, as both Henry and Gordon began out-right laughing. "Surely James, it wasnae you!? You dinnae say-"

But James didn't say, because he had already began to start moving, for if he didn't, he would have very likely killed Douglas where he stood. He slouched sulily away to start his slow goods train.

Douglas laughed along with the other two. "Ah, well lads, seems I'm to be off! I'll see ye all at the Sidings, first pint's on me!" Henry and Gordon cheered as Douglas headed off towards Edward's station.

...

"He's cross!" sniggered the Spiteful Brake-Van as they made their way past the ruins of the castle. "Shall we make him crosser still!?"

"Hold back!" giggled the trucks hysterically.

James was doing his best, but by the time he reached Edward's station, he was exhaused and had a face as red as his paintwork. He clearly needed some form of exercise, but lucky for him, Douglas was already there, filling up on coal.

"He-Help me...help me up the hill please?!" panted and begged James as he wheezed. "These trucks are playing tricks, and I don't think I need another repeat of what happens to me on Gordon's Hill with trucks!"

Douglas was nothing if not gracious. "We'll show them!" he said confidently.

The Scostengine rushed back down to the back of the train, and was coupled up. Edward gave him a brief bit of advice. "If you have to, you need to show a bit of force. Most engines up front think that they don't need to bother with a bank engine behind them. You need to be strong enough to force the trucks up." and then slowly but surely, both James and Douglas, snorting furiously, forced the trucks up the hill.

...

Then there was trouble.

James was rapidly losing steam as he tried to force his way up there. "I can't...I can't do it!" he whimpered in agony as he strained hard.

Douglas growled, grit his teeth and dug in tight. "Lae it to me!" he shouted.

"You want me to lay you? I'm not a chicken!"

"No, I mean-"

The guard was anxious. He stared at the floor of the van, who was spitefully holding on. "Er, go safely, the van's breaking!"

"Well duh. I'm a brake-van-" The van suddenly did a double take in horror. "LET GO, LET GO!" He screamed to the trucks, but James was stuck in place thanks to their tricks, and suddenly, Douglas dashed forward beyond his control and...

Well it was over quickly. The van was in crumpled pieces that lay around the track.

No one had been seriously hurt, save for the van, and Edward soon arrived to clear the mess. And onboard, was the Fat Controller. He stared in complete horror as the dented remains of the brake-van was towed away. Douglas was staring in shock at the remains.

"OH! I might have BLOODY known it would be Douglas." Hatt wailed.

"Douglas was grand sir." piped up Edward. "James had hardly enough steam left, but Douglas puffed hard enough for three! I heard him from my yard! He's a fine engine! ...And it was my fault, I probably emphasized pushing a lot more than I should have."

"Two engines would have been well enough!" grimaced the Fat Controller. He sighed. "I want to be fair Douglas...but...Oh I don't know. I just...don't know."

He paused and hands in pockets, he strolled back down the hill. The Fat Controller was making up his mind about...something. But that's another story,


	43. Episode 17: The Deputation

Much thanks to all the reviewers.

Cue the theme!

...

 **You hear about that snowfall?**

Odd, isn't it. It's still autumn.

 **Must be the Sodor weather affecting us...only thing that makes sense to me.**

Oh, let's just get on with it.

...

At the Wellsworth yards, Edward yawned as he woke up. He felt his fire being lit and let out a relaxed sigh as he felt warmth flood through his body. As his driver and fireman, who had both slept in the sheds that night due to late working hours, climbed aboard and began to ease him out, he felt ready for anything.

There was a soft thud as he ran headfirst into a snowdrift.

"BLIMEY!" Edward squawked, though it was muffled.

...

Snow had come early to the Island of Sodor. For whatever reason, the seasons didn't discriminate against snow, forcing it down whenever it felt like it, and therefore bringing everything to a stop. It was heavier than usual, and that was saying something considering how often it seemed to fall.

Most engines hated snow, and were therefore locking themselves up in their sheds to watch the TV and moan about how bad the snow was, instead of actually doing something about it.

Donald and Douglas, on the other hand, were used to it. They were out in seconds, and coupled back to back with the breakdown train coach in the middle, filled with workmen for whom the cold was no bother, and snowploughs on their front, they set to work.

They screeched to a halt as Douglas's driver, a notable supporter of the sports, rushed back to their sheds, grabbed his radio and legged it back over.

They made their second, less grand exit, and got to work. They puffed backwards and forwards, patrolling the line like a Scottish version of the Mounties. Donald, as he was leading, was mostly the one swearing at any hapless driver or drivers that got in their way. His language was quite...vulgar, to say the least.

As they passed the ruined castle, Douglas glumly reflected on their status. He was regarded as a bit of a maverick badass, which was quite unlike him considering that Donald was the more violent of the Caledonian twins, and was now feared by trucks everywhere...except for the stupid ones. But he had recieved no word from the Fat Controller regarding he and his brother's fate. It was beginning to get to him.

"Eyes on the rails ahead, Dougie!" called back Donald, before roaring at a terrified sheep that had gotten in the way. The poor sheep was practically ready to head to a butcher's and turn himself in.

Generally, the snow slipped away easily, as Donald demonstrated via his demolishing of a snowdrift located in one of the valley's. Sometimes they found deeper drifts that required both engines putting their weight. This made the workmen very nervous, as the idea of having the engine who had crushed a brake-van into tiny pieces putting his weight on their coach was...troubling.

And presently, as they exited the valley, they came across another drift that was hard to move. They charged at it and got nowhere.

"Well!" Douglas said cheerfully. "We should have this sorted out in a wee jiffy, eh?"

"Yer're turning into a Sassanach!" snapped Donald good-naturedly. They were just backing up for another try when they heard a faint whistle and a cry. Donald peered ahead.

"Losh sakes Donald!" shouted Douglas. "It's Henry!"

"Dinnae bloody fash yerself Henry! Wait a while, we'll have you out!" Donald called out.

"Should I be concerned?" Henry asked rhetorically.

...

One bruise filled bashing later, Henry was helped back to Tidmouth by a happy Donald and a apologetic Douglas. "He's no usually this rough!" he admitted.

Henry was dazed but grateful. "Never mind." He backed down onto the turntable and slid back into his shed with a sigh. "Why so glum?" Even he could see that all was not well.

The twins told him that the Fat Controller would be returning soon from a excursion to the mainland. "He'll send us back for sure!" Donald declared mournfully.

"It's a shame!" said Percy emotionally.

"A lot of nonsense about one frigging signalbox that got broken!" Gordon said grumpily. "I'd destroy every single one I could see if I could."

"That Spiteful Brakevan too-" put in James. "-well he deserved it. Good riddance, that's what I say."

"And they were splendid in the snow." agreed Henry. "It isn't fair!" And they all agreed that something should be done.

The question was, what?

Ten minutes of silent and blank faces later, Percy hurried off to see if any of the other engines had a idea.

...

Edward was wearing a rather fashionable scarf when Percy puffed in to greet him at Wellsworth, having finally been pulled out of his shed after three hours. He was shunting the trucks around and greeted Percy cheerfully enough.

Percy explained the situation, marveling at how Edward's scarf looked in the winter weather, and waited.

"What you need-" said Edward after a great deal of thought. "-is a deputation." Aside from helpfully giving the episode it's title, he explained to Percy exactly what this was. Percy ran back quickly without even stopping to say goodbye.

Edward sighed. "So he's going to get that wrong."

...

The engines had moved away from the sheds and were now smoking and chatting in the yard. Duck had arrived and, having been filled in, was firmly on the side of the twins. James had headed off to see if he could find anything warm to burn.

Percy arrived back and babbled. "Edward said we needed a defenestration!"

"OF COURSE!" declared Gordon loudly, trying to sound like he had any idea what that word meant. "The question is-"

"What is a desperation!?" asked Henry, who was not so proud.

"A deforestation is where us engines should tell the Fat Controller what's wrong...Edward says that usually works instead of just dragging it out over a long time."

"Tell...the Fat Controller." remarked Duck thoughtfully, who knew exactly what Percy was talking about but refused to correct any of the other engines because he wanted to see them make a fool of themselves following the Diesel incident. There was a long silence as they considered the safety of this.

"I propose." said Gordon gravely. "That seeing as, well, this is a important issue, and this needs someone that the Fat Controller appreciates greatly, that Percy be our...er...dissertation."

"Yes, that's ri-I!?" squeaked Percy, his voice going up to Scooby Doo levels of horror. "I can't!"

"Rubbish Percy." said Henry. "It's easy!"

"Then you do it!"

"I've got cramp."

"That settles it." said Gordon.

"It's a fine thing yer're doing laddy!" said Donald, proudly. Douglas wept openly at the friendship on display, putting Percy in the worst possible position. He wished it hadn't been settled.

...

"Hello Percy! It's nice to be back."

Percy jumped off the rails, slamming a truck onto it's side and causing Sir Topham Hatt to take a step back, having just got off Bertie."Y-Yessir, please sir, DON'T KILL ME SIR!"

"You look nervous Percy-" said Hatt in a sure qualifier for the understatement of the year. "-what's the matter?"

"Please sir! They've made me a desperado! To speak to you sir! I don't want to be one! I don't like it sir!"

The Fat Controller blinked twice, pondered for a moment and then sighed. "Do you mean a Deputation?"

"One of them, yes! It's Donald and Douglas, sir. They say sir, that if you send them away sir, they'll be turned into scrap sir! That would be more than dreadful sir! Please sir! Don't send them away-"

"Thank you, That'll do Percy." Hatt turned away, leaving Percy to wonder if he'd fluffed it.

...

The Fat Controller arrived at the sheds the next day, as all the engines gathered around in nervous anticipation. He spoke to the engines.

"I had a...Deputation-"

"HA!" Duck crowed. "Told you that's how you said it!" He was shushed by the other engines.

"-I understand your feelings but I do not approve of interference." He paused impressively. "Donald and Douglas?" The two twins jumped in shock. "I hear that your work in the snow was good. You shall have a new coat of paint...not blue though, we can't afford it."

The twins were shocked. "Thank ye sir!"

"Oh, and we'll get some painters to paint your names on you, we don't want anymore trouble...somewhere where's it won't get in the way. No more mistakes."

"Thank ye sir!" But Douglas was more forthright for once.

"So does this mean tha the both of us-?"

The Fat Controller smiled. "It means-"

And the rest of his guessed speech was drowned out by a delighted chorus of a huge blast of whistles and many cheers from all the other engines gathered. It echoed for days, and was forever spoken of after as being one of the more emotional moments of that year.

The twins were here to stay.


	44. Episode 18: Thomas Comes to Breakfast

Much thanks to all the reviewers.

Cue the theme! ...Actually, cue Let's Dance...RIP Mr Bowie.

...

 **Okay Mr Starr, you ready?**

To make a meme? You bet!

 **A what-**

Ignore what I just said.

...

"Ground Control to Major Tom  
Ground Control to Major Tom  
Take your protein pills  
and put your helmet on!"

This song greeted the sunny afternoon that Thomas the Tank Engine made his way back to Tidmouth, pulling Annie and Clarabel with him. The two coaches were cringing, at Thomas's less than perfect singing.

Thomas had worked his branch-line for many years, and therefore knows it very well. Well enough to hide a secret stash of supplies in case the apocalypse happened while he was out pulling trains at least.

"For god's sake how long is he going to sing?!" screamed Annie.

"Oh give him this...he's been dying to get this out of him for a while now." muttered Clarabel as they trundled over the Watermill. Thomas was in a chipper mood, and when Thomas was in a chipper mood that was unchecked by anything resembling reality, his idiocy rose to new levels. In fact all ready, it could be seen that he was taking a bit less care than usual.

As could be seen by the fact that he was singing louder than should ever be necessary and therefore angering many a potential passenger.

At last, he pulled into Tidmouth Station and braked hard. He came to a stop on the platform, and the very grateful passengers poured out, to try and forget the butchering of Bowie that they had just heard.

"You know just where to stop, Thomas." said his driver. "You can almost manage without me." Both he and his fireman laughed.

Now, whether or not the driver spoke out of the actual movement of the tank engine or whether it was a sarcastic quip regarding Thomas's singing ability, we'll never know. But Thomas took it in the spirit of the former, so we'll stick to that. Thomas had not only become a idiot, he had become conceited, and didn't realize that his driver was joking.

As he puffed off, the idea began to grow in his brain. And like most things that grew, rot set in. It just so happened that the rot was slightly quicker on the uptake.

...

Percy and Toby sighed as peace and quiet settled over them like a warm thick blanket.

"WHAT HO YOU LOT!"

The blanket was rudely ripped away from there by the arrival of the little blue prat himself. As Thomas puffed in, Toby put aside his bitterness and was about to ask about Thomas's day when the blue engine began to boast to the other engines.

"Driver says I don't need him now!" He bragged loudly. "Not that I ever did, am I right guys?!" He found two engines unwilling to listen to any of his boiler sludge.

"Don't be so daft!" Percy snorted. "You have about as much chance of that happening as...as...as that piece of art over there staying!" Said piece of art was Donald's old tender, still stuck in the signalbox and refusing to leave, which had been decorated by a bunch of radical graffiti artists.

"I'd never go without my driver." said Toby quietly yet earnestly. "As ridiculous as it sounds, I'd be frightened to death of doing it."

"HUH!" boasted Thomas loudly. "I'm not scared!"

"You'd never dare!" snapped Toby angrily.

As if he wasn't painting a bullseye on his back for karma as it was, Thomas scoffed loudly. "I would then! You'll see! And I'll be awesome at it! One day, I'll weesh you all!"

Both other engines returned to their usual past-time of ignoring Thomas when he got in moods such as these, and went to sleep as the shed doors closed. Thomas, meanwhile, stayed up rambling in his mind about all the great things he could do.

...

Next morning the Firelighter, who was a very lonely man and therefore didn't have the problem of anything to hold him back in doing his job, arrived early. Thomas let out a sigh, drowsing comfortably, as the warmth spread through his boiler slowly.

Percy and Toby were still asleep, as they had hardened their sleeping training thanks to living with Thomas. Said engine grinned and suddenly remembered. "Silly stick in the muds!" He chuckled deviously. "I'll show them yet! Driver said I could manage it, and I'll just go out for a bit! Then I'll stop and Weeeeeeeeesh! That'll scare the hell out of them and make em jump, no mistake!"

Thomas, ignoring the drunken antics of a cleaner who fell out of his cab and threw up, thought he was being clever. He should have known. But really he was only moving because the careless cleaner had fiddled with the controls. He soon realized his mistake.

"Hmmm, slight problem." He tried to weesh, but he couldn't. "Hmmm...bit more of a problem." He tried to stop, but he couldn't. "Okay, this is pretty worrying!" He just kept rolling along. "OHHHHHH THIS IS NOT A GOOD THING."

He didn't dare look at what was coming next.

There was the station-master's house. Clearly he had taken the same estate agent as the Italian Barber, as his house was far closer to the rails that it should have been.

...

The station master was about to have breakfast. He sat down with his two kids and his very stressed wife. "Dearest!" He said loudly with the importance of a absolute pillock. "Can I get some more food please?!"

Moaning, the wife staggered out as the two kids, rude oiks who were nearly of age but kept acting younger, began to draw rude words on the kitchen table. The stationmaster put his feet up on the table.

"HORRORS!" He heard someone cry out, and he turned his head to see Thomas, eyes jammed shut, ram into his house.

...

The house rocked back and forth. The only reason it didn't fall down was now firmly lodged in the dining room. Broken glass tinkled, plaster was everywhere and four very dazed and surprised faces peered up at the very large dazed and surprised face that now poked through their wall. Thomas had collected a bush on his travels, no jokes please, and therefore resembled a very off season Father Christmas.

He peered into the room through it's leaves, as if to see if he had done that much damage. He couldn't speak for shock.

Silence reigned for a whole half a minute.

The Station Master was furious...not that it stopped him from asking his wife to get him a glass of wine. His wife picked up the plate. "YOU MISERABLE ENGINE!" She scolded. "JUST LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO OUR BREAKFAST! NOW I SHALL HAVE TO COOK SOME MORE!"

She flipped the bird to her husband, grabbed her bags and stormed out, slamming the door. More plaster fell, this time on Thomas. Thomas felt depressed, to say the least.

...

Workmen propped up the house with strong poles, (They had found them in a Polish Circus. BA-DUM-TISH.) and laid rails through the garden. If the wife hadn't left already and told her husband that it was divorce time, this would have been the last straw.

Meanwhile, Donald and Douglas arrived, both grinning like madmen at the sight of the poor unfortunate soul.

"Dinnae fash yerself Thomas! We'll soon have yer back on tha rails!" Douglas called out.

"I can't fash myself." spluttered Thomas through the mixture of bush, broken glass and shame. The twins, with chains attached to Thomas's back, pulled and puffed hard and slowly removed Thomas from the house. In doing so, there was a loud clatter and smash as the remainder of the upstairs fell in. The Stationmaster was already being given insurance and a full apology by Sir Topham, but his wife had already left the vicinity, having eloped with the kindly firelighter.

Bits of fencing, the bush and a window frame festooned his front, which was badly twisted to say the least. It looked like a pretzel twisted apart. The twins laughed and left him to be dragged back to the sheds.

...

Percy and Toby grinned at Thomas, who said nothing.

There was worse to come. Of course there was.

"YOU!" snapped Hatt, looking to be on the verge of a complete and nervous breakdown. "-ARE A VERY NAUGHTY ENGINE!"

"I know schir! I'm schorry schir!" came the muffled and lisping reply. Thomas's voice was muffled behind his bush, and both Toby and Percy sniggered like immature kids.

"You must go to the works and have your front mended! AS PAINFULLY. AS. POSSIBLE." The Fat Controller told his aides. "IT'LL BE A LONG JOB ANYWAY."

"Yesch schir!"

"Meanwhile-" came the voice, which now took on a mocking tone. "-a diesel railcar will do your work."

"A-A-A- D-D-D-DIESCHEL, SCHIR?!" Thomas schpluttered- I mean spluttered in shock. Cackles began reaching his lack of ears.

"Yes Thomas. Diesels always stay in their sheds until they are wanted. Diesels never galivant off to breakfast in station-masters houses! AND THEY DON'T COST THEIR BOSSES A HEFTY SUM!"

As he left, Hatt could hear the anguished screams of Thomas as both Toby and Percy tormented him with a barrage of puns about things such as weeshing, bushes and of course, breakfasts.

It was a apt punishment.


	45. Episode 19: Daisy

To all the reviewers, once again, I thank you! And welcome back...

Cue the theme.

...

 **Mr Starr, you look perturbed. Something up?**

Hmmm? Oh it's nothing Steve.

 **If you're sure...**

...

"Okay, so here's my question Toby."

"Yes?"

"What is a diesel railcar? I mean, I get the diesel part but-"

"Oh, it's a sort of...uh...well, it's a extra long diesel, right, like Gordon size. With me so far?"

"Yes..."

"Right. Now instead of having to pull coaches and worry about all that, passengers can go inside her, because they've put seats in there...odd thing really."

"So it's a bus on rails."

"In simplified terms, yes...wonder what he'll be like."

"Or she."

Toby and Percy turned the second to last corner of the track leading to Elsbridge. They had had two of the nicest days of their stay on the Island, not least because a certain blue puffball had been dragged off to the works. The peace had been slightly overpowering, and both had taken the opportunity to sleep in to the appropriate time instead of being waken up a hour before they were supposed to by the over-compensating Thomas. That wasn't to say they didn't miss him, they just missed him in the way that two people miss a particularly loud puppy. Oh sure, they'll miss him eventually, but the first few days are practically euphoric.

"Ssssh, here he is!" The two engines put on faces that were suitiable to be seen at a funeral and sidled up quietly, giving the impression that they were worried about the fact that Thomas's recent accident had caused a great deal of trouble.

The Fat Controller, while reading the Sodor Weekly and frowning at something, glanced up and placed the paper down. "Here-" he said "-is Daisy. The diesel railcar who has come to help while Thomas is, er, disposed."

Both engines looked over, and jumped. Daisy fluttered some incredibly long eyelashes (That were too long to be real) and winked. Percy felt the heat of his fire rush to his wheels and Toby tried to stop himself from doing something stupid.

"Well allo." she said in what was apparently a exotic French accent. Toby frowned, the fact that it sounded more like Essex to his ears broke the spell a tad. "I am sure zat I will get to know you all in good time." She licked her lips, and Toby swallowed to try and remove the sudden feeling of terror in his stomach.

"It's nice to-" he coughed. "-meet you too. I'm Toby and he's-"

"The engine of your dreams." said Percy dreamily. He had never seen a engine of the female persuasion, and it showed. Toby groaned.

"He's Percy. Also, a complete prat. Pay no attention to him."

"Oh I don't know." Daisy practically leered at him. "I think zat he's cute." She said cute in the way that humans said "Slip into something more comfortable."

Hatt felt as though he had rapidly lost control of the conversation. "AHEM!" All three's attentions snapped back to him. "Thank you. Now, any questions?"

"Please sir." said Percy. "Will she go sir, when Thomas comes back sir?"

"That depends." said the Fat Controller, who had the oddest feeling that Percy meant both that he was worried for Thomas and that he hoped very much that Daisy didn't leave. "Meanwhile, however long she stays, I hope you will both make her welcome and comfortable."

"Yes sir! We'll try sir!" said the engines, though Toby said it with a tad more reluctance.

"Good, run along now and show her the shed. She will want to rest after her journey" As they left, Hatt wiped his brow and went to his car. He turned to his girlfriend. "God in heaven Alice, this railway is going to kill me."

"You need to rest." Alice put her hand on his and he grinned mischeviously. "How about we take this baby for a spin?"

"Why not! Only young once...which reminds me, what do you think of women in the workforce?"

Alice raised a eyebrow. "They should be in it? Shouldn't be a concern in this day and age...I do hope you're not sexist."

"No!" Hatt said hurriedly. "Just a bit worried...well, there were a couple of rail cars you see...most of them were very good, and dare I say it, even better than Daisy. But a couple of the papers said I have something against women, so rather rashly, I put Daisy ahead of the males...I don't think one should hire just for the hell of it. You should know if you can rely on that engine first, you know what I mean?"

"Honey, you're getting on your soapbox."

"You're right." Hatt slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they were off. "Born to be WILD!"

This meant that he was not around for the palaver that followed.

He would have wished he was.

...

Percy had taken off rather quickly, so quick that Toby had had to steam hard to keep up with him.

"And here, Daisy-" simpered Percy. "-is the shed!" His eyes gestured to the large shed that stood proud and tall. It was rarely used by most of the engines, for the fact that there were much better sheds that were going. But it was decent enough. There were no rats, almost no leaks and the fact that it was rather close to the trucks soon became less of a factor as you tuned them out.

But Daisy was hard to please. She shuddered at the engine shed. "This is dreadfully smelly, ain't it?!" she snapped, french accent dying a horrific death. "I'm highly sprung, and anything smelly is bad for my swerves!"

Toby and Percy shared a look that indicated exactly what they thought of that. It can't be repeated her, for fear that impressionable young children may read it and carry it out.

"Yes Daisy." said Toby in vain patience, as he had spent the past five minutes patiently listening to Daisy flirt with Percy, Percy take it like a chump and then get talked down to by the diesel railcar. "It does smell. Most things have a smell."

"Well this smell is...UNAPPEALING." Daisy said, as though this was the be-all and end-all of criticisms. Neither engine dared to argue any more, so they took off in search of a new place-

...

-which turned out, thanks to one of the longest loops of Toby's life, right next to the engine shed.

"Percy!" Toby whispered in bafflement. "Did...we could have just backed out if you were going to bring us here!"

"And miss my chance?!" Percy seemed less sure of his chances now as they approached the Carriage Shed. Daisy cast her eyelashes over the shed, which looked somewhat rickety, and neither engine decided to point out the fact that the carriage shed's walls were non existant, unlike the engine shed.

"Better." admitted Daisy. "Homely. But what on earth are those orrible rubbish!?"

"Those." said Toby with more of that patience that refused to die. "Are carriages...they typically reside in a carriage shed."

The rubbish turned out to be Annie, Clarabel and Henrietta, who were most insulted.

"We won't stay here to be insulted!" They fumed.

"Go home and I'll do it there then!" laughed Daisy coarsely. Toby and Percy stared at each other with frozen grins, the kind of grins that indicated that they knew that they were on a death march but showing weakness would be punishable by jackboot up the chassis.

They had to take the coaches away, and therefore spent half the night soothing their hurt feelings.

Daisy, meanwhile, enjoyed a relaxed evening resting in the shed.

...

The two engines crawled into the engine shed at five in the morning. As morning dawned, both were exhausted. Percy, whose desire had died a quick death, was practically ready to strangle Daisy as he saw a hour later that she was now back in the engine sheds.

"And what-" said Toby through clenched teeth. "-was wrong with the carriage shed?"

"Too...empty."

Toby moaned and tried to go back to sleep. Daisy, feeling bright and cheerful, began to move. "Ooooo! Ooo!" she moaned as she showed off her swerves, coming out of the yard and heading back to the station.

Both engines looked at each other. Neither wanted to speak.

"So to clarify." Toby said darkly. "The Fat Controller's plan to rid us of a loud, arrogant, pushy and attention seeking train...was to give us a loud, arrogant, pushy and attention seeking train."

"Fair trade." Percy said with words practically dripping in sarcasm. "The fact that she's a she makes it completely different, doesn't it?"

"Oh..." groaned Toby. "Isn't it your turn to get the milk van?"

"It's a tanker now." Percy sobbed hysterically. "And you're right! It is!"

"Brave heart Percy!" Toby sighed as he settled back to sleep.

There was silence. The distinct absence of Percy leaving filled Toby's cab.

"OH FINE!" Toby snarled as he puffed off.

...

"Look at me!" Daisy purred to the passengers. Among them were Mrs Kyndley, Jerimiah Jobling and, on his holiday, Inspector Norris. "I'm ze latest diesel. Highly sprung and right up to date! You won't want Thomas's bumpy old Annie and Clarabel now! I'm revolutionary!"

The passengers, always excited to see a new attraction at the freak show that was the North Western Railway, waited for Daisy to start. But she didn't. For she had seen Toby, looking grim and determined to ignore Daisy at all costs, was pushing a milk va-tanker, to be coupled up to her. Daisy was most indignant.

"Do they expect me to pull that?!" She said in shocked rage, accent once more falling off.

"Surely." said her driver, used to this by now. "You can pull one van...tanker...thing."

"I can...but I WON'T!" said Daisy. "Percy can do it! He loves messing around with trucks, how else could he ignore such a ravishing creature as myself!?"

"It's a bloody mystery." muttered her driver. She began to shudder violently. "Nonsense!" he said. "Now come on!" He angrily jerked the door open and grabbed at the controls. "BACK! DOWN!"

She did. Daisy lurched backwards, and did so in such a cross mood that she blew a fuse. The passengers stared at each other, words failing them at the sight of a full blooded rebellion. "Told you!" she snapped and stopped completely.

Everyone argued with her, but it was no use.

"It's fitters orders, innit!"

"What is!?" asked Inspector Norris, pushing to the front of the crowd. Kyndley and Jobling looked wearily at each other. How hard would it be, they asked themselves, to just catch a train?

"My fitter is a VERY nice man. He comes every week and examines me carefully and in great detail!"

Toby, waiting patiently for the end of the argument, laughed loudly, not caring how rude he sounded.

"And he says, "Daisy! Never, never pull! You're highly sprung, and pulling is bad for your swerves!" So that's, how it is." finished Daisy.

"Are you sure he didn't say highly strung?" asked Toby innocently. The screech did nothing to quell the laughter.

"Stuff and nonsense!" said Norris, who had taken the place of the stationmaster on account of the stationmaster having given up.

"I can't understand it!" said the nearest shunter. "Whatever made the Fat Controller send us such a feeble-"

It was the wrong word to say the least. "Feeb- FEEBLE!?" screamed Daisy, shattered a nearby window. "LET ME AT YOU!"

"Oh come on!" wailed the passengers. "Stop arguing! We're late already!"

And to Toby's absolute thunderstruck shock, they uncoupled the milk thingy, got in her and Daisy purred away feeling very pleased with herself. She was the only one, and the passengers would go on a major rant once this trip was done.

"That's a good story!" she chuckled as she crossed the tier bridge. "I'll do just what work I'll choose and no more!"

But she said this to herself.

...

Toby stared desolately.

He then turned back to the shed and promptly told Percy in no uncertain terms that for the next day, Percy was doing Toby's jobs, and that it was the least he owed him. Percy would have argued, but seeing the usually patient and calm Toby twitching and on the verge of beating him down told him that would be most un-wise.


	46. Episode 20: Percy's Predicament

To all the reviewers, once again, I thank you! And welcome back...

Cue the theme.

...

 **Okay, you're going to tell me eventually...**

Tell you after we're done recording.

...

Daisy the diesel railcar's work in the country was full of surprises to say the least. She was not only afraid of bulls and cows, but she remained very lazy and stubborn, refusing to do anything other than take passengers. In doing so, she had driven Toby and Percy to near madness. It was becoming a frequent thing now for enginesi n the yard to see Percy biting down hard on a piece of chewing gum, as if trying to bite Daisy's head off, or to see Toby suddenly blow up angrily at one truck in particular after a long night of dealing with Daisy and her ego.

Not only that, but fate had conspired together to bring Gordon and Daisy together. This nightmare-ish team of ego could only have been worse if it had been James. Rumors that perhaps the two were flirting and/or starting a relationship had left the entire railway rife with gossip.

One day, Toby brought Henrietta to the sheds, to witness Percy grumpily shunting trucks and coaches with the same amount of calm and patience that a bull might see upon spotting a platoon of Beefeaters all standing in a row.

Toby watched in dark amusement as Percy began thrashing the nearest truck for a good two minutes before smoothly speaking. "Hello Percy."

"HELLO TOBY!" said Percy loudly. "NICE WEATHER ISN'T IT!?" Finally stopping his attack, he took a deep breath of air and sighed.

"I see Daisy's left the milk AGAIN." Toby had got used to this, though he was beginning to get a little fraught with the farmers who always blamed he and Percy for how late their milk was.

"Oh! I'll have to make a special journey for it, I suppose!" snarled Percy, glaring at the milk tanker as though it had personally come to life and taken three days of his life away from him. "Anyone would think I have nothing better to do with my life! Ye gods, I thought I was actually going to be doing things that didn't involve me getting trains for the big twits!"

"Tell you what." said Toby kindly, as he was feeling somewhat disposed to take pity on Percy. "I'll take the milk, you fetch my trucks from the quarry. It'll get you out of the yards for a bit and it'll give you a chance to do something non-Daisy related for a change."

Their drivers, and the Stationmaster agreed, and both engines set off for their important tasks.

"Toby?"

"Hmm?"

"Where is the quarry from here?"

"Oh balls."

...

Once Percy had gotten proper directions (And after several moments where he realized he was going in the wrong direction) he arrived at the quarry. He had never really been here before, aside from briefly stopping by one time before his race with Harold, so he wasn't exactly used to the attitudes of the ruder trucks located here. Quarries were places where good manners, clean language and decency came to die.

He began to order the trucks around. "Come along! Get into order! You there! Fix that face of yours, it's bugging me!"

Percy had not learned much from the Wharf debacle. If anything, he seemed to be regressing.

The trucks grumbled to each other like a bunch of old cockney and illiterate housewives. "Dis is Toby's place!" They moaned, having no care for grammar. "Percy's got no right to poke his big fat green nose here!"

"E can't push around! E's a very naught boy!"

"Wrong story, matey."

They whispered and passed the word. Not literally, there wasn't a giant word that was going to be passed around repeatedly like a game of pass the parcel. "PAY PERCY OUT!" Someone played a harmonica. "PAY PERCY OUT!" Another blast from the harmonica.

Before an entire ditty about paying Percy out could start, Percy puffed past having angrily punched a truck minding it's own business in the face. "HA! TAKE THAT DAISY! Come along! None of your nonsense now!"

"We;ll give im nonsense all right!" laughed the trucks, and Percy didn't hear them because he was currently taking his frustrations out on the buffers.

"WHY! DON'T! THESE! STUPID! THINGS! WORK!"

Once he had finished that and tried to hold on to the very small part of his dignity left, Percy was coupled up to the trucks and at first, they followed so quietly that Percy thought they were under control.

Again, his intelligence had taken a hit over the past few days. But to be fair, listening to Daisy'll kill a lot of braincells that were just hanging around for no reason. He passed the scrapyard, and began to entertain a rather dark fantasy that he had had over the past few days of shoving certain engines into the crusher.

He hadn't had much sleep, come to think of it.

Suddenly, they saw a notice ahead. 'HOUSE FOR SALE'.

It was then that they saw a relevant notice. 'ALL TRAINS STOP TO PIN DOWN BRAKES. THAT MEANS YOU. DON'T IGNORE THIS JUST TO SPITE US.'

"Peep peep! Brakes, guard please!"

There was silence for a moment, before the fireman turned to Mr Carlin. "Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"We didn't get a guard."

"Well **** my donkey."

And the trucks surged forward.

"Oh THIS IS NOT HOW I WANTED THIS DAY TO GO!" wailed Percy.

"ON! ON! ON!" They yelled.

"Help! Help!" whistled Percy. As they neared the signalbox, Inspector Norris rushed out waving a red flag to try and alert traffic. But unfortunately, he was too late to switch Percy onto the runaway siding!

Frantically as he tried to grip the rails, Percy skidded into the yard. "Oh please don't let there be anything! Please just let it be a nice loop-" He stared in horror at the larger than usual brake-van. "Peep Peep! Look out!"

As he hurtled towards it, many thoughts came to mind about potential last words that would be grand and epic.

"I NEVER GOT TO SEE FRANCE!"

Those were not them. There was a crunch as the brake-van disintegrated.

Seconds later, the brake-van was in less than smithereens. Carlin and the fireman had jumped clear, having had plenty of practice, but Percy was stranded like a beached whale on the remains of said van.

...

The next day, the Fat Controller arrived to see a very cold Percy. Toby and Daisy had arrived to help and clear up the mess, but Percy remained on his perch of trucks. He looked depressed to say the least.

"We must now try-" said the Fat Controller. "-to run the branch line with Toby and a diesel-" He paused. "Not that there's anything wrong with diesels, to clarify! You've put us in a awkward predicament, Percy."

"I am sorry sir." Percy said quietly.

"You can stay there until we are ready. Perhaps it can teach you to be careful with trucks. For once."

Percy sighed. The trucks groaned beneath his wheels. He quite understood about awkward predicaments. "Sir, may I just tell you something?"

"What is it now?!" Hatt was angry. "You've already cost us a day's work!"

Percy took a deep breath. "Sir, with the greatest of respect...F**k you.

F**K YOU SIDEWAYS, IF I CAN BE SO BOLD. GO TO HELL SIR, I HAVE HAD A CRAP DAY MYSELF! You think I like being stuck on a stack of trucks, you fat f**k SIR?! YOU THINK THAT I ENJOY THIS!? I WOULDN'T EVEN BE IN THIS STUPID GODDAMN MESS IF YOU HADN'T BROUGHT THAT S**T WORKER OF A RAILCAR OVER HERE! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK HAS BEEN DOING ALL THE WORK!? HER?! IT'S NOT! IT'S BEEN ME! ME ME ME ME ME ME! I HAVE LITERALLY STOOD BY AND TAKEN EVERYONE S**T OVER THIS YEAR, AND FOR WHAT?! SO I CAN HAVE INDIGNITY ON INDIGNITY SHOVED ON ME?! YOU WANT TO RANT AT SOMEONE AND FORCE A UNUSUAL PUNISHMENT ON THEM, THAT RAILCAR SHOULD BE FIRST IN LINE! BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, WE CAN'T HAVE THAT CAN WE, MR FAT ASS F**K CONTROLLER! GO! TO! HELL! SIR!"

The final scream promptly broke the sound barrier.

In the long silence that followed, no one really knew what to say to that. The fireman had literally buried his head in the sand. The trucks were staring slack-jawed and made a vow that for the rest of the year they'd never get Percy this annoyed ever. Daisy's eyes were wider than plates. Toby, either because of the amount of alcohol he had been drinking or the nerves, started giggling hysterically.

The Fat Controller's face had gone white. He turned to Carlin, who looked as though the bottom had fallen out of his world. "I...I don't know where he gets it from." he lied.

After a brief pause to collect himself, Hatt patted Percy awkwardly on the boiler. "There there, Percy, we'll get you down in three minutes." He leaned towards Norris. "How much morphine did you give him?"

"A lot."

"Ah." He then turned his attention to Daisy. "Well...Percy just said some things." He wiped his brow. He had never sweated so much as before Percy's rant. "My engines work hard! I send lazy engines away!"

"James's existence clearly says you don't." Toby said mutinously.

"TOBY. NOT NOW."

Daisy was ashamed. Or she was a really good actress.

"However." Hatt continued. "Toby said that you worked hard after Percy's accident."

"Did I?" asked Toby to no one in particular.

"So you shall have another chance."

"Thank you sir!" said Daisy gratefully. "I will work hard sir! Toby said he'll help me."

"I DID?!" shouted Toby to no one in particular.

"Good! What Toby doesn't know about trucks isn't worth knowing. Our Toby's a experienced engine."

Toby was puzzled. Should he feel grateful or used?

...

The next day, Thomas came back. He looked as though he'd had one too many morphine shots as well. "Damn it!" he shouted. "Where's my goddamn crossword!?"

Percy was sent to be mended.

"So...sideways?"

"Shut up Toby."

"Mr Fat Ass Controller?"

"Shut up Toby. I WAS IN PAIN."

"I'm not denying that. It was pretty bad though."

"IT GOT ME TO THE WORKS, DIDN'T IT!?"

Toby rolled his eyes and smirked. "Talk to you later Thomas." He puffed away, pulling Percy on a flatbed, and he wasn't sure which was groaning most. Annie and Clarabel were pleased to see Thomas again.

It didn't last long. But he took them for a run at once, so there was that.

All of the engines are now friends, though they still sometimes bicker. Make that all the time, but in a good way. Daisy and Percy seem to have made up, mostly. Toby had taught Daisy a great deal, when she wasn't blowing kisses to a unusually flustered Gordon. She shooed a cow off the line the other day. That shows you, doesn't it?

...What it shows you, however, is still unknown.


	47. Episode 21: The Diseasel

To all the reviewers, once again, I thank you! And welcome back...

Cue the theme.

...

Can't believe we're getting to Christmas again! It feels like it was only a month ago we were doing the Christmas special!

 **Time flies by, Ringo, when you're the narrator of a train.**

...Chigley?

 **Thank you! Whenever I say that to someone they think I'm just high! Oh, speaking of which, next episode is ready!**

...

"Oh, hello Edward!"

"Hi there Percy. All better, I see."

"Ah yes. I...went a little nuts there at the end."

"It happens."

"So, what did I miss?"

"Nothing much. New engine coming into the yard, to work on my branch-line. Buffers crossed, nothing will go wrong."

Edward immediately regretted saying this. And he was right to.

...

Bill and Ben are tank engines twins, each has four wheels, a tiny chimney and dome and a short squat cab-

"Hey! Enough with the size shaming, okay!"

"Couldn't have put it better meself, Bill."

Ahem. Their trucks are filled with china clay. Definitely not drugs. They may look like they contain cocaine, but that's just a coincidence. Okay, so the Pit Manager occasionally sniffs the clay, nothing wrong with that.

The clay (CLAY. Repeat, CLAY) is used for things like pottery, paper, paint and many other things. Non-drug related things. Usually, they work in the china clay pits, and the two engines rarely see anyone outside of Edward and occasionally Toby and Percy, who would pop by to get some clay for whatever uses they had for it. They had used to be on a seperate line, mostly Edward's, but...problems had occurred.

Signals were ignored and crashes happened. Rumors got around. In fact, Edward thought it very likely that the entire reason that perhaps the rumors about Duck had gained so much traction was because Bill and Ben, having seen him briefly while at the docks, were spreading them around with the other engines. So they now worked pulling trucks around for engines on the main line.

They were let out occasionally to give some assistance at the Docks, but they were mostly kept to the background, just the way the rest of the railway liked it. There, they worked out loads for ships in the harbor.

They were...not too bad at it. True, several times the crates that the ships delivered weren't full of the things they were supposed to be, but they got the job done. Usually.

...

One morning, they arranged two lines of trucks, and then went away for more.

Well, things happened. Ben went to the pub briefly, using a false ID and then proceeded to drink an entire barrel of rare vodka. Bill, therefore, had to get water to throw over him.

So by the time they got back, a great deal of time had passed. They returned to find their trucks, trucknapped.

"SON OF A COW!" swore Bill, who had very unique ways of swearing. Ben however used words that most sailors would consider to be in bad taste.

"Well where is it?!" tipsily asked Ben.

"Don't know DO I BEN!?"

To say they were most surprised was a understatement.

The drivers examined a patch of oil. The other they ignored because Daisy had been leaking the night before last. "That's a diesel." said one.

"No shit Sherlock." said the other.

"It's a wattle!?" asked Bill, who was, despite being the oldest and more mature, rather naive about the state of things.

"A dieseasel, I think." said Ben, who was naive in a different sense. "Oh you know, there's that old, old notice that looks like someone's urinated on it in our shed. Next to the old war posters."

"Oh yeah! Cough and sneezles spread diseasels?" asked Bill, who needed to get his contacts checked.

"You had a cough in your smokebox, yesterday!" pointed out Ben. "So it's YOUR fault that the diesesal came! We should burn you at the stake!"

"It isn't!"

"It is!"

"It isn't!"

"It is!"

This went on for four minutes before the drivers got bored. "All right, stop arguing." they grimly chuckled. "Let's go and rescue our trucks! And then see if there's anything on telly!"

Bill and Ben were horrified. "But the diseasal will use his black arcane arts and magic us away like the trucks!"

The four men looked at each other, and winked. "He won't magic us! More like we'll magic him." They got in a huddle. "Listen, he doesn't know you're twins-"

"THEY MAY HAVE DARK TELEPATHY POWERS-"

"Shut up Ben. So we'll take away your names and numbers-"

"We don't have numbers."

"Bill, SHUSH. Then this is what we'll do." They whispered their plan, and the twins agreed it was fairly decent as far as plans go. They whistled and took off.

...

As they exited Suddery, both twins cackled to themselves as they thought of the 'clever' plan. It was genius! It was foolproof.

It was the kind of thing that most people had thought of years ago, but only now had the twins worked this out.

They rushed through Wellsworth quickly, as they were puffing hard to find the diesel. At one point, film captured of them rolling by glitched. Perhaps it was twin magic...or perhaps it was just the camera man being a novice. Allcroft and Mitton had been absent all year.

Subtly, they entered the expanded Wellsworth goods yards. Patiently, they waited for a moment, until at last they spotted a distinctly un-steam engine figure in the distance. They crept forward, and spotted the diesel had the missing trucks. As they stopped by a mysteriously mislaid and huge soup can, Ben hid behind, but Bill went boldly up first.

There was a brief kerfuffle as the twins argued over which siding they wanted to go on, but at last, Bill sidled up on the right.

He grew more and more nervous, especially considering the sheer size of the diesel. He scowled, and his fireman reluctantly stopped playing a piano in his cab. At last, he drew level.

The diesel was the size of Daisy, but all of it was muscle and pure power. He looked up at Bill. "Do you mind?" he rumbled.

"Yes!" snapped Bill, emboldened by the first remark. "I want my trucks please! Now! Quick as you like."

The diesel looked at Bill the way that one might stare at a unruly cockroach. "These are mine. Get your own. Go away."

Bill grinned. He suddenly pretended to be frightened. "You're a b-big bully!" he fake-sobbed. "You'll be sorry!" And he reversed backwards hard.

The diesel sighed. "Not the best of first impressions."

He did a double take as Ben rushed up. "TRUCK STEALING MONSTER!" He cackled, and ran backwards. Bill took his place.

"WHAT?!" shouted the diesel, rattled.

"Witch!" screamed Bill as he backed away.

"Nutter!" howled Ben as he hurried up and backed off.

And thus it continued for another two minutes as the diesel's mind began to turn to stew.

Finally, his eyes rolled so fast that they looked like pinballs bouncing back and forth his brain, nearly popping out. "STOP!" He wailed. "YOU'RE MAKING ME GIDDY!"

The twins looked at him. The diesel looked from one to the other in jaw dropped shock. "Are...Are there...two of you!?"

"Yep."

"We're twins."

"I might have known it." sobbed the diesel through a sickly grin. "Wait...TWO. OF. YOU."

His eyes shrunk to mere dots and he swooned.

...

Edward had had a quiet day for the most part. He bustled back into the yards and was looking forward to a informal chat with the new arrival when he spotted the two engines. "Oh this is NOT the time. Bill and Ben!" He snapped, switching into angry father mode.

"EEP!" said the twins.

"Why." Edward growled. "Are you playing here? When there is work to be doing? IN A PLACE I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU NEVER TO WORK IN WITHOUT SUPERVISION?"

"We're not playing!" snapped Bill, breaking through his slight fear of just how angry Edward looked by the feeling of injustice.

"And both of you." Edward's face was redder than a sunburnt James. "For the next two minutes...I suggest you think very, VERY CAREFULLY about what it is you're going to say."

"We're...er, rescuing our trucks!" said Ben. Edward and the diesel shared baffled looks of bafflement. "Even you don't take our trucks without asking Edward."

"Even me?" Edward's voice was dangerously soft, and his patience seemed to be running out like it was in a marathon.

"Uh-uh, but this diseasal did! With his wicked black arts!"

Edward glared. "Well HOW RUDE. There is no cause for it! This DIESEL-" He glared at the twins. "-is none other than a Metropolitan Vickers! Diesel Electric Type 2! Or in other words, HE'S A PRETTY BIG CHEESE. He gets the job done when asked, unlike some LITTLE engines I could mention right now! And I asked him to get those trucks from the docks! Because IT'S HIS JOB."

The twins were abashed. "We're sorry Mr Vickers- Er, Mr Metropolitan-"

"Never mind." the diesel grinned insanely. "Call me BoCo. _I'm so, so, so sorry_ about the trucks." The sarcasm and loathing wrapped in those words were such that even the naive twins could tell their meaning.

"Right." steamed Edward. "That's all right then. Off you go, Bill and Ben. Fetch Mr Boco's trucks, then you can take these!"

The drivers and firemen grinned to themselves.

"And don't think I missed that!" roared Charlie Sand. "We're having a stern word with the Fat Controller once this is over."

"You immature hillbillies!" added Sidney Heaver.

The twins and both crews left down in the dumps.

As soon as they were gone, Edward turned frantically to BoCo. "Oh I am SO sorry about that! It's...not the best way to welcome you to the job, I know! There's no real harm to them, they can just be...UNGODLY MADDENING." Edward's eye twitched.

"You DON'T SAY!" snarled BoCo, his smile having dropped. "Maddening's not the word, but it's the nicest in the circumstances, so I shall RESTRAIN from raising a STINK up about it."

"Thank you." Edward said gratefully. "I know that the board are already up in arms over how badly Daisy came off to the other engines. And with the Marklin incident-"

"The what?"

"It's a long story." Edward looked around. "Well, if those two know what's good for them, they'll take their time getting back here. Want to hear it?"

"Why not?! It's not like I'll have mental scarring!" BoCo sighed. "Sorry, it's not your fault-"

"No, it kinda is. They need supervising or else they get reckless...funnily enough, now that I've put the fear of god into them, perhaps you could-" BoCo's eye twitched. "Ah. Perhaps we should wait another day for that."


	48. Episode 22: Wrong Road

To all the reviewers, once again, I thank you! And welcome back...

Cue the theme.

...

 **You got your tickets?**

There's some sort of bash on at the Island, isn't there?

 **Indeed, in fact, we're going to be recording the Christmas special on the boat as we cross, so I hope you're not seasick.**

If I got queasy that easily, I wouldn't have worked with John Lennon.

...

Thomas's branchline is important, and so is Edward's. Even though they tend to get rather confused about where the boundaries are between the two of them, as Edward had often claimed that the tier bridge was one of his bridges, whereas Thomas pointed out that he had used the bridge more than he before 1985. These slightly ugly debates were often stopped when teh discussion of how their tracks and bridges are not as strong as those on the main line.

This has the effect of uniting both engines together to point out that the railway is practically asking for things to go wrong if that was the case. The Fat Controller didn't allow the bigger main line engines such as Gordon to run on them.

This pleases both engines no end, as the idea of Gordon arriving and passing judgement on their lines was more than enough to deter them from complaining about the borders of their lines.

As per usual though, Gordon made it all about him.

I'll give you a moment to think on that and calm down from the shock.

...

You done? Good.

One day, to hear Gordon talking, you would have thought the Fat Controller had given this order for quite another, and more stupid, reason. Edward braked as he backed into the Sodor Shipping Company building. As he felt his trucks being decoupled, he glanced over to the moody Gordon.

"So." he said cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"It's not fair!" grumbled Gordon in a voice that sounded like it was trying not whine and failing miserably.

"What isn't fair?" chirpily asked Edward.

"Letting branch-line diesels pull main line trains!"

Edward frowned. "So...you have a issue with Daisy pulling trains?"

"WHAT?!" spluttered Gordon. "No! No I like having her work on the main line! She's clever! She knows her way around a yard!" It may have been Edward's imagination, but Gordon may have flushed somewhat.

"Ah." he said knowingly. "So you don't have a issue with Daisy...just work diesels."

"I have nothing against them! They eem a reliable type, for a diesel- Not that I have a prejudice!"

Edward rolled his eyes as Gordon dug himself deeper. A sneaky thought entered his head and he grinned wickedly to himself. Putting on a benevolent smile, he answered Gordon. "Oh I know. Never mind though, I'm sure BoCo will let you pull his trucks once in a while."

Having lit the blue touchpaper, Edward watched as the blue engine turned puce and spluttered angrily for thirty seconds. "I WON'T-" He raved at last. "-I WON'T PULL BOCO'S DIRTY TRUCKS! I WON'T RUN ON BRANCHLINES!"

"Why not?" Edward continued innocently. "It would be a nice change of pace!"

"The Fat Controller!" said Gordon grandiosely. "Would never approve of it! And besides, branch lines are vulgar!"

"I'm pretty sure that he didn't approve of you running over his car. But you still did it." Edward said, with just a hint of edge to his voice. Gordon said nothing to this, but the look he shot Edward spoke volumes. He puffed off in a sulk.

Edward chuckled to himself and followed after him.

...

Every evening on Tuesday, the two engines arrive at Knapford to make their last big trains to both branch and main line. Gordon, because he's insecure, always leaves first with the express train to the main line, while Edward follows five minutes later with a smaller train that arrives at his branch-line. This serves the purpose of getting home the many stragglers who can't get the hang of the timetable, since it changes so much.

Surprisingly, neither engine bickers much, nor are there often problems. Perhaps it comes about because of the lateness of the train, by now those not pulling the mail are fast asleep, and so both engines were united in just making it through the night and getting a long sleep in order to rejuvenate the sarcasm muscles in their brains. In fact it was one of the rare times that you'd see them joking in a non-sarcastic way with each other.

As stated before, usually, everything ran like clockwork. But tonight, there was trouble.

Of course there was.

A lady in a green floppy hat, who was well known about Knapford for being a rather batty kook even by the Island's standards, was saying goodbye to a friend. This friend was apparently the Italian Barber, who was considering retiring from the hair-dressing business and going into something safer, such as fruit selling, according to what she said.

It was nearly time for Gordon to start.

Now, the second that the fireman looked back, he gazed towards the brake coach. But his eyes were tired and he was in desperate need of a good sleep. So he did not look exactly towards the brake-coach, but rather to the first large bit of green flapping about. He wanted something green waving, he saw something green waving.

"Right away mate!" he called to the driver.

"Are you sure? We usually have about five minutes left yet."

"I can see the flag, all right."

"Fair enough."

Having thought the guard was waving his flag, the driver started Gordon off, past Edward (Who had shaved his eyebrows for the evening) and out of the station, leaving behind luggage, passengers and the guard. Everyone was very cross, including the luggage.

"BLESS MY SOUL!" said the Vicar, rather boisterously.

"Well this is a fine how-do-you do!" growled the former Mrs Stationmaster, now Mrs Firelighter.

"You gotta be bloody kidding me man!" snapped Jerimiah Jobling. "If they need a bootlace again!"

"You know" muttered the signalman from the Knapford Yards. "This just isn't our year."

"Tell me about it." growled Inspector Norris, wildly waving the guard's red flag to try and alert Gordon.

Meanwhile, the Italian Barber had just turned up. Jem Cole, looking after Stephen Hatt who had smoke in his eyes, did a double take. "I thought you were on the train!"

"No!"

"Then who was that?"

"MAMMA MIA!" The Barber cried. "It must have-a been my-a twin brother, Giovanni!"

"Must have been." agreed Bertie's driver, regretting the offer by Charlie Sand to 'Take a look at what the railway can offer you'. Meanwhile, a huge argument between Mrs Kyndley and Floppy Hat Lady was erupting.

Edward watched with thinly veiled panic. He did not want a riot on his buffers. "Oh good!" he said at last. "There's a policeman!"

"Hello hello! This engine doesn't have sideplates!"

"Oh not YOU again!"

...

To make matters worse (Not that they could be worse considering that the full on fight between the two women had knocked the idiot policeman out) by the time Gordon and his crew had been brought back (Having reached Crosby and realized that there was something very wrong indeed) Edward's train was already later than necessary.

Gordon tried to sidle in quietly without the many people noticing. He failed. Especially as the Fat Controller was standing on the platform directly face to face.

So now, Edward set off first. This was slightly worrying, but Edward thought that the least he could do was get the people home safe.

Unfortunately, with the signalman from Knapford Yards journeying to his home, his incomptent second had taken over. And so he hadn't changed the points at the junction, and so wasn't told about the change.

So by mistake, Edward took his passengers to Crosby on the main line, with one of the lights from the back coaches blowing out and leaving the passengers in there terrified for their lives crossing the still repairing viaduct.

Meanwhile, Gordon was sent along the branch, and somehow managed to get so lost while following a set of pre-determined lines that he managed to end up at the harbor. As Henry, who saw and heard everything, snickered and took away his train to where the angry passengers could demand their money back, the big blue engine arrived cold and cross on a siding out of the way and began to slowly freeze.

...

The next morning, Bill and Ben peeped into the yard. There did not appear to be any trucks for them, but they minded not one jot, for instead there was a great blue lummox.

Teasing Gordon would be more fun anyway.

Gordon had already adopted a policy of pretending that the two little hellions did not exist, and so was determinedly staring at the nearest poster.

"What's that?" asked Bill.

"Ssssh!" said Ben. "It's Gordan!" The deliberate mispronounciation of his name would have set Gordon off usually, but his mind was trying to be as calm as possible, so he rose above it.

"It looks like Gordon. But it can't be!" Bill scoffed. "Why would he come down here!? He thinks branch lines are vulgar!" Gordon determinedly pretended he hadn't heard that.

"If it isn't Gordon-" said Ben with the voice of someone contemplating a great mystery of life. "-then it's really just a pile of old, rusting junk that shouldn't really be here!"

"Which we should probably take to the scrapyard as good engines should." agreed Bill.

Gordon's eyes snapped from the poster and stared in slack-jaw horror at the twins. At the moment, his mind was not able to comprehend what he had just heard, and so a attempt to defend himself was not coming to his head.

"No Bill!" Ben was aghast. "How cruel and painful! It's useless for scrap! No, better to just take it over to the deep part of the harbor and dump it in the sea."

Gordon was so horrified and alarmed that his eye temporarily broke from pure stress. "I AM GORDON! STOP! STOP!"

...

When BoCo arrived, Gordon thought him the most beautiful sight of all things that could be sighted.

"BOCO MY DEAR ENGINE!" He wailed. "SAVE ME!"

BoCo sized up the situation, and seeing a chance to assert his authority, and threatened to take away the trucks he had brought for Bill and Ben, using his 'arcane arts' once more.

This made the twins behave at once, and they vanished off into the distance. Gordon thought he was wonderful. "Oh those little bloody demons!" he laughed shakily. "How do you do it?!"

"Ah well" said BoCo modestly. "It's just a knack."

Both engines became relatively good friends, and Gordon still believes to this day that BoCo saved his life, but we know the twins were only joking, don't we?

Personally, I'm not so sure.

...

"AH HA!"

"Hello Gordon." said a exhausted Edward.

"You told Bill and Ben about our conversation yesterday! They were going to SCRAP ME!"

"You what/" Edward was baffled. "No, I wouldn't go that far mate."

"Really!? We've never gotten on, old timer!"

"Now just a minute-"

But Gordon puffed off angrily, leaving behind a very baffled and shocked Edward.

...

 **TO. .**

 **NEXT TIME, EDWARD'S EXPLOIT.**


	49. Episode 23: Edward's Exploit

To all the reviewers, once again, I thank you! And welcome back...

Cue the theme.

...

 **Okay, so I've got a question.**

Shoot.

 **Why are you dressed as a conductor?**

I don't know. Why are you dressed as a producer?

 **Because I am.**

There you go.

 **...You kept that quiet-**

Oh, is that the next episode?

...

"Oh GOOD GRIEF! Why! Are! There! SO! Many! Goddamn! Hills!"

"Oh come on Bertie! These tourists want to see the beauty of this island, and you're spoiling their immersion somewhat with your attitude!"

Bertie the Bus, as could be gathered, was taking visitors on a tour of the Island of Sodor. Unfortunately, said tour was already giving his patched up radiator a run for it's money. As he climbed over Hackenbach Tunnel, Bertie once again wondered if he could invest in some sort of refit that would give him wings. Or maybe become one of those new fangled hovercrafts.

As he reached Elsbridge, he sighed in relief as he stopped. He then heard the confused murmuring of his passengers and his mind began to whir into action.

"OH BALLS!" He shouted. "Edward's at Knapford!"

...

It was the last afternoon for the tourists, and once Bertie had dragged himself all the way back around to Knapford for them to get onboard Edward's train, Edward was preparing to take them to meet Bill and Ben before dropping them back to the station to be taken home.

On this day in particular, however, Edward was not in good strength, and found it hard to pull the heavy train.

"Come on!" he pleaded with the coaches. "I really don't need this today!"

The three big engines were already at the station, watching this with a mixture of amusement and slight worry. Actually, that was a lie, only two of the engines felt the slight worry. Gordon was still feeling the enjoyment of watching his rival struggle repeatedly, despite Edward's protests that he had nothing to do with Bill and Ben torturing him psychologically. It this, he had managed to turn Henry and James to a extent against Edward.

"You see him straining?" asked Henry casually.

"Yes." said BoCo, who was there with a bunch of trucks to be taken back to Wellsworth. "We're right next to him, we literally can't miss him."

"Positively painful." agreed James.

"So's your voice." added BoCo.

"Just PATHETIC!" grunted Gordon. "He should give up and be preserved before it's too late! If he gives out on a train, then it'll be bad for all of us!"

"Oh SHUT UP!" burst out Duck in a rare show of emotion since the barber shop incident. "You're all jealous! Edward's better than any of you!" Both he and BoCo had suffered somewhat due to Gordon's long winded speeches about how much Edward was a bane on the railway, so this was somewhat cathartic.

"You're right Duck." agreed BoCo mellowly. "Edward's old-"

"Oi! I! Heard! That!" puffed Edward as he began to feel something give way. He hoped it wasn't his boiler.

"But he'll surprise us all!"

"I've done it! We're off! I've done it, we're off!" Edward cheered as he finally puffed out of the station and on his way.

...

The journey was relatively decent, though at one point Edward did grumble at having to take the long way round through Lower Suddery in order to get to the China Clay Pits. This made him even more annoyed when he arrived at where they were supposed to meet, only to discover that for whatever reason the twins had decided to stay at the harbor. He made the journey once more, feeling his age more and more.

But when he arrived, he was pleased to see that Bill and Ben were delighted. They loved being photographed, and later they took the party back to the clay pits in a brake-van special, which despite it's name, did not include selling brake-vans to one lucky passenger.

So while Bill and Ben posed like fashion models for the tourists, who were very impressed and were having a very splendid time, Edward dozed peacefully in the warm sun. Charlie and Sidney had headed over to telephone about their return to their wives, so he was on his own.

"Rain coming soon." he muttered as he felt a change in the air.

He suddenly felt very old. And very tired.

He started back up as he heard the faint sound of whistling. Bill and Ben pulled back in with their brake-van with happy tourists. Some a little too happy.

"Oh don't tell me they were snorting what I think they were snorting!"

"We couldn't help it!" protested Ben.

"Yeah! We are blameless!"

"Yes, of course you are." Edward rolled his eyes. Then he started off, ready to take the visitors home.

...

"What's wrong with the tracks today?" Edward asked his driver. Once more, he had been forced off of the normal and quicker route back to Knapford, and was now travelling a section of line he hadn't for years.

"No idea old friend. Perhaps it's the time of year. Engines get careless around this time. I mean, you remember that ghost that haunted the Island a few years back?"

"Oh that old chestnut!" Edward laughed. "Wasn't it just you scaring the hell out of everyone?"

"Fun times!"

Edward sniggered. His crew and he had become very close over the years, despite their arguments, and he felt a deep affection for them. He continued onwards, and began to feel the weather change. He looked ahead as he pondered this, and noticed grimly that his prediction was coming true. The clouds were moving in.

He jumped as thunder clapped. "Bloody hell! What a storm!" He shouted over the echo.

"Don't worry!" Sidney shouted back. "It'll probably be nothing!"

...

"You were saying?" said a ice cold and very angry Edward as he puffed onwards, wet to the paint. Wind and rain buffeted him, and he felt himself tilt from side to side.

"Sidney!" The fireman looked over and groaned. Edward's sanding gear had picked the worst time to pack it in. "I thought they said that the overhaul would be good for the rest of the year!"

"Well obviously they were wrong." Sidney grabbed a bucket of sand and made his way slowly over towards Edward's front. He began throwing sand down on the rails, giving Edward's wheels a grip on the rails that was quickly lost, reclaimed and then lost again.

"What a storm!" snarled Edward as the rain beat down on his face. Sidney would have responded, but the rain was blinding him to anything else over than the faint shine of the rails.

Suddenly, Edward's wheels slipped hard and he shuddered in pain. With a shrieking crack, something broke and he slowed to a halt.

Charlie dashed out the second he could. "Edward! Edward! Are you all right!?"

"It...hurts.!" growled Edward in agony. Sidney was helped down, and was sent briefly to the back of the coach to dry up while the guard rushed down to check. THe crew inspected the damage, and repairs took some time.

Edward was freezing. The wind was making his pain worse, and he was well aware that if Gordon could see him now, he'd have the perfect excuse to laugh at him. That thought alone made him determined not to give up.

At last, Charlie stood up. "One of your crankpins broke, Edward. We've taken the siderods off, so now you're like a old-fashioned train."

"I wasn't already?" asked Edward with a slight tinge of sarcasm to his tone.

"Can you get the people home? They must start back tonight."

Edward sighed. "Oh I'll try sir." He gritted his teeth, and began to strain. He puffed and pulled his hardest, but the best he managed with the injuries that he had suffered was a few measly yards, slipping back and forth at a alarming rate.

At last, Charlie paused. "This isn't getting us anywhere." He turned to the fireman. "Looks like they'll have to cancel that meal, Sid."

"Reckon you're right." said Sidney glumly. "I can run and find a telephone box, but-"

"Oh come on!" Edward's voice had risen somewhat. "We didn't give up during the war, did we?! We've been in worse scrapes than this! Come on! I'm not giving up now! Not with all these passengers that need helping!" He turned. "We're not giving up! Now let's just try and think of a solution!"

With the volume of Edward's voice, no one wanted to mes with him. So as the passengers looked on anxiously, they sat and thought.

"I do have one idea." said Charlie after three minutes. "It might work, or it may not. Come on Sid, and you too...whatever your name is!"

"Kyle!"

"Welcome to Sodor, Kyle!"

Driver, fireman and guard moved to each coupling, and began to make adjustments between the coaches. And all the while, the storm raged on. Edward's eyes were beginning to close, but he forced himself awake.

He heard soft whimpers from behind him. "Now now, girls! We'll get through this all right! I'll get you home safely!"

The coaches relaxed. They trusted Edward probably more than any other engine out there, and if he said they were getting home, they were getting home. At last, the driver returned.

"We've loosened the couplings Edward. Now you can pick your coaches up one by one, just like you do with trucks."

"Sounds much easier!" said a grateful Edward. The coaches immediately began grumbling that if Edward treated him like he did trucks, they would sue. So overall, it was five minutes later that Edward could even think about starting.

The guard had rushed through the coaches, informing each passenger of what was about to happen. And all of them were amazed. Lesser engines would have given up and forced them to get a bus.

Not this engine though.

"Come on!" Edward puffed, and slowly started. Sidney had rushed ahead in those five minutes, and had spread as much sand over the rails to give Edward a proper run. Anyway, Edward moved cautiously forward.

The first coach moving-

"Hang on!"

-helped to start the second-

"Nearly there!"

-and the second helped the third.

...

"We-" Charlie grinned deliriously. "-WE-"

"I've done it! I've done it!" panted Edward. Charlie looked on with complete and utter pride in his old friend. Edward juddered a second.

"Steady boy!" called the driver, his voice filled to the brim with joy, and Sidney leapt in the air with a triumphant whoop. "Well done boy!" You've got them! You've GOT THEM!" He listened happily to Edward's shaky but steady beat, as they moved on and forged slowly, but no less surely ahead.

The passengers were cheering for Edward, and it was quite possibly the most intoxicating high that Edward had ever been on. Somehow the pain was dulled by the feeling of such respect.

Of course, it was still there, so the air was occasionally filled with blue curse words, but that was expected.

...

By now, Edward's disappearance had become news to all the engines, and there was not a single one who was not worried for the blue engine. But in Knapford, Sir Topham Hatt had slightly more selfish thoughts, as Henry waited worried.

And then they heard a faint whistle.

And at last, battered, weary, injured and yet ultimately unbeaten, Edward steamed in. "Peep! Peep!" he gasped out as he came to a shuddering halt in Knapford Station. His passengers rushed out towards the Fat Controller.

He glared angrily at the clock and prepared to make the standard apology...but was suddenly awash with praise and exultation for the wise old engine, who was currently gasping for air. Jem Cole immediately rushed to check on him, while both driver and fireman and even Kyle got acclaim from the passengers, among them the Firelighter's Wife and Jerimiah Jobling.

"I shall write a song about this!" he declared.

"Well Edward" said Henry, no trace of mocking now. "Any famous words?"

"REPORTS!" huffed Edward. "Of my death...HAVE BEEN GREATLY EXAGGERATED. Though not by much."

...

That night, he forced himself home and into the middle shed. Duck and BoCo made sure that he was not spoken to and that he was left in peace. But they needn't have bothered. Gordon and James were respectfully silent.

So when Edward closed his eyes, there was no more talk of him giving up.

Nor would there be for quite some time.


	50. Episode 24: Ghost Train

I thank all my lovely reviewers, and hope that you continue to be entertained somewhat! I will admit that this episode is going to feature a completely original subplot, but it will foreshadow things that will come.

Cue the theme.

...

 **Oooooooooh! Spooky.**

Steve, take the bedsheet off.

 **There is no Steve, only the ghost of-**

Steve. It's too early.

 **Spoilsport.**

...

The viaduct was quiet.

Too quiet.

Even in the night, the work was supposed to be going on, but all workmen had huddled into the coach, hiding and waiting. At last, they heard a sharp piercing whistle...and there it was.

 _"And every day, on the date of the accident, it runs again! As a warning to others! "_

A engine, fading in and out repeatedly and with something flapping in the wind that looked suspiciously like moss strangling him, rushed across the bridge, and the workmen huddled together in horror.

It rushed on, screaming it's terrible scream, until it reached the watermill, whereupon it derailed and vanished!

 _"Plunging into the gap! Shrieking like a lost soul-"_

...

"Percy, what are you talking about?"

Percy was pulled out of his wailing and gnashing story by a very skeptical sounding Thomas. They, along with Toby, were sitting in the midst of the mist filled Anopha Quarry. It was one of those times of year when the mist rolled in and mixed together with the steam to create something that was almost impossible to see through fully.

"The ghost train!" Percy said, deliberately putting more echo into his voice. "Driver saw it last night!"

"Where?" asked Thomas and Toby automatically.

"He didn't say! I get the sense that Mr Carlin has a shady past that we can only speculate on! Perhaps it was he who pushed the ghost train to it's death, and it haunts him to this VERY DAY! Oh, it makes my wheels wobble to think of it!"

"Huh!" said Thomas scornfully. "I saw that ghost train once on the telly! It was a fake model wrapped in toilet paper! You are a silly little engine! I'm not scared of ghosts!" And he puffed away self-importantly.

Toby rolled his eyes. "He doesn't learn, does he?" He glanced about. "So, I'll be off in a few seconds. I have to wait by the signalbox somewhere by Crowe's Farm Crossing."

"Funny you say that. I'm passing that way meself. I have to stay late at the harbor. You take care of yourself."

"And you!" Toby puffed off. Mr Carlin, having taken a leak behind one of the trucks, walked over briskly.

"Thomas didn't believe in your ghost!" said Percy.

"MY GHOST!? I'm not dead yet!"

"No, the ghost story-" cut in the Fireman.

"Oh! Fair enough, neither did I! Just a stupid programme on the television! Ghost wasn't even that impressive, just covered in toilet roll!"

Percy was more than a little bummed out, not least because he would have liked to have been able to give Thomas the bird. Or at least in as much as he could with just buffers.

...

It was nearing the end of the day, and in Knapford, there was a number of engines waiting for news of what they would be doing at night. Edward, Gordon, Henry, James, Duck, Donald and Douglas all sat and began to get rather antsy.

"Losh sakes!" snapped Donald at last. "Were there any point to all o'us coming here?!"

"Probably not." Henry sighed. "But you know how the Fat Hatt likes to keep us guessing."

"What's wrong with the coaches?" Edward asked to no one in particular. "I haven't heard them this worried in a long time."

The Fat Controller hurried out. "Damn this fog! Right, apologies you lot! You're not needed, so you can head off home!"

"Sir, that's a lamp-post."

"Oh." He hurried away, leaving the engines to consider turning back to Tidmouth. The crews were annoyed, to say the least. They weren't officially allowed to clock off for another two hours or so, and it was already getting dark.

"What's wrong?"

Everyone turned to face James, who had puffed forward towards some of the coaches and had started conversing with them.

"Odd, didnae think he was willing to listen!" Douglas coughed.

"Probably getting make-up tips." Gordon muttered mutinously. Duck rolled his eyes and turned as James puffed back down.

"Well?"

"Apparently, some of the coaches are missing." James frowned. "They said they wouldn't mind usually, but there's apparently some sort of legend about a ghost train wandering the Island, and they're rather nervous."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

"I say." started Henry. "We don't have much to do right now, do we?"

"No."

"Well...why not go and get the coaches back?"

"Could we?" There was a hint of excitement in James's voice. But also a slight bit of dread. "Don't they say it's unwise to be about the Island this time of night?"

"Ach, I'm with ye Henry!" Donald puffed forward. "We need a wee distraction before we head of to tha land of nod!"

Douglas sighed. "Suppose I'll come along. It's nae the sort of night for bed anyhow."

"You'll need someone sane to watch over you." Duck laughed.

"Eh, what have we got to lose?" Edward remarked.

Everyone's eyes turned to Gordon. He sighed. "What have we got to lose? I think, if it's all right with you, we should head to the harbor first...get the worst place out of the way."

So the cavalcade set off, unaware of what they were diving into.

...

Funnily enough, Percy was just puffing back from the harbor as this decision was being made. He rushed through the valley, wanting to get out of the dark night. But that didn't stop him enjoying himself. He knew where he was, even in the dark, thanks to having eaten so many carrots. He passed the windmill and vaguely wondered what fools would be out on a night like this.

Despite his misgivings about this night in particular, in general he enjoyed somewhat the run in nights. The air was crisp and clear the rails practically hummed, and the signal lights shone green, providing some form of light that he could navigate with.

But ahead, as always, there was trouble.

Lying ahead, there was a broken cart of lime that stretched across the crossing in the worst possible position. It had broken when Terrance, manned by a very drunk farmer, had swerved to avoid a giant mantis that only his driver could see. Sam the farmer had just gone for help, so the cart was left all on it's own.

On this Island, that was practically a death sentence.

"Hang on, isn't that a-"

There was a loud crash and crunch as the cart practically exploded into white stained pieces. Lime flew everywhere, but mostly onto Percy. His mind briefly shut down from shock, and so he missed Carlin going off on one and ranting at the fireman about idiot farmers who left carts just lying there to be run over.

At last, he puffed to the nearest signalbox. Toby, as per his remark, was waiting there for his driver to finish his cuppa. He turned and beheld the white Percy. "BY NEPTUNE'S BEARD!" He shouted in shock. "Are you trying out for the clown in the new play?"

"Oh very funny." Percy said through clenched teeth. Carlin got out and explained what had happened, in between rants about just what would happen to Sam if he ever saw him again.

"I'll see he gets the message!" said the signalman. "But you better clean Percy up, because he looks like a ghost!"

At that moment, a metaphorical lightbulb went off in both engines's heads. Percy chuckled deviously.

"Oh let's just pretend I'm a ghost! I want to scare the crap out of Thomas! Silly little engine, am I?"

Toby agreed, mostly just because he was bored and wasn't going to go against the tide. They agreed a plan, and Toby set off. He crossed the watermill and continued onwards, snickering occasionally, before he finally arrived back at the sheds. He put on a panicked expression, as he saw Thomas being oiled up for a evening train.

"PERCY'S HAD A ACCIDENT!" He blubbed to a cheerful Thomas.

"Poor engine." said Thomas, with little sympathy, or really listening that much. "Oh bother, I'll be late!"

"They've cleared the line for you-"

"Oh, thank the lord for small mercies."

"-but there's something else!" Toby paused dramatically.

"Out with it Toby! I can't wait all evening, I am a very important engine!"

"I saw something! It looks to me, and don't quote me on this, like Percy's...GHOST!"

Thomas was unimpressed. "He's probably just drunk."

"It said that it was coming here to...to...WARN US!"

"Huh! Who cares? Don't be frightened Toby, I'll look after you!" Thomas scoffed and turned back. Toby grinned.

It wasn't often he allowed himself to be devious, but when he was...

...

As they crossed the watermill, Gordon looked back at the others. "So Edward...I have a apology to make."

"Oh?"

"I made a mistake. A genuine mistake, and I punished you unfairly for it...sorry."

"Oh. Well as long as we can move on-" Edward paused. "Can you hear that?"

James frowned. "The water?"

"No, tha-"

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!" screamed Percy as he rushed past, practicing his ghostly wail and scaring the crap out of seven engines as he did so. He vanished into the distance.

Silence for a moment as all engines consciously put on more speed.

"Was that a-" Henry started.

"NO!" snapped the others.

"How much further do we have to go!?" Duck grumbled. "I know we're coming up to the valley in a few minutes, so we can't be far from there, right?"

"You're quite right Duck." Douglas said, the cold clearly getting to him slightly based solely on his voice. "Aye, it's a cold one and no mistake."

"Something odd that I've noticed." Henry started again. "Now I've run night trains before, and while it's certainly quiet, it's never...this quiet, if you get what I mean. Aside from that screaming banshee we just saw, can anyone actually hear anything?"

"Maybe everyone's asleep." Edward suggested.

"No, he's right." Gordon looked as they entered the valley. "Listen. I've been through here once or twice at night, and I've always heard something, even if it's just a owl hooting or the sound of snoring from one of those tramps that always manages to wander down here."

"That is odd." Duck admitted. "You know, the morning's almost here...and yet not a sound." The engines puffed onwards a few minutes, each preoccupied with their won thoughts, before Douglas cut in.

"Listen." He said. "Now, I'm not a expert, but can anyone of yon engines see a glow in the distance?"

They looked up, and indeed they could. It was coming from the harbor, and at such a brightness that it could not possibly by a house or a cottage. And then...a song reached them.

 _"Stoke up the magic in the mountain, and the lady will smile._  
 _Then watch the swirls that spin so well_  
 _Though I may not be with you again for a while._  
 _I shall come back, and your fears I shall quell."_

The voice, ethereal, soft, gentle, a woman's, was supposed to be soothing. In actuality, it had the opposite effect, and all seven sped up to escape the valley, being driven on and on towards the light.

...

At the sheds, something very different was going.

"Peep! PEEP PEEP PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP. Let me in! Let me in!" wailed Percy, using his echoy voice to great effect. Thomas's face was terrified, and Toby assumed a similar reaction.

"No no! Not by the smoke of my chimney chim chim!"

Percy snickered quietly to himself. "Then I'll CHUFF. And I'll PUFF! And I'll BREAK YOUR DOOR IN!"

And all four crew members slowly creaked the door open, Thomas opened one eye to see the ghostly grinning face of Percy and he abandoned any attempt at holding onto what remained of his dignity. "Oh dear!" he declared lamely. "It's getting late, look at the time, must find Annie and Clarabel, have a good night!" and he vanished off into the night, screaming.

Both engines made sure he was out of earshot, and then broke down into laughing.

...

"I NEVER THINK I CAN LAUGH AGAIN!" screamed James, scared so badly that grammar had failed him.

There was a hissing noise as they entered the harbor. And for a split second, the engines swore they saw the shadow of a old tank engine creeping towards them, it's eyes murderous and grim.

"MARKLIN!" spat out Edward, and Duck looked ready to take him on.

But the shadow froze, and as the light grew brighter and brighter, it screamed and vanished.

The engines took a deep breath, and soldiered on. The drivers got out, manually switched the points, and so each engine was now on a seperate track.

"The question is." said Gordon weakly. "If Marklin's scared of that thing...is it ally, or foe?"

No one spoke. They puffed on. And there...they saw the coaches.

"They're just lying there." Donald whispered. "And the light...is it protecting them?"

Edward puffed forward. "Hello!" He shouted awkwardly. The light seemed to turn towards him, and he cringed. Suddenly he heard chuffing, and all the engines hurried up to join him. "Er...please could you give our coaches back?"

The light paused. And then it suddenly began to shrink, done into a single form. The form of a engine.

The engine puffed forwards til it was face to face with Edward.

And then she smiled.

"Remember me. All of you. Please."

And then she was gone.

...

It was slowly dawning when Thomas was seen next at Tidmouth, looking twitchy and rather like he hadn't slept at all.

"Where have you been?" asked Toby innocently.

"OH, um, oh, well, I saw how upset you were about Percy. I didn't want to disturb you. I slept in the good shed and-" A whistle sent him scurrying off. "WELL WOULD YOU BELIEVE IT!? Gotta see a coach about a train!"

Percy was none the worse for his ordeal, and was grinning madly as he puffed up. "Well!" he laughed.

"Anyone would think-" said Toby. "-that Thomas had seen a GHOST!"

"Nice echo there."

"Don't! MENTION! GHOSTS!" James shouted as he and his friends puffed in with the missing coaches.

...

"Was it a dream, Edward?"

"Like a dream. And yet..."

"Not quite." Duck muttered, sleepily. Edward nodded.

"I feel tired...but in a good way." Henry murmured. The twins nodded.

"Oh isn't it just grand to just feel the sun again..." Donald sleepily whispered.

"And the wind...playing across the Island." Douglas said sleepily.

"Just like music." Gordon, half asleep and unaware of whatever it was he was saying, murmured. "Far away music."

And so they slept. For that was the last gift she could give them. The gift of forgetfulness. When they awoke, they would be happy and as light hearted as before. ust as though they had never seen the lady at the gates of dawn.

But for the longest time afterwards, a tune would come into their heads, and they had no idea what it meant.

Not yet anyway.

...

"You failed?! How?!"

 **"I don't know!"** roared Marklin. **"All I know is that SHE was there!"**

"She is supposed to be DEAD!" P.T Boomer groaned. "We need to continue the long game. Go underground for a while."

 **"And you?"**

"Me? I need to pay a visit to the states...I need to make sure our Lady doesn't interfere anymore."

...

As you can tell, I'm sort of building up stuff that'll pay off in Magic Railroad. Hence the mystery...hopefully it makes you curious.


	51. Episode 25: Woolly Bear

Almost done with Season 2 guys! This season's been so much fun!

Cue the theme.

...

 **Okay, so this is the last one. The taxi's waiting.**

It's been waiting since we started.

 **I know...I think you're going to have to pay him a bit extra.**

Me! You're the producer, you pay him!

 **No, no, see, I'm strapped for cash. You, on the other hand, are one of the Beatles! Not really comparable, see.**

...

In summer, the gangers who work on the Island of Sodor cut the grass in the countryside. They did this at first because they lacked a social life, and now did it as a sort of replacement for the mayday pole. They packed it into heaps and left it there to dry in the sun.

At this time of year, as autumn is slowly fading out to the cold winter of discontent, Percy often stops by the grass, and the men finally get off their asses and load his empty wagons and he pulls them to the station.

Percy generally finds this to be a very boring task indeed, and has so conditioned his mind to think about other things more interesting. Such as paint drying, or listening to one of James's rambling speeches about the importance of looking fine.

Toby, who understands the ways of the world a little more, then takes the trucks up to the farmers, so that they can feed their stock. Also, to stuff very uncomfortable mattresses with so they can offload them onto family members who they hate.

This, funnily enough, requires Toby to be out of the way of most of the engines for a good hour or so, often having to pass through the rather quiet valley. Thomas, on this particular day tired and grumpily watching as Toby vanished, wondered if Toby did this job simply to get some alone time.

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!"

Thomas closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten as Percy gave a ghostly whistle. He grinned cheerily at Thomas, who was staring off into the distance as if hoping that Percy would vanish if he ignored him for long enough.

"Don't be frightened Thomas! It's only me! I'm not a ghost!" Percy had gotten great mileage out of Thomas discovering his scam with the ghost story. This had the effect of making Thomas extremely bad tempered and angry...more angry than usual.

"Your ugly fizzy face is enough to terrify anyone into a coma!" Thomas snapped. "You're like-" he cast for a word.

"UGLY INDEED!" I'm-"

"-A grrrrreen catepillar with red stripes!" trilled Thomas, gleeful at having found a rather unique insult. "You crawl like one too!"

"I don't!"

"Then who-" thundered Thomas with the self-righteous conviction that would make James roll his eyes. "-has been late EVERY afternoon this week!?"

"It's the hay! It's being...troublesome!"

"I can't help that!" huffed Thomas self-importantly. "Time's time, and the Fat Controller relies on me to keep it! I can't if you keep crawling in the hay at all hours!"

"Explains why you were late to that meeting yesterday." muttered Percy rebelliously as he puffed off. "GREEN CATERPILLAR INDEED!" he fumed out loud.

...

"Everyone says I'm handsome!" Percy bragged to no one in particular, having asked a total of one person about his handsomeness and had therefore used a lot of hyperbole. "Anyway, my curves are better than Thomas's corners!"

Mr Carlin looked at the fireman. "He's finally ******* cracked!"

"Finally? I think he cracked when he went off on one at the Fat Hatt."

"Thomas always says I'm late!" Percy grumbled. "I'm never late! A few minutes at the least! And it's fashionable to be late!" And so he went on in this vein until he reached the harbor.

"What's that to Thomas!? He can always catch up time further on! Little cocky blue prat!"

All the same, he and his driver decided to start home earlier than usual. Then, as per usual, there came trouble.

Percy was just sitting there, waiting for his trucks to be checked over for any damage, when suddenly, something smacked onto his head. He squawked and suddenly let out a moan of pain as some form of liquid poured down into his eyes.

A crate of treacle had been upset all over Percy. It was hard to say who was more upset, the treacle or the engine. Carlin went off on a three minute rant/tangent about how shoddily the crate had been secured before at last he could be convinced to give some assistance.

Percy was, to say the least, cross. And the incompetence of some of the workmen who were trying to get the stuff off him meant that he was still sticky when he was forced to puff away.

"Why couldn't you have gotten Edward to do this?!" he fumed. "Or Duck!?"

"Because they have actual important work to do! Remember what that was like? No? I don't either!" Carlin snapped.

The wind was blowing something fierce when he arrived at the fields.

"Well ******* look at that!" shouted Carlin. The wind had caught the pile of hay and the various little bits that the gangers had missed and was tossing it about. It landed by the track and on it. Percy closed his eyes, ignoring the deep stinging sensation as the treacle on his eyelids stung his eyeballs.

The line climbed her at the worst of it. "Take a run at it Percy!" his driver advised, and Percy bit back a retort as he puffed up as hard as he could. He gathered speed, but slipped on the hay that was clinging to the line. His wheels tried to grip the rails, but he slipped constantly, and time after time he span uselessly, all the while the wind threw up the hay like it was trying to emulate the Wizard of Oz.

Percy growled, but eventually had to stop, and had to remain where he was, until the line ahead was clear.

The green engine told the driver just what the farmers could do with their hay.

...

Everyone was waiting at Elsbridge. Thomas was muttering mutinously about how certain little green bugs needed to go back to working at the harbor if they couldn't take it. He seethed impatiently.

"Ten minutes late!"

"We know Thomas." said his driver.

"I WARNED HIM! Passengers will complain, and the Fat Controller-" What the Fat Controller would do was never asserted, as Percy panted wearily up. The passengers laughed and shouted at him.

Percy looked, to put it nicely, like someone had emptied a barn over his head. Straw was clinging to his paint like ants to a anthill, and tiny pieces dotted his face, making him look like a rather bizarre shrapnel victim.

"Sorry I'm late!" he said with a edge to his voice. "As you can tell, I've had a rough day."

"Look what's crawled out of the hay!" Thomas crowed.

"What's wrong?" asked Percy, who had no access to a mirror.

"Talk about hairy caterpillars!" scoffed Thomas. "It's worth being late to have seen you!"

...

Percy drove back to the sheds baffled, especially considering how hard both driver and fireman were snickering.

"What's so funny?!" he snapped. His driver, as soon as they arrived, pulled out a large mirror and showed it to Percy. He jumped and stared open mouthed "Well bust my bloody buffers! No wonder they all laughed! I'm just like a woolly bear!"

"Temper like one too." slyly muttered the fireman.

"Please clean me before Toby comes!"

It was no good of course. Thomas had told Toby everything in great detail.

As they arrived, Percy was slowly losing his makeshift wig, though not so much that Toby couldn't chuckle and tease him good naturally.

For the rest of the evening, instead of talking about sensible things like playing ghosts (At least to Percy's mind) Thomas and Toby would not shut up about woolly bear caterpillars, and other things that crawled about in hay.

They laughed a lot, but Percy thought they were very silly indeed.

Well he would, wouldn't he?


	52. Episode 26: The Missing Christmas Tree

Ah, the end of the Ringo Starr era. In many ways, I'm actually sad to leaving this behind. Ringo was always my favorite narrator as a child, and Season 1 and 2 are still, I contend, the best seasons of the show overall. But we must move on, and I am excited for the stuff coming up! Of note, this'll be the last time I do the Producer/Narrator stuff, as I'm running out of ideas. So for the very last time, for Mr Ringo Starr...

Cue the theme.

...

 **Okay, start it up Ringo.**

One thing, Mr Asquith-

 **Mr Asquith? ...Something's wrong?**

Not terrible, just unfortunate. See...I don't think I'll be back next time.

...

It was two days before Christmas, and just like the last time the camera had captured a Sodor Christmas, all the engines were more excited than they probably should have been. And that wasn't all, as many children were expected to be on the Island of Sodor, to celebrate, to see the sights or to see the famous engines. All the engines were busy with their final preperations for the last two days of the Christmas countdown.

Every year, they held a carol party at Tidmouth, and all the engines usually arrived to sing a few songs (A memorable incident the year before had had Gordon sing a drunken rendition of Jingle Bells) and the Fat Controller wanted to make sure it was extra-special this year.

"Oh this is going to be great!" said Percy, the Christmas spirit having nested in his bunker this Christmas. "Carols! Baubles! Trees! Father Christmas might even come!"

James laughed. "Oh Percy, I knew you were naive but I didn't think you still believed in that claptrap! Be honest, if there was any person draped in red who travels fast and brings joy to everyone he meets, it'd be me! Isn't that right, ladies?!

The coaches blew a raspberry, and James huffed off angrily, leaving a slightly upset Percy behind. Gordon thundered by with the choir, and smiled gleefully at the thought of getting Daisy under the mistletoe.

Though they couldn't kiss, perhaps they could hold buffers! Gordon was somewhat of a romantic deep, deep, deep at heart. If you squinted.

...

As workmen put up the banner announcing it, the Fat Controller waited impatiently for Thomas. "Quickly now- No, not so fast, back up a bit- There you go! Our Christmas tree has arrived just in time! And I want YOU to fetch it Thomas!"

"Really? You never usually trust me with valuable things sir?"

"Really!" Hatt didn't tell Thomas that it was so he could get him out of the way so that he didn't have to worry about the blue engine causing a accident like heh ad the year before. He still shuddered as the memory of what the Vicar had been covered in fled through his memory. "Duck can look after Annie and Clarabel until you get back!"

"Will we be able to sing carols too!?" asked Thomas excitedly. Hatt had put a ban on engines singing carols after Gordon's incident with the booze supply.

"We'll see!" promised the Fat Controller, who was looking forward to getting drunk as all hell this year.

"It would be nice to sing carols again!" sighed Thomas. Edward puffed passed him, pulling large boxes of decorations behind him. "See you later Edward!"

"Sure!" Edward smiled. He didn't have a job this Christmas aside from general maintenance, so it was rather nice to watch Gordon and Henry argue over who had the more important job out of all of them.

...

"Cards letters and parcels are the BACKBONE OF CHRISTMAS!" raged Henry.

"Ha! Does the mayor travel in smelly trucks like that?! I doubt it!" Gordon scoffed.

That night, the other engines were sulking something fierce. Edward had shut his eyes and decided to leave them to it,

"Why should Thomas get to do it!?" whined Henry. "He can't do anything a splendid green engine like me couldn't do!"

"Nor me!" agreed Gordon.

"Perhaps it's because I don't get stuck on hills or in tunnels?" asked Thomas innocently, before shutting his eyes and falling to sleep to the sound of both big engines raging.

...

"Now girls, you look after Duck!"

"Atta boy!" called Annie, already getting started on the drink. Clarabel let out a happy squeak as Duck puffed back down.

"Good luck old chum." Duck said calmly. "I'll keep these two safe and sound, don't you worry."

"Thanks Duck! Hope you enjoy your first Christmas! Tell Edward that I bagsy the lead in the first carol!" And Thomas, pulling a brakevan and a flatbed (In reverse order) headed off.

Thomas arrived at the Christmas Tree plant to see BoCo providing assistance to several lumberjacks to manuever it onto the truck. "Ah! Thomas, isn't it?"

"Pleasure to see you BoCo!" Thomas frowned as the tree was lowered back onto the flatbed. "Why didn't you take the tree, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I would...but I have my hands full already." BoCo's eyes focused on a pair of twins arguing over another tree. "I think me, the tree, Bill and Ben would be a bit of a bufferfull, if you catch my meaning."

"Fair point!" laughed Thomas. "Right, I'll see you at the party!" Thomas puffed off, leaving BoCo to quiet for a bit.

Until there was a massive bang, and he moved back to Bill and Ben.

"Well?"

"IT WAS HIM!" Both the twins protested.

...

Thomas pulled around the corner into the valley. "Oh Christmas tree! Oh Christmas tree! How lovely are your branch- OH SH-" He ran straight into a massive snowdrift. There was a pause as his driver and fireman recovered, and then they heard a muffled. "WELL THIS IS FAMILIAR."

The driver sighed. "Come on. I'll get the shovels."

Thomas sat in the snowdrift sulking. _I musn't be late_ , he thought, _everyone's relying on me! Especially the Fat Controller. Maybe if I whistle?  
_

Bravely he tried, and began to move somewhat. But the wheels couldn't grip the tracks, and even as the fireman rushed forward to the sand box to gain some sand, Thomas grimly felt worried.

He was right to. For there was worse to come.

Thomas looked up at the massive chunk of snow raining down on his head and sighed. "Not my day."

Poor Thomas was snowed under in seconds.

...

At Tidmouth, Gordon and Henry were still angrily sulking, with Donald and Douglas as spectators. Already, some of the guests had turned up. Edward had left Trevor the Traction Engine there, and both Bertie and Terrance had made their way over. They waited and waited, and at last, they began to grumble about him being late.

Gordon and Henry grumbling? The assembled trucks rolled their eyes.

"SILENCE!" roared the Fat Controller. "Thomas left the works safely, but snow's brought the telephone lines down. It's reaspnabe to assume he's trapped somewhere...damn it, and I sent him out of here to keep him out of trouble." Seeing that the engines now felt sorry for Thomas, Hatt turned. "Donald, Douglas, snowplows had been attached. Do that thing that you do so well!"

"Aye sir!" declared the twins. As they set off, Hatt ignored the shocked gasps from Henry and Gordon.

"Ah, hello...Diesel, was it?"

"Yes." growled the shunter, now de-possessed. "Sir. I must protest-"

"Oh sure! But after this party! I want you to see us at our best, compared to how you saw steamies at their worst!" Hatt paused. "Ignore the horrified faces, they're very happy to see you! Isn't that right Duck!"

"DIE YOU MONSTER DIE!" Duck rushed Diesel and booted him into the shed.

"Ah. Perhaps I should have prepared you for that."

Gordon frowned as he saw Daisy. "So, looking forward to the party tonight?"

"Sorry, didn't I tell you?" Daisy looked awkward. "I...I have to go."

"What?"

But Daisy was gone.

...

Cold but confident, the twins set off to rescue their wayward friend. Duck had already arrived at the junction with the workmen when they arrived. He was fuming, but didn't show it. Percy and Toby were also there, waiting anxiously for any news.

"Fat Controller has cancelled all trains coming in or out of the Island, aside from those heading towards Tidmouth, until Thomas is found." Duck explained. "Take care. You have the lines to yourself."

"Come back safely with Thomas and the tree!" Toby advised. "But mostly Thomas."

"Well, we wurr hardly goin to just go and wreck ourselves, wurr we Toby?"Donald said cheekily. Toby smirked and puffed towards the station with Henrietta. As the twins set off from Elsbridge, Percy looked back.

"Take care!" he called.

The weather was colder than Gordon on a particular cutting day, but Donald and Douglas steamed on. The snow was getting thicker and thicker now, also like Gordon on a particularly tired day.

Donald wanted to stop for a rest at one point, Douglas urged him on. "Come on ye wee boy!" He called back. "What if Thomas is lying a-wee bit hurt somewhere!? Besides! I'm not letting no sassanach get bragging rights!" And as they passed through Edward's station, they picked up speed.

...

Soon, they entered the valley, and noticed a larger than usual snowdrift.

"Better get tha workmen out." Donald said, exhausted. There was a muffled cry, something which sounded like-

"HELP!" It was muffled by the snow, but it was still there.

"Hush!" said Donald. "I can hear something!"

"Probably just tha wind. I hear it's bad in this valley particularly." said Douglas.

"HELP!"

"No listen!" insisted Donald, and both did. And finally...

"Over here!"

"OCH! IT'S THOMAS!"

"Come on! That poor engine must be frozen to tha brakes in there!"

"OH NOW YOU NOTICE!" howled the cold and miserable tank engine.

When extra workmen arrived in James and Edward's coaches, there was some time before they could work out how it was to dig out Thomas and tree alike to clear the heavy snow. His driver and fireman had taken shelter in a nearby cottage, leaving the tank engine to his frozen fate, and joined the rescue only after they agreed to keep their robes and mugs of tea. First the tree was unearthed and removed, and then at last, Thomas was freed.

Thomas inhaled and burst out steam that sent snow hurtling everywhere. "AND THAT!" He roared. "IS THE LAST TIME I EVER COLLECT A STINKING TREE!"

James buffered up behind Thomas, and Edward, back to back with him with the breakdown train coach in between, started up.

And then, they set off once more to finish their journey. As they crossed the watermill, Edward kept up a flow of dialouge to try and cheer Thomas up, and as they pulled in, the night having slowly begun to set in, they waited in excitement.

All engines were gathered. The Fat Controller greeted them warmly. "As a reward for all of your hard work year round, you may go and enjoy the carols." He paused. "Also, the free alcohol." Whistles greeted this, and everyone hurried to their places.

...

"ONE!

TWO!

THREE!"

And suddenly, like magic, the big station was flooded with lights. James was so excited he let out a wheesh of surprise that caught everyone off by guard. Everyone was there, Gordon, Henry, Donald, Douglas, Duck, Edward, Toby, Percy, Bill, Ben, Diesel, Boco...Annie, Clarabel and Henrietta chilling in the rolling stock yard, and Bertie, Terrance and Trevor swapping stories.

"You know-" Bertie said. "No one does celebrations like the railway."

"Indeed." Terrance agreed.

"I'll drink to that!" Trevor laughed.

And that wasn't all. In the audience were Mrs Kyndley, the Italian Barber, Jerimiah Jobling, the Firelighter and his wife, the lady with the green floppy hat, several policemen including the 'cowcatcher' one, Inspector Norris, Charlie Sand, Sidney Heaver, Mr Carlin, all drivers and firemen, Jem Cole, Bertie's driver, Sam the farmer Stephen and Bridget Hatt, the former Lady Hatt, the Fat Controller's girlfriend...all gathered together!

The Fat Controller climbed up onto the podium. "Ladies! Gentlemen! Children! I give you THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE, and all his FRIENDS! They are the ones who made this occasion happen!"

Cheers greeted them, and emotion overwhelmed all of them. Gordon looked for Daisy, but Henry shook his head. BoCo smiled sympathetically, and pointed to the booze. The Scottish twins let out a whistle of joy, Duck and Edward grinned at each other, Diesel mustered up a smile as Bill and Ben whooped, and the assembled non-engines began to cheer on their friends.

And suddenly there was a strange whirring noise and the sight of lights in the air.

"Hey!" shouted Percy. "Look who it is!"

"Well there's the old beggar!" Toby laughed. They grinned, they knew who it was.

With landing lights shining brightly, Harold the Helicopter touched down from the sky. The door opened, and out stepped Ringo Starr and Steve Asquith. But then came the best surprise of all.

"FATHER CHRISTMAS!" screamed Percy, deafeaning those next to him. "I TOLD YOU HE WAS REAL!"

"Oh I'm never hearing the end of that one." grumbled James. Father Christmas, Ringo and the Fat Controller shook hands, and then the former two headed off to hand out presents to all who would recieve them.

...

"She wouldn't have been faithful to you Gordon." Henry said sympathetically. as they started on their third glass of wine. "She was a bit...flighty, if you see what I mean."

"Nothing to do with her being a diesel though."

"Oh no BoCo!" said Henry in horror. "How could you even think? Look, you'll find your soul mate someday. On the meantime, you can be my wingman anytime!"

"No Henry! You can be mine!" slurred Gordon.

...

"So...why do you want the steam engines dead?" asked Bill.

"When you've got such specimens such as ourselves!" Ben added. Diesel glared and said nothing.

...

Bertie had already started hallucinating that Thomas was on a separate line, that Edward had gone in the shed to escape strange monsters that wanted to destroy Christmas and that he, Terrance and Trevor were surrounding Father Christmas to attack him for supporting the railways. "HAPPY BLOODY NEW YEAR!" He roared as he thudded to the ground.

"I'm not taking him home." Trevor said quickly.

"And you can leave me out of it!" said Terrance slightly less so.

...

"Where do you think Marklin is?" asked Duck, feeling warm and cheerful with the alcohol swilling in his boiler.

"Oh let's just have some fun!" Toby said gleefully.

"Ammmmmen to that!" James laughed maniacally, face as red as his paintwork.

"Well well!" said Annie tipsily. "Looks like everyone's- zzzzzzzzzzzzz."

"Aw, bless her cotton socks." Henrietta said. "Should we-"

"Let her rest!" Clarabel smiled. "The night is young!"

...

"You're leaving!?" Miss Allcroft was aghast. "But...But you are amazing!"

"Exactly! Better to go out now than become a parody of meself!" Ringo smiled cheerfully. "Besides, I got me music to think about, and no offence, I don't want to be that bloke from Thomas the Tank Engine for the rest of time."

"Trust me." said Steve sincerely. "You'll never be."

Mr Mitton smiled. "Oh, we'll miss you."

"Well, I'm not done yet. We have this party! And I have a lot of stuff in that carriage that could get us all drunk as hell!" Ringo hurried off and the Fat Controller turned to Allcroft and Mitton.

"Where have you two been!?"

"Ah yes. Sorry. See, I've been getting ready to do a second documentary series." explained Mitton. "It's about boats! It's called TUGS! It could be the next big thing!"

"And I've been trying to deal with some rather bad news." Allcroft looked sad. "We've got a third series. But it's going to take some time to get new people together to make it."

"Oh...how lo-"

"Five years."

"Bloody hell!"

...

Ringo stared at Carlin, and Carlin stared at Ringo.

"Bloody nora!"

"******* HELL!"

Both smiled. They patted their conductors uniform, and both pulled out a whistle.

"Gold dust, Mr Conductor?"

"Gold dust, Mr Conductor." Carlin smiled. "You got the same gig? Figured I'd come and watch over this. There's some bad **** coming this Island's way in the next decade or so. Marklin was only the start."

"I felt it too." Ringo shrugged. "But I figured I could do more help if I got into contact with Burnett. See if he's interested. You know, these guys are pretty rad!"

"They are, aren't they?"

...

"Thomas, I believe the next song is yours!" Edward laughed at the gleeful look on Thomas's face. Ringo walked up.

"Hey Thomas. You remember that incidnet with the fish?"

"Do I?" growled Thomas.

"Well, I think it's time I gave something back." Ringo reached into his pocket and revealed a pack of cigarettes.

Thomas was about to light one up when he realized something. Two years. Two years cigarette free...they weren't worth it. "Thanks, but I think I'm all right now! Who needs cigarettes?! I've got these guys! They're the greatest high to ever be on!"

And just before the longest, best and most memorable party in Sodor history, before Ringo Starr and Thomas the Tank Engine led each other in a rousing song of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas', Thomas turned to Percy.

"It's no fun getting stuck in the snow. But it was worth it for this party."

"I agree...happy Christmas Thomas."

"Happy Christmas Percy!" Thomas looked around at all of his mad, infuriating and absolutely marvelous friends. _"Happy Christmas everyone!"_


	53. S3 Episode 1: A Scarf for Percy

Season 3 boys and girls! Ah, Season 3. Back when adapting original stories pre-Andrew Brenner was actually done well...sorry, tangent. Also of note, this will be the last time I use the narrator-Asquith interplay at the beginning. I plan on doing something different for the rest of the work. Anywho, cue the theme!

...

 **You're late.**

Sorry, sir. Got a little lost on the way. Who knew Shepperton was so hard to get to?

 **Oh fair enough. Now, there's the script. Read it.**

Righty-ho!

And be careful Angelis, you've got big shoes to fill.

...

 _Dear Mrs Allcroft._

 _Thank you for your charming letter. My newly married wife and I were most gratified to hear from you again after so long, and we understand why you could not attend the wedding._

 _Our apologies go out to Mr Mitton. I watched TUGS and while I can say with great certainty that they missed a trick there, I felt perhaps the tiniest bit relieved that you and he will be returning to our Island for the first time in over four years. I must say that it is a surprise that it did take this long to comission a new series, but I've heard that Angelis chappy you've got is a rather good voice over artist, so I'm not panicking on that front._

 _What has happened since last you came? Well, we've seen a bigger expansion of the Island, and we also received a few boats from the Bigg City Port that have taken up permanent residence here. Our Island is thriving with more passengers than ever before, and not only that, our engines are getting more and more grumpy. I fear that we shall have to get some new ones in soon._

 _Which leads me onto the engines in question...oh dear. They didn't take the cold war ending very well._

...

DECEMBER, 1990.

It was a cold winter's morning on the Island of Sodor. It was probably a cold winter's morning in a lot of other places in the world, but on this particular day we shall focus solely on that Island. The wind was bitter (Like James over the death of his singing career) and the ground hard (Like Gordon's face upon hearing that Henry was once again going green) with frost.

Thomas and Percy, sitting in their berths at Tidmouth, were cold and cross. This was not surprising, considering that instead of steaming up, their crews had headed over to the nearest fire and were warming themselves up. Since the end of the previous season, Thomas had become older and, if not wiser, certainly more experienced. Thus, it was he now who grumbled angrily whenever he wasn't ready. This time he had been up rather early, and had decided that that was the most regrettable thing he had done since recording a cover of 'Free Nelson Mandela'.

The less said about that, the better.

"All I want-" he huffed "-is a warm boiler! And maybe a hot cup of cocoa! That bloody firelighter knows that, or he should, he's the one whose been lighting my fires for so long! He's late! He's probably having that wife of his over the couch!" Thomas had certainly become a bit more coarse since the second season, which had come about due to his increased exposure to the quarry and the workers there.

"Well, you're right that he's not late!" sighed Percy. He had also become far more rebellious, having cause the great incident of 88 when he had painted James green for a laugh. It had not ended well, and James had spent the rest of the year seething over revenge. Which he eventually got by pushing Percy face first into a coal hopper. It had been a experience that Percy was desperate not to repeat. "This cold weather woke us up early. Or maybe you did with your hollering."

"I do not holler!"

"So what are you doing right now?"

Gusts of icy winds sent snowflakes scattering all over Thomas, before swooshing round Percy. It was not weather to have good humor in, and both engines looked as though they were attending a funeral rather than waiting for work.

"Why don't we talk about something else!?" snapped Percy at last.

"Yes! Like how funny we look when our funnels turn to icicles! Well, yours does."

"That's not funny!" Percy snapped. "Maybe we'll stop being cold if we talk about something warm! Like sunshine! And steam!"

"And firelighters." muttered Thomas. "Also, Barbados."

"And- And-" Percy paused, and instantly in his head he could see himself wearing a football scarf, cheering on Sodor United. "SCARFS!"

"Scarfs?!" Thomas was amused at last. "That's what you need Percy! A big woolly scarf that'll cut off the circulation. That way, it'll shut you up." Thomas was only teasing, but Percy's eyes were now filled with obsessed mania, as he ranted on about scarfs until the firelighter came at last.

...

The Fat Controller was enjoying hot porridge for breakfast and the fact that he had enough money to insulate his house. It was great being a member of the upper class.

He was looking forward to taking important visitors on a tour of the railway. These important visitors were investors and creditors, all of whom were looking to sink a lot of money into the Island.

In fact, he had even pressed his special trousers. Or rather, had had his butler do it for him.

"I shall put them in my trunk, and shall change into them just before the photographs are taken!" he said to Alice, his wife. She grinned and handed him his suitcase. They kissed and he hurried off to catch his train.

...

Elsewhere, Percy was chanting to keep himself cold "I WANT A SCARF, I WANT A SCARF, I WANT A SCARF." As he crossed by the canal, he began to work hard, feeling his fire burning nicely and the huge amount of steam pumping through his system. But he was still unable to stop thinking about scarfs. Perhaps because EVERYONE seemed to be wearing them.

"OH YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" he snapped as he pulled up alongside Henry. "My funnel's cold, my funnel's cold, I want a scarf, I want a scarf NOW!"

"Rabbish." Henry said, affecting a thick scouse accent in mockery of James. "Engines don't wear scarfs! Unless you count that convention that Douglas went too a while ago. Didn't think they'd take him. But he did make a pretty convincing Tom Baker."

"HA!" Percy said. "You're so unfashionable Henry! Besides, engines with proper funnels do! You've only got a small one!"

Henry bit down a number of remarks as Percy puffed away. Mostly to do with how you use it.

Everyone at the station was excited. The Fat Controller had removed his hat and was waiting anxiously for his trousers. If he didn't get dressed soon, it was going to look really awkward.

The trousers were in a trunk among a big load of baggage, which were being pulled by two porters who had gotten the job mostly because they had fathers in the railway inspectors guild.

They were taking the trolley across the line, and were walking backwards to make sure that nothing fell off. This was problem-matic in and of itself, and it really made Hatt wonder why it was he hadn't installed some sort of bridge to help them cross over.

Percy was still being his cheeky self, as well as in a world of his own. Carlin always shut off steam before they entered the station, because he didn't want to do more work than was necessary. Percy wanted to surprise the coaches by coming in quietly and giving them a bump.

He was really running out of ways to be cheeky.

But the porters didn't hear him either. Or see him, for that matter.

The cart exploded as Percy ran over it, and sent boxes and bags hurtling everywhere.

...

"What was that?"

"Ignore it Duck. Probably wasn't much."

...

And then everything tumbled back down.

For the next few minutes, chaos reigned as people tried to wipe jam off their faces, made sure it wasn't blood and stared in horror at their belongings strewn all over the tracks.

"Ohhhhh." groaned Percy in pain and in horror of what he knew was coming.

It was not the most dignified appearance of a engine. Nor of the passengers, who looked as though they were extras in a zombie movie.

Sticky streams of jam trickled down Percy's face, staining it. A top hat perched upon his lamp. And worse of all, a pair of trousers coiled around his funnel. The trousers were now a sodden mess of jam and snow, so high had their ascent been.

Everyone was very angry. And loud. In fact, it wasn't entirely out of the question that a riot may take place. The Fat Controller seized the top hat and part of Percy's lamp iron. "MINE!" He declared angrily. "PERCY! LOOK AT THIS!"

"Yes sir." whimpered Percy, trousers wrapped around his face like a bandage.

"MY FORMER BEST TROUSERS TOO!" raved Hatt as he foamed at the mouth.

"Yes sir! Please sir!"

"THREE BAGS BLOODY FULL SIR! We must pay the passengers for their spoiled clothes and GROVEL for their forgiveness! AND MY TROUSERS ARE RUINED! FOREVER! I hope this'll teach you not to pay tricks on the coaches! AND KEEP THE BLOODY TROUSERS!"

Carlin hurried back in, having looted what little un-jam covered belongings he could find.

Percy went off to the yard and felt very silly. And on the way, he met James, grinning like a loon.

"Hello Percy! SO you found a scarf, eh? But legs go in trousers! Not funnels!" James chortled as he thanked himself for taking that Biology class. He puffed away to tell Henry the news.

Percy bit down his lip and cursed James and Henry several times internally.

...

That evening, Thomas and Percy were resting and shooting the breeze in the shed, Carlin having taken away the trouser and given Percy a good rub down. Not what you think it is.

"Firelighter's promised to come early tomorrow!" Thomas said cheerfully. Percy shot him a look. Henry arrived seconds later, he'd enjoyed taking the visitors around and now felt sorry for Percy too. Relatively.

"Driver says weather will be warmer tomorrow!" He said cheerfully. "You won't need a scarf Percy!"

"OF COURSE I WON'T!" snarled Percy. "Engines don't need scarfs! They need warm boilers and drivers who have eyes! Everyone knows that!"

"Man." marveled Thomas. "What a year this is going to be."


	54. Episode 2: Percy's Promise

Cue the theme!

...

 _Yes, it's odd really Miss Allcroft. See, there's been this rumor going around for...well, since the last series in fact, that Percy is somewhat of a fortune teller. I didn't put much stock in it meself, I saw some of the connections as quite frankly ridiculous. For example, he apparently predicted the fall of the Berlin Wall. Well quite frankly, he was right. So was everyone else, because quite honestly, you put a bloody wall that size up, you've counting down the days before you knock it down. Also, apparently he predicted that Nelson Mandela would be freed. Somehow the clever engine got his hands on a early copy of the Sodor Telegraph and read about it!_

 _No, I didn't put much stock in this...until, well...remember that episode at the docks? Where Percy fell in and had to be dragged out? Before that business with Duck and Diesel? Well, he was telling Bill and Ben a story about him braving bad weather to help Thomas. And everyone was like, that hasn't happened._

 _Only it has._

 _Now._

 _Spooky._

...

Every summer the Island of Sodor is very busy. Then again, so is nearly everywhere else in the world, but this Island in particular. It's the time of nudists to frolic n the watermill's pond for no reason, the time for enviromentalists (Lead by Henry) to complain once more that the River Els needed to be fixed somewhat thanks to the rather nasty smell and also holiday maker to sight see. This means that Edward and Thomas are usually forced to carry them around to the big station for the bigger engines to take.

Some people like to go to the mountains, some to the valleys and others to the strip clubs. Those were the kinds of people that the Railway tried to point blank ignore, but discovered that this was rather hard. Because those tended to be the high ranking politicians.

"Uh. driver?"

"Yep."

"What are we doing on Toby's old line?"

"...Oh balls."

...

Children love the seaside. One day, Thomas was puffing along the line that runs by the coast. They were heading through Arlesburgh to make a quick stop to drop off a party of people who wanted to see the sea, and his two coaches were packed with children who wanted to go to the beach.

Everyone was happy. At least I assume so, I don't get to know everybody in the entire world very well. Thomas pulled into Tidmouth Hault, a new station that had become operational in 1987 and was already beginning to need some repairs.

Percy was there, taking some trucks to the harbor. "Hello Thomas! You look cheerful." This was said as more of a subtle jab to Thomas, for Percy had received rather a lot of mocking relating to scarfs since the winter. "I wish I could take children today instead of trucks."

"Yeah, too bad." said Thomas carelessly. Percy shot him a look and Thomas wised up. "Oh well...they're Vicar Teddy's summer school-"

"Ah. Summer school. A worse punishment than actual school."

"Indeed." agreed Thomas gravely. "I'm busy this evening, doing crosswords, but the stationmaster said that I can ask you to take them home!"

"He did!?" snapped Stationmaster Norris, recently promoted. "Well he hasn't heard about it!"

"I'm busy though!" whined Thomas. "Seven down's a real stumper! Besides! Look at his little face!" Norris groaned and decided that life was too short to stress out about such things, so he nodded and walked away.

"Of course I will!" promised Percy.

"Hmm? Oh, right-"

"Right...well I'll leave you to it."

...

Later, Percy saw Harold at Dryaw. He groaned. Somehow Harold had not managed to crash into a tree since their last race and thus had been promoted ahead to living in the actual airfield there.

"Sorry Percy old chap! Can't talk!"

"What makes you think I want to talk to you?" muttered Percy rebelliously.

"I'm on high alert."

There was silence before Percy worked out what he was supposed to say. "Why?"

"Bad weather's due! My help is always needed!"

"Well your head is up in the clouds so much." Percy agreed.

"Mind how you go, Percy!"

"PAH!" puffed Percy crossly. "As long as I've got rails and wheels to run on them, I can go anywhere, in any weather at any time! Good bye!" He puffed off angrily, as James passed him.

James rolled his eyes. "How's the scarf-"

"Oh shut up!"

...

He set off for the beach but stopped temporarily by Elsbridge so as someone could decouple his trucks. It was a beautiful day, but Edward was worried. He eyed the sky with nervousness.

"Be careful!" he warned. "There's a storm coming. I can feel it in my boiler. That and the weatherman said it was so."

"A promise is a promise!" declared Percy. "No matter what the weather!" and he puffed off, leaving Edward to grimly wait for his last train so he could get back to Wellsworth and wait out the storm in his shed.

...

The children had had a wonderful time. True, several of them had nearly drowned and the Vicar had been carried off briefly by a massive wave, but that was practically normal for the Island of Sodor. But as they got back onto the platform and into the carriages, dark storm clouds crackled with lightning and clapped with thunder.

Annie and Clarabel were pleased when Percy arrived, for he was just in time for the rain to start. A brake-van had been coupled on to make life easier for the guard, and so Percy was suddenly pelted with rain as the guard and his assistants began to move towards the van.

"Ohhhh." he shivered, and thought of his nice dry shed. And of Thomas in it. Somehow that cancelled out the good thoughts.

He puffed with great effort over Arlesburgh, jealously wondering how the rest of the population were enjoying the Island, and grimly attempted to focus ahead. He struggled on past coastal villages and into the countryside. He ran along side the track that ran along the bank and forced himself to think about the smug look on James's face when he triumphed.

He glanced down and did a double take. Surely the water hadn't risen that much! "I wish I could see! I wish I could see!" he complained, and he squawked as they headed on a downwards slope.

Trouble lay ahead, to say the least.

Percy stared at the water that was now rising up to his wheels. "Bloody hell!" he shouted. This was tamer than what Carlin shouted, which can't be recorded here for decency's sake.

"Oh." he hissed once more. "The water is sloshing my fire."

"YEAH, WE KNOW!" shouted his crew, who waded back to the guard van and confronted the guard, a grumpy old man ready for retirement. "I'll have some of your floorboards please!" said Carlin grimly.

"I'm not selling floorboards."

"Give me the ******* boards, buddy."

"I only swept the floor this morning." grumbled the guard.

"Plus side." said the fireman brightly. "You got a free wash into the deal.

Soon, the boards were crackling nicely in the fire, and Percy felt warm and comfortable. As much as he could be with his wheels still in the water.

And then he saw Harold, returning his mood right back to square one. "Oh terrific! Harold's here to laugh at me! All we need now is James and the humiliation train is complete!"

Something thudded onto Percy's boiler. "AND NOW HE'S THROWING THINGS AT ME!" Percy wailed. "OW! He needn't do that!"

"It's a parachute!" laughed Carlin, always joyous to see someone's suffering in bad times. "Harold's dropping hot drinks for us!"

"And you know this how?"

"I can smell booze from a mile off. Why do you think we're always on time? It's not so I can please Fat Hatt!"

Percy bit back many responses, before reluctantly shouting up. "Thank you Harold!" He deliberately put enough stress on the 'thank' so it could sound rather ruder.

"Good to be of service old chap!" Harold said chirpily, ignoring Percy's insult, and he buzzed away. As soon as he was gone, Percy felt he had just enough strength to try again. And so slowly, he began to puff forward.

The water lapped Percy's wheels and he tried not to focus on the trout that were playing hide and seek in between his wheels. He was losing steam once more, but he bravely pushed on through the water and forced himself up onto the dry land again.

"I promised!" he panted. "I promised!" This mantra was repeated as he forced himself on, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd done this before. It was raining hard, water swirled under his boiler, he couldn't see where he was going...but he struggled on.

He made one last huge effort and at last, exhausted but triumphant, steamed into the station.

"Well done Percy!" cheerfully stated Thomas. "You kept your promise despite everything."

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THAT BLOODY CROSSWORD?!" screamed Percy. Thomas frowned and then realized.

"Oh. Uh...real stumper, seven down! I would have come to help you but, er, look at the time!"

Percy was about to tell Thomas where he could stick his stumper, when Harold landed. The Fat Controller dismounted with his waterproof clothes and waddled over. First he thanked the men, bar Carlin who had run off to get drunk somewhere, then Percy.

"Harold tells me that you were...er, wizard. A corky wizard, in fact." Hatt's face betrayed that he had no idea what the helicopter was saying. "He says he can beat you at somethings but not at being a submarine"

"CHEEK!"

"I don't know what he means. But I do know that you're a really useful engine."

"Oh sir!" exclaimed Percy, and he whistled loud, sending one of the trouts hurtling into the Fat Controller's eyes.

Percy groaned.


	55. Episode 3: Time for Trouble

Cue the theme!

...

 _And now we come to that most troublesome of engines. James. Oh James, James James. I hear he's popular with a lot of people back at home. I haven't told him that yet, for fear that his head might swell to even bigger proportions and blot out the sun. We're trying to go relatively softly softly on the whole power thing, so we kind of need the sun at the moment._

 _Yes, in the time since our last season, James has had his ups and downs. The downs are pretty big. Another failed attempt at a music career )So much so we had to get rid of a lot of his singles before they brought shame upon the Island. Apparently he was thinking that ABBA would reunite just for him. That engine.) and of course the scandal with the talcum powder, of which I will not go into here. His ups have been few but large, we all thought he was going to die when he was asked to open that supermarket for ASDA's. Then there was his brief chat show 'Jamming with James' that apparently got high ratings. That was when we had that power cut on the Island though, so we didn't think much of it._

 _Personality wise, he's still that same arrogant engine. Still won't shut up about his paint. Or his superiority. In fact, I think he may have actually managed to do the impossible and annoy Gordon with it._

 _What a engine._

...

The Island of Sodor has many visitors, as has been previously established on a number of occasions, and the Fat Controller, still struggling with gathering together money enough for new engines, had scheduled more trains.

This resulted often in arguments with the other engines, who grew hot and bothered. Emphasis on bothered. It wasn't rare nowadays to see Thomas outright being disrespectful to Edward at Tidmouth Hault, while the other engine seethed with passive aggressive wit bubbling in his boiler.

Gordon the big engine had to work harder than ever before. He made up for this with a lot more complaints coming the way of anyone who even looked at him wrong. Catch him puffing through Wellsworth on a busy day and you would get weeshed in the face. "Come on!" he called harshly to the coaches. "COME ON COME ON COME ON!"

"Do you want us to come on?"

"Don't sass me! The passengers rely on me to be on time!"

"You're the one pulling us."

"SASS! AGAIN! I SHALL NOT HAVE IT! I-"

You get the point.

If he crossed the viaduct, he would vent aloud to the world just how much he needed to be paid for his hard work. The driver and fireman would simply ignore him and just continue working until they reached Knapford.

For whenever Gordon finished one journey, he'd be likely to start another, and the vicious cycle began again.

"Never mind!" he said cheerfully, blissfully ignorant in how this was the way that all of his journeys began. "I like a good long run to stretch my wheels."

"HA!" came the reply from driver, fireman and coaches.

...

Even so, after five days of complaints that were increasing in size, the Fat Controller decided that Gordon needed a rest, and while Gordon put up a token fuss, he promptly fell asleep the second that Hatt was gone.

"James shall do your work!"

"YIPPEE!" said James excitedly. Gordon grunted and began to drift off.

...

James, of course, was delighted to get exposure to a whole crowd of people who had either heard of him only in myths, or newcomers all together. He enjoyed showing off his smart red paint as he rushed through Wellsworth, and rarely talked back to the coaches, meaning that they had a slightly higher opinion of him than Gordon. He was determined to be as fast as Gordon, having trained himself in the intervening years.

And so one day, he puffed up to Toby, feeling full of himself as per usual and grinned. Toby, who was still considering taking up Buddhism to calm his mind, smiled. "James. Nice to see you."

"You know little Toby-"

"Oi, less of the little."

"-I'm a important engine. Everyone knows it! I'm as regular as clockwork! Never late! Always on time! ALWAYS!"

"Says you." muttered Toby. "Even a very, very broken clock is right every so often."

Just then, the Fat Controller arrived, flanked by his bodyguards who were carrying his bags. He looked nervous, and both engines wondered if it had anything to do with finding a replacement pair of trousers, which had vexed him on the previous few occasions. "Your parts are worn Toby! You must go to the works to be mended." He said this in a rush, as if he was desperate to get back to his car and find the nearest bar.

"Can I take Henrietta as well?"

"No. What would the passengers say?"

"Oh no, Henrietta's gone but never mind, we've got James?"

"Shut up James."

...

Toby saw Percy by the water-tower, having a good long drink. "Don't worry yourself!" slurred Percy. "I'll take care of Henrietta."

"Okay, and when you say that, you mean you'll not try and steal her away from me or kill her? Just to clarify, I've had the conversation before and that's generally what the idiot engines I've talked to inferred from it."

Percy raised a eyebrow.

"Don't ask."

Soon Toby was out on the main line, and so as he passed the canal, he began to think on the many deep and important questions life. What was freedom? What was the meaning of life? How far did a driver and fireman control your actions? If a tree fell and no one was there to hear it, did it make a sound? If it did, what kind of sound did it make? Why was there such a long stretch of line that was built on a bank that could send a engine plummeting down to certain injury?

He clanked as he puffed along. He was a little engine with small wheels-

"ENOUGH OF THE LITTLE!"

-and his tanks don't contain much water. He had come a long way already, and he began to feel very, very thirsty as he dared to dream of many things.

In the distance, was a signal. "Good!" He thought aloud. "There's a station ahead! I can have a nice drink and a rest before James passes's. And then i get to endure his taunting." Toby frowned. "Every silver lining has a cloud."

Toby's driver clearly thought so too, so they stopped at the tower and patiently unloaded some of the water into Toby's tanks. He was enjoying his drink, perhaps a little too much, when the signalman ran up. He was new and had never seen Toby before, and he had the attitude of being able to turn excrement into gold, so hadn't bothered to familiarize himself with the engines. Toby's driver tried to explain but the new signalman wouldn't listen.

"We have to clear the line for James's express! You'll have to get water at the next station!"

"But that's ages away!" exclaimed the driver.

"Hey, I don't make the rules."

Toby clanked sadly away from Lower Tidmouth and headed towards the next station. As he crossed the bridge that lay across the entrance to the valley, he tried to ignore the feeling that his tanks were draining fast.

He was right, as hurrying was using a lot of...water? I don't know, at this point I think it's fifty fifty what the water-towers are filled up with. His tanks were soon empty, and he screeched to a stop.

"Well." He said calmly. "That signalman is not making it home tonight."

"Neither are we." pointed out the fireman.

Toby acknowledged this, as he was out of steam and stranded on the main line.

"We must warn James!" said the fireman, as he pulled out a semaphore flag.. Then he saw Percy passing by pulling Henrietta. He waved the train down. "Please! Take me back to the station, it's a emergency!"

Henrietta was sad to see Toby so glum and alone. She hated leaving Toby.

"Never mind, you're taking the fireman to warn James! That's a big help!" Henrietta felt much better, but Toby was not cheered by this.

"See you at home, m'dear."

"Good luck!"

...

James was fuming as per usual. "I'm going to be late!" He raged.

"So what's new?"

"Shut it driver!"

"My fault." said the signalman. "I didn't understand about Toby."

"Damn right it is!" said the fireman, who climbed into the first class coach and was now lounging about. He never got a chance to do this.

"Now James." said his driver. "You'll have to push Toby!"

James was furious, of course. "What?! ME?! ME!? Push Toby and pull my train!? You must be joking!"

...

He wasn't.

...

Grumbling, James set off to find Toby. "STUPID ENGINE!" he roared at random. When he saw Toby, he came up behind him and gave him a bump. "YOU! MOVE! IT!"

"Lovely to see you too."

"GET ON! WILL YOU!?"

James had to work very hard throughout the journey, which was a new concept to the red engine. In fact his paranoid mind was convinced that Toby had done this all as part of a complicated gambit. As he puffed into the station, he moaned. He felt exhausted, as he reached the Works Station-

"Hang on." said Toby frowning. "This is Knapford."

"OH BALLS."

Some children were on the platform. "Coo! The express is late! And it's got two engines! Whatapalavar!" He was a very British boy, that one.

"I think James couldn't pull it on his own so Toby had to help him!"

"Never mind James." whispered Toby. "They're only joking."

"PAH!" snorted James. "HA! HA!"

...

Toby eventually reached the works, though James had to help repeatedly. This added even more so to James's complex, and even more so to Toby's amusement.

Jokes about James being clockwork went on for a long time afterwards. Already, Henry and Gordon had their Christmas present planned. James reacted to this by declaring war on all cuckoo clocks.

But that's another story.


	56. Episode 4: Gordon and the Famous Visitor

Cue the theme!

...

 _As odd as it sounds, I think Gordon's made some real progress since last we've seen you. Oh, sure, he's still the arrogant, speed obsessed 'won't shunt trucks unless you force him into it' engine that he was before, but...how to put it, less of that engine._

 _His alliance with Thomas is seemingly holding steady even after all this time, bar the occasional sarcastic remark here and there, and for the most part he seems to have let go of his feuds with Edward and Henry. He and Duck still cross paths on a number of issues, not least because Gordon appears to persist in that annoying habit of being a elitist with regards to the tank engines. Unfortunately, he is also falling into a rather unfortunate habit of pining for Daisy. Every so often she'll return from her little excursions to the outside world, plastered with more makeup, and he'll fall right back into the trap of getting into a relationship._

 _This makes it even harder when she leaves again and they break it off. He's grumpy for two months afterwards, and I have to give him the express otherwise we'll be rapidly running out of trucks to smash up._

 _Also, he has a slight...complex regarding his dome lately._

...

It was a important day in the yard, and most of the engines had been dragged into the sheds to celebrate this day. This had had the effect of making several of them very disgruntled indeed. James was already ranting at Donald for how after the Toby fiasco not long ago he didn't need to be even later. Donald was ignoring him though, as per usual.

Trevor and Bertie were commiserating on the fact that they had had to make their way over the rails without the aid of ramps, and therefore felt very sore in teh chassis. Duck was distracted by the appearance of Diesel, who was there supposedly as just a shunter for the important guest, but he had his doubts.

Ah yes. The visitor. Everyone was busy and excited, including the Kyndley and Jobling clans, who were fighting each other just to get a look. Already Jerimiah and Mrs Kyndley were on the verge of making the WWF look like a pillow fight.

It had even attracted a few lone journalists, making notes and taking photographs to sell to the local paper. This was a big deal, and this was helped along by the presence of Britt Allcroft and David Mitton, who were filming the entire thing with a number of different cameras.

A special visitor had arrived from the mainland, supposedly there on behalf of the Railway Society, who were making rounds all across the UK in a attempt to raise the profile of steam engines getting destroyed.

His name was City of Truro, and he was now the utter center of attention from engines and people alike. Henry had squealed when he had heard that he was coming, and had been left very angry at the fact that he had to go on shunting duty with BoCo at the big station.

Some knew the celebrity by name, but not all.

"Who is that?" whispered Thomas to Duck. He knew the body, of course, which steam engine didn't, but the name was rather hard to place.

"That!" said Duck with no small amount of pride. "Is a celebrity!"

"A what?!" asked Percy, who was deliberately playing up his cute and innocent persona for the cameras that day.

"A celebrity? You know, famous engine? We're ones ourselves thanks to the show."

"Yeah." Edward muttered. "Though he had a choice in it, I assume."

Toby smiled. "Well, my driver's been saying that we can all talk to him soon."

"Ha!" scoffed Thomas. "He's too important to speak to the likes of us! If I was that big, I'd ignore all the little engines as well! I can see how Gordon gets so...Gordon-like looking at that one."

"So why doesn't yon engine haff a face?" Douglas asked. No one answered, trying to give the air of it being too obvious while racking their brains to think of a reason why he didn't have a face.

Just then, Gordon arrived. He did not enter to his usual burst of trumpets that signalled the arrival of the next big thing, but rather a bent out of shape tuba. He glared over at City of Truro, who was now posing for the cameras, and let out a audible "PAH!"

"Who cares-" he continued. "-a lot of fuss about nothing if you ask me!"

"No one did!" called one of the two twins.

Gordon steamed away angrily to do the things that Gordon did when he was angry. Usually rant about how his ex was terrible and how he should really be in charge of running the railway full time.

...

Later on, the engines found that Truro wasn't conceited at all. He enjoyed talking to the other engines until the stars came out.

"So then, I said to the horse, I said "Hey! You wouldn't happen to be Mallard's brother would you?" Am I right?"

Laughter echoed out.

"Ahhhh, fun times." Thomas smiled. "So, er, you going back tomorrow?"

"Sadly, yes."

"Pity really. We could trade you for Gordon?"

"Railway Society values their money a bit better than that." Truro paused. "Actually, would it be okay if Duck gave me a hand preparing me for the journey back? I'm taking some of the coaches with the railway enthusiasts in, and I need to be shunted round."

Duck agreed, and as the other engines said goodnight, the two puffed off onto the sidings.

...

"You know, I didn't expect your mission to take this long."

"Well, things got complicated. I wasn't expecting, certainly, a attack from the other side so soon after my arrival. He's tried to get back in several times, but he's been prevented. I heard personally that Sir Topham Hatt hasn't let any engines in without a extensive vetting process."

"Honestly that's the best thing to do in this situation. I'd like to apologize. We should have contacted you by now, but we've been held up in other matters."

"Oh?"

"Agents Jinty, Pug and Puffa reported a few years back that the Bigg City Port was nearly completely destroyed. We were barely able to get a evacuation for all the people there, many of the tugs weren't so lucky."

"God. It's spreading."

"Like a cancer. Worst part is is that we have nothing to go on. Every goosebump, every whisper, every hint, we have to follow up on. There's rumors over in America that several tugs from the Bigg City escaped to a harbor, led by someone called the Dispatcher. There's another rumor that a group of sentient jets have taken up residence in a place known only as London Airport. Honestly, it's nigh impossible to deal with all of them."

"So what's the job?"

"Stay here. Watch out. Scotsman will be coming here some time this year to update you further, but what I can tell you without doubt is that if the first blow against everything we hold dear is coming, it happens here."

"Thank you sir!"

"Those are some good engines you've got there Montague."

"Yes. They are, aren't they?"

...

Truro left the next morning. Thomas and Duck were already beginning to set up the trains for the morning when Gordon arrived.

After a brief moment of silence, in which Duck and Thomas looked at each other and grinned in anticipation, Gordon spoke out. "Good riddance!" he grumbled. "He kept me up all night, chattering away, who does he think he is!?"

"First of all." Thomas said casually. "You weren't there for most of it."

"I got the gist!"

"And secondly, he's famous! Duck told you. Repeatedly."

"As famous as me?! Never!"

"He went at a hundred miles per hour before you even considered moving that fat tender of yours out." Duck said calmly. Thomas started laughing, and Gordon turned beet red.

"So he says!"

"It's in a record book."

"So's a lot of things! But I don't trust engines like that! Have you seen him!? I didn't like his looks! He has not one single dome on his person! Never trust domless engines, they aren't respectable in the slightest! I'd never boast-"

"No." agreed Duck and Thomas with straight faces.

"-but I'd say a hundred miles would be easy for me! And I'd do it better than that Truro engine any day of the week!" And he puffed off angrily to get his next train ready.

Duck sighed. "He'll never change."

"Would you want him to?"

"Just a little. Just lose a bit of the judgmental attitude and I could stomach his pompous nature and his put-downs and his conceit and-" Duck went on quite a while in that vein.

...

Eventually, Duck ran out of things to mention about Gordon, and took a train of trucks to Edward's station. Edward was sitting in a siding listening to his CD player and humming away. Duck whistled.

"Gah! Hello!" Edward jumped and his driver hurriedly removed his headphones. "That famous engine came through my station earlier! He whistled to me and told me that I was doing a good job. Wasn't he kind?"

"I don't know, I wasn't ALLOWED TO COME!" wailed Henry as he passed by with one of the expresses.

"He's the finest engine in the world!" said Duck with no small amount of passion. Then he told Edward what Gordon had said.

"Oh god, really? I swear, he's obsessed with domes. Take no notice." said Edward with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "You know the scales of karma are stacked heavily against him. He's just jealous. As per frigging usual. Oh and look, here comes the blue devil now."

Gordon practically roared through Wellsworth, eyes fixed straight ahead with a massive scowl that would make most people assume that he had seen a act of horrific violence. His wheels pounded the rails, in some cases smacking them out of shape. His eye was twitching like mad as he hissed out the words "He did it, I'll do it! He did it, I'll do it!"

His train rocketed past and was gone from sight and sound within seconds.

Edward frowned. "So...five pounds on him crashing."

"You're on. He'll knock himself to bits." chuckled Duck.

...

Gordon thundered through the forest at speeds that no engine should even think about approaching with passengers on board. Unless said passengers are corpses or training dummies.

"Steady Gordon!" called his driver. "We aren't running a race!"

"You might not be. We are then." said Gordon, but he did so to himself. As he whooshed by, he nearly took off the head of a passing bird, angering Henry no end.

"YOU TOOL OF DESTRUCTION!" He screamed at the retreating blue engine.

"Ram it up your firebox, Henry!" came the reply. Suddenly, Gordon began to feel more than a little strange, and that wasn't due to Henry's curses reaching his attention. "Hey, the top of my boiler seems weird." He said to no one in particular. "Uh...maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Something feels loose! I better slow down!"

But of course, it was too late. Because it was always too late.

They were heading towards the viaduct, having finally been repaired only a year ago, and on that viaduct, they met the wind. They couldn't sit down and shake it's hand personally because it was a teasing wind that blew suddenly and hard. No dirty jokes please.

Gordon thought it was going to push him off the bridge, because Gordon always thought that the elements were out to get him. But the wind had other, more nefarious ideas.

"No you don't!" he screamed to the wind. The wind responded by curling under his dome, as if saying 'Oh really?'.

It curled around his boiler, wrapped it's big hands around the dome and lifted it up, up and away into the valley river below.

Gordon was most uncomfortable.

...

He got even more so as he entered Knapford Yards, The cold wind was already whistling through the hole in his boiler left by his loss of dome and dignity, and he was already wishing he had brought a scarf to work. He felt really silly without it. Having dropped off his coaches at the first station he had come to, he tried to crawl home without anyone noticing.

He failed.

The trucks had already started laughing at him as he entered the big station. Even as Gordon tried to weesh them away, like paparazzi they crowded around him and took great note of every little tick in his face betraying just how angry and upset he was.

On the way back to the shed along the large rails along the bank, Gordon wanted his driver to stop and search for his dome. Both men in the cab laughed their heads off at that.

"We'll never find it now, you great stupid berk!" said the driver, not mincing his words. "You'll have to go to the works for a new one! I hope it's shaped like a penis, cause it shows how you acted today!"

"Thanks." groused Gordon.

As he puffed by the canal, he began to formulate many witty responses to the questions he would get. Those fell apart by the time he reached the exit to the valley. "I hope the sheds are empty tonight." he said to no one in particular.

...

Gordon sighed as he entered. Things seemed to be going-

"Hey Gordon."

Gordon groaned. All the engines were waiting. Duck, Thomas, Percy, James and Toby looked at him with innocent expressions that betrayed mirth. Biting back a response, Gordon got onto the turntable.

As he turned-

"Never trust domeless engines." said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Duck. "-they aren't respectable."


	57. Episode 5: Donald's Duck

Would once more like to thank all of my lovely reviewers, and special shout out goes to the guest whose kind words made me get off my ass and do this episode. Not going to lie, this one isn't one of my favorites. Still, it's fun. And at the end, I promise you more storyline updates.

Cue the theme!

...

 _Duck is still a bit of a enigma to me. Though I admire his work ethic and how he seems to be able to deal with anything, given time to adapt, I still feel as though he is hiding something from me. His clear pride in his heritage is something to be admired, though I must admit the other engines have steadily grown tired of him out-classing the rest of them on a daily basis. But still I am no nearer to tracing his origins. I know that he briefly worked as a shunter somewhere in Paddington, but apart from that, it's a blank slate._

 _Since we last recorded, Duck has gone from strength to strength, though some of his calm was worn away significantly following multiple arguments and fights with Gordon and James. Apart from that, he has kept in the limelight. No TV apperances, no dodgy CD'S or music to be found, not even a mention in the tabloids, and how desperate they are to find things out about him._

 _Yes, he certainly is mysterious._

...

Duck, the Great Western Engine (What, you know that? Well, put it this way, he'd bring it up in conversation if he could, so we're getting that out of the way.), worked hard in the yard around the big station. He regularly tidied up, to the point where he actually regretted letting any engines in as they would mess up his brand spanking new work-space. He often whistled to the other engines, partly as greeting and partly as warning that he was not in the mood to be interrupted by a witty crack about his organizing skills.

When he wasn't doing that, he was often out and about delivering goods and passengers alike, all the while keeping a eagle eye out around the Island for...something. Even after all this time, no one had actually dared to ask him what he was looking for.

Sometimes he pulled coaches, others he pushed trucks, and some times he was ready to fight Gordon or James.

But whatever the work, Duck got the job done without fuss, compared to some engines. Hint hint, it's Gordon and James.

...

One day, Duck was resting in the sheds after a particularly hard working day, when the Fat Controller drove up. As he got out of the car, Duck wondered if this portly gentleman even knew what it was that he had on his hands.

"Your work in the yard has been good." said the Fat Controller, not wanting to go out of his way and praise Duck in case he grew a massive head and started competing with the bigger engines and Thomas for the 'I've got the Biggest' award. He took a deep breath. "Would you like to have a branch-line of your own?"

Duck's mind stopped working for a minute.

Because that idea had never even crossed his mind.

It was all he could do to stammer out a "Yes please sir!" before he began to lightly chuckle to himself in a vain attempt to keep himself from joyously rubbing it in every engine's faces.

The other engines looked worried.

...

So Duck took charge of his new branch-line, which mainly seemed to operate from Tidmouth. travelling through a variety of stations. These included Tidmouth Square, Bluff's Cove, Haultraugh, Tidmouth Hault and finally Arlesburgh.

Speaking of Tidmouth Hault, there was a great deal of work to be done on it, in order to get it looking branch-line material. To begin with, they had to get rid of all the smells that came of being 'That station that no one really remembers or cares about'. And also to begin construction on a new shed that would keep the engines warm and less complaining about their situation.

The responsibility delighted Duck, and the idea of having something to do aside from just merely push and pull trucks and coaches, but now actually take part in building something, made him shiver with excitement. A orderly mind like Duck enjoyed working on a good, old fashioned problem.

The line itself ran along the coast, by sandy beaches and even sandier tourists before reaching a port where big ships can come in and rest. Duck enjoyed in particular exploring every curve and corner of the line, examining it minutely for any details. Some engines would have assumed that this was just mere curiosity, but Duck knew better. His mission had given him a chance to explore the Island in detail, whereas before he had been restricted by time tables and such, he now had a actual chance to do so.

Sea breezes swirled his smoke high into the air, and his green paint glistened in the sunlight. Duck enjoyed the peace and quiet. No noisy people. Or engines. Or trucks. Or coaches.

"This is just like being on holiday!" He marveled.

"Well you know what they say!" laughed his driver. "A change is as good as a rest. And enjoy it! We've got a lot of work to get to."

For that one, brief, shining moment, it was just Duck on his own, no problems at all. And he reveled in the silence.

Then he got to work.

...

Soon he was busier than ever. He had drafted in reliable and safe engines and non-rail vehicles to give him a buffer or two. He pulled stone from the quarry, passing over a rather rickety and unreliable bridge to do so. The thrill made him remember why he was here, and he resolved to find at least one important thing by the end of the next year.

Not only that, but the Fat Controller had made a grand announcement that they were building a new station. It was only later that Duck realized that he was slightly drunk at the time and had actually meant the shed.

Never one to shirk hard work, Duck pulled the heavy trucks of ballast wherever they were needed, and they needed in a lot of places. Bertie, for once glad to be helping the railway, looked after Duck's passengers, and the other engines helped to.

Donald and Douglas could often be seen bringing supplies and the breakdown train on a regular basis, while Trevor took away anything that wasn't needed to be recycled elsewhere as part of a more economic scheme cooked up by Vicar Teddy. But even with all this help, the work was taking a long time.

Noise and dust filled the air, and for a engine like Duck, this would have usually had the same effect of saying to James that his paintwork wasn't the reddest thing on the Island. But he grit his teeth and was determined to get the work done.

"Don't worry!" Toby said comfortingly as he helped out one day. "The station-"

"It's a shed."

"Is it? The shed then, it's nearly finished!"

"And...And on the scheduled time too!" Duck muttered as his fireman wiped his brow.

...

Once they were done, the engines retreated back to Tidmouth Sheds. Duck felt his responsibility deeply and personally, and so talked endlessly about it. This had the added effect of annoying some of the other engines deeply.

And one particular night stood out.

"You don't understand Donald!"

"Of course I dinnae." Donald said moodily, in a vain attempt to get back to sleep. He didn't even remember what the argument had been about, he was so tired.

"Just how much the Fat Controller relies on me!"

"Och aye!" muttered Donald sleepily.

"I'm Great Western and -"

"Quack, quack, quack!"

"What?" Duck thought Donald was having a stroke.

"Ye heard! 'Quack, quack' ye go. Sounds like ye had an egg laid. Now wheesht and let an engine sleep!" Donald then turned away...kind of, and closed his eyes. Duck normally let this kind of thing pass, but it had been a long day and a long time since anyone had used that tired old insult, so he decided not to bite back.

Unfortunately, his mind was somewhat blank of clever insults, and so was left only to say. "Quack yourself!" in a indignant manner before begrudgingly trying to get back to sleep.

...

Later that morning, he spoke to his driver at the Quarry. "Donald says I quack! As if I'd laid a egg"

"You what?"

"Like the duck."

"Oh that old chestnut. Can't they come up with anything more original?" The fireman grinned suddenly. "Quack do you?" He whispered something to Duck and his driver.

"Risky."

"Definitely."

All three nodded. It was on. Paying Donald back for teasing Duck sounded like a fun way to pass the otherwise boring morning.

...

For the rest of the day, they were busy at the Quarry. Before returning to work at the sheds, they needed to prepare more building materials. Toby departed to check with Percy at the Quarry Yard to work out how much more they needed.

Nothing more was said.

Not even a quack.

But every so often Donald caught glances between Duck and his crew which made him a little concerned. Were things not going well with Duck?

So when at last Donald was asleep, the driver and fireman of the Great Western engine snuck aboard and popped something into his water-tank.

"Where did you find this?"

"Girl down at the pub works on a farm. She knows where to find these."

...

The very next morning, Donald went to fill up on water. Duck had quickly departed, citing needing to see a coach about a train or some such nonsense. As his driver and fireman prepared the water, they found a slightly unexpected visitor.

A small, white duckling popped out of his water tank and scared the hell out of both men.

"Wae the hell-" Donald stopped, and laughed. "Oh, nae doubt who is behind this!" He looked back. "Ah, but she's a grand lassie! Why not take her with us! That'll shake old quackers up and nowt mistake!"

The duckling was, luckily, tame. She shared the fireman's sandwich (Which he felt had been forced upon him by the driver having decided that the fireman could get food at the next cafe) and rode in the tender. It was a surreal sight.

The other engines enjoyed teasing Donald about it, especially Percy and Toby. Jokes about him going quackers and ducking responsibility echoed around his head all day. Presently the duck grew tired and hopped out at the next station, and there she stayed.

A more cynical person would have eaten the duck, but the stationmaster was a lonely old sod, so he kept her around.

That night, his driver and fireman got busy.

Get your minds out of the gutter.

In the morning, when Duck's crew arrived to look him over, they couldn't help laughing. "Look Duck! Look what's under your bunker! It's a nest box with a egg in it!"

Donald grinned and opened a sleepy eye. "Well well well, ye must have laid it last night, unbeknownst! Dinnae think ye had it ye!"

Duck sighed. And then he laughed. "Oh all right. Tou-bloody-che. You win Donald. It'd take a clever engine to get the better of you and live to tell the tale."

...

There's a pond not too far from the station, where the duckling swims with her friends and greets the trains that pass by like old friends. The station master has called her Dilly, because he randomly chose it, but to everyone else, she is always Donald's Duck.

Everyone else groaned too at that pun.

...

Meanwhile, far away from the japes of ducks and the construction of sheds, in a shady port in London, the relative silence was interrupted by the sound of a motorbike revving round a corner.

Coming to a halt, the driver stepped off and dismissively placed his helmet in a pouch on his larger than average bike. No one would come and steal it. They wouldn't dare. And if they tried...well the bike had more than it's fair features built in to prevent it.

He entered the nearest building. The room was shrouded in shadows, but Mr Boomer already knew his way around. He had been here enough times. He walked over, picked out a particular chair and sat down. He drummed his fingers on the table, and waited.

It took him a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he was not surprised to see, sitting in the darkness, the Captain. To this day, P.T Boomer could not swear to the look of the Captain, all he knew was that he was tough, cold, uncompromising and powerful. Boomer was a renegade on the road. The Captain controlled the waterways.

"Took you long enough." The voice was vaguely Orcadian in nature, though Boomer knew that the Captain, whenever he could, could turn on a dime and deliver a impression of just about any accent. Scottish could give way to English, or Welsh, or Irish at the drop of a hat.

"We can't all command such high respect as you, Captain." The hard American accent made his sarcasm far more clear.

"Silence."

Both men did so. They knew the reputation of the other. The third figure sat down. And not for the first time, Boomer wondered if the choice of his nickname among the local police force had been deliberate, or on accident.

Either way, it seemed a grim mockery of their main target's owner.

"Right then." said the Fat Director. "Bring me up to speed."


	58. Episode 6: Thomas Gets Bumped

Wow! For a episode that I actually thought would go pretty badly, I ended up getting a lot of positive comments for it! I'd like to thank my reviewers. To respond, Bigyihsuan, the Captain is a character who is actual canon, but maybe not the one you're thinking of. I promise to reveal the identity of the Fat Director in time though.

And to Teal, I gotta say, I legitimately was touched that I got such a large review. Especially one that praised so much of the series! I wasn't expecting people actually to like the plot I was going for! I can promise you that Montague will be revealed at some point during the Magic Railroad, but what as? That's my secret. XD. Oh, and for the record?

TUGS Abridged? It's happening. At some point.

Thanks once more to all of you!

Now, Cue the Theme!

...

 _I do rather count myself lucky that Bertie went and did that tourism training course in between series. Not only did that make him more of a cheerful bus overall, but it also meant that I got to have a couple of years free road vs rail arguments._

...

Unfortunately, it couldn't last...

Every afternoon (And most other parts of the day, but specifically the afternoon) Thomas the Tank Engine puffs along his branch-line with Annie and Clarabel. First, they pass by the watermill.

"So, what does the miller actually do?"

"He mills, Clarabel." Annie would say loftily.

"No, he actually helps to research into alternative sources of energy." Thomas had wanted to impress Clarabel today with some local knowledge. His driver, lowering hte cue cards, nodded and patted his roof.

Next, they come to a big farm. Which Thomas feels should probably be less big, but any smaller and Farmers McColl and Trotter would get into a war about who owned what and whether or not the other was moving in on their own patch and there would be a lot of blood split. Mostly pigs and chickens. It was like Animal Farm, except more of a Nazi allegory than a Totalitarian one.

Thomas had been reading up. He slapped himself mentally as he realized that he had called Farmer McColl Hitler. Some lines, not even Thomas would cross.

Then there's a bridge that has the village of...Village nestled either side of it. Thomas was beginning to think that someone planted villages in the ground and watched them just spring up out of nowhere. Anyway, this is a special place.

For whatever reason.

Whenever children hear Thomas coming along, they swarm on the bridge like bees, stand and wave until he is gone. And for a good hour after. There's not a lot to do in Toryreck if you're not one for lead mining lead that isn't even there anymore.

...

One day, Thomas was running late. He wished dearly that he hadn't once again committed to not smoking, because right now he was dying for a puff of another kind. Percy was also there, with a collection of trucks.

Thomas had made a rather stupid decision. Really. Really. Stupid. He had stopped before the signal to talk to some new children, because despite himself Thomas found himself rather protective of children. It was often one of his few saving graces that was most apparent.

Percy patiently waited until the signal dropped before shouting aloud "HURRY UP THOMAS!" He laughed as the tank engine jumped in the air. "If you're late, the Fat Controller may get a new engine to replace you!"

"HA!" scoffed Thomas. "As if! Duck's got his own branch-line, Toby's doing his own thing, no other tank engines to take my place! Face it Percy, I am one of a kind!" Despite his sarcasm, he was somewhat worried.

...

The next day, Thomas hurried along the line. "Gotta go faster, gotta go faster!" he repeated as a mantra to himself. He grinned. He was making good time, and he even may have had a chance to break his record. But his heart sank as he entered the goods yard. On the platform, a railway inspector was standing there, waving a red flag.

Next, Thomas saw some children on the bridge, who were waving too. _Something,_ thought Thomas gravely, must be wrong. He didn't like the idea of just leaving the emergency to whatever it was, and his driver and fireman agreed. The station was for goods, not for passengers.

Which rather makes it odd that Thomas wasn't pulling a goods train to this station the day before and was instead pulling his coaches. Which carry passengers. As stated in the description of the job.

"Help! Thomas! Help!" wailed several children. Thomas resolved himself that no matter what, he wasn't going to leave them behind. "Please, will you take us home!?"

"But, the village is just there." Thomas said.

"We're not from around here!"

"Oh. Well." Thomas looked to his crew. "They can't hurt. We've got carriages. You don't mind, do you girls?"

"We'll do our bit!" bravely stated Clarabel. Annie rolled her eyes.

The stationmaster and Inspector Norris, returning to his original rank this one time, explained to the driver that the school bus had broken down and that the parents would be worried if their children didn't get home. Thomas waited as the children walked down from the bridge, and climbed into Annie and Clarabel.

Then he started off, heading towards the next station, where Bertie was waiting to take them home. He had somehow used the secret bus telepathy senses that all buses had. Or his driver had received a phone call. Either way, Thomas was surprised he was here that fast, especially considering that no one cared that much about Toryreck, the station anyway.

...

And when Thomas had finished his journey, he was very late and very tired. He was worried that the Fat Controller might be cross with him. Cross was a bit of a understatement for what Thomas feared the Controller would be like, but it was the only one that fitted his new calm and child-friendly mind.

"I warned Thomas!" puffed Percy to James, gossiping together like two old hens. "He's been too late one time too many! He'll be in trouble now!"

"Oh really?!" snapped Thomas. "And what are you two doing here at this time of night?!"

Neither engine answered, though it was clear from their slightly flushed faces that they were clearly in the same boat as Thomas.

The night passed, and when Thomas snuck into Knapford next morning, the Fat Controller was nowhere to be seen. "Perhaps he's run off with his wife to start a new life in Tasmania!" declared Mrs Kyndley, also in a gossipy mood.

"You and Percy should start a bloody magazine!" growled Thomas under his breath, his child-friendly mind having vanished over night from constant questioning from the Scarlet and Green Inquisition in the sheds.

No sign even as the clock ticked down.

"Thank goodness!" said Thomas gleefully as he set off. "I can have a nice and relaxing run without anything disturbing me!"

Thomas had not yet looked the words 'tempting fate' in his dictionary.

He should have.

He knew every part of his branch-line, but just ahead there was something he had no way of knowing. The hot sun had bent the rails on a certain stretch of track. Thomas rounded the corner, still cheerfully whistling.

"C-C-C-aref-f-f-ful-l-l Thom-m-m-mas!" called out his driver as the train bumped up and down the line, But it was too late. One moment Thomas was on the rails, and the next he wasn't.

"That's done it." said his driver unnecessarily. "We're not going any further today."

"OH COME ON!" wailed Thomas. "But what about my passengers!?" he asked more for his own sake than theirs.

"Don't worry!" said the driver. "They'll be looked after." His driver probably shouldn't have sounded like a mafia boss ordering a hit out, but that was all that was going through the fireman's head. Of course, the fireman had hit his head rather badly, so accepting his word for anything would have been ridiculous.

...

While workmen repaired the line, Thomas found himself in a very familiar position. He was back to shunting trucks in the yard. The trucks soon regretted that he had been sent there. He had some...issues to work out.

"TAKE THAT BERTIE!"

The truck Thomas was shouting at was confused. What was a Bertie, and why did he need to take this?

The bus himself rolled up. "I understand you need my help again." he said with nothing short of glee.

Thomas swallowed down several replies and instead slipped on the emotional play. "Yes Bertie! I can't run without my rails!"

Bertie grinned, and was about to make a clever quip, when he saw the look in Thomas's eyes. It indicated that if Bertie did, he would be found drowned in his own motor oil.

As he pulled away, Bertie heard Thomas return to his kick-boxing practice.

...

As he set off to collect Thomas's passengers, he couldn't help noticing all the 'No Trains' sign. He knew a double decker bus who would have been happy about that. He put on his easy tourist smile.

"Hello Bertie!" called the passengers. "We're glad you are here!"

"So am I!" cried Bertie, ever the showman under the right circumstances. Once they were on board, he took off quickly, giving rapid fire answers and fun trivia facts. He drove along the road by the railway, though he tried not to let the passengers miss Thomas too much.

He did this by telling a series of ribald jokes about what Thomas got up to with his two coaches when the cameras were off. These only happened when there were no children on, of course.

He stopped at stations along the line, and sometimes even in-between stations to let people off closer to their homes. He liked mixing things up.

Thomas, meanwhile, had gone through the anger stage of grieving, had attempted to bargain with certain workmen of less than reputable record and was now firmly entrenched in the depression stage.

"I'VE LOST MY PASSENGERS!" He wailed. "They like Bertie better than me!"

"Got that out of your system?" asked Sir Topham Hatt. "Your branch-line is fixed by the way." He let Thomas get the joy back into his system before continuing. "I'm going to change up your timetable more. You and Bertie need to work together better. Seriously. Get over it."

...

Thomas was not expecting anyone else to be at the first station. He was touched to find that that was not the case at all. There were all his passengers, waving and clapping to see him again.

"Bertie is a very good bus, but there's nothing quite like a train ride! And you're our favorite!"

"Awwww."

"Because you're the only train."

"Oh."

Later, Thomas spoke to Bertie. "Thank you for looking after my passengers."

"Oh, it's all right Thomas. I'm glad to make new friends, but I'm gladder still to share them with a new one. Also, that old woman who lives at number twenty three's a bit of a handful. Don't know how you manage it?"

"No." chuckled Thomas. "Neither do I. Bertie, you're a very good friend indeed."

The two looked at each other. They had reached a understanding.

"Want to have a race?"

"Why not?"

"Wait what?" asked the passengers, before the two took off together.


	59. Episode 7: Thomas, Percy and the Dragon

Cue the theme.

...

Thomas and Percy are best friends. This is because no one else will have them.

Nah, I kid. The two of them have similar personalities and ambitions in life (Though if you were to ask Gordon, he would tell you that ambition on a tank engine's part was terrible) but sometimes (Read: Always) Percy teases Thomas about being frightened. He doesn't like that at all. Thomas, I mean. Percy clearly likes it because he's been doing it.

One evening Thomas was dozing happily in the shed. He was picturing all of the cameras pointed at him, the megawatt smile he had been practicing in the mirror (Which in reality wouldn't light a small shack) and all the female engine groupies rushing over to squeal at him.

But Percy, being a cheeky and quite frankly easy to bore engine, wanted to talk. "Wake up Thomas!"

"Are you a lusty eyed pink engine with curves like the Nuremberg?" drowsily asked Thomas. "Because if not, no."

"Are you dreaming about the time I pretended to be a ghost and I scared the coal out of you!?"

"Certainly not." Thomas, through drowsy eyes, still struggled to defend his precious pride. "Anyway, I was only pretending to be scared! I knew it was you really! By your stench!"

Percy went on teasing him. "I hope the guard leaves the light on for you tonight!"

"I AM NOT TWELVE YEARS OLD!" Thomas snapped, now fully awake. "Besides! I love the dark! It's my old friend!"

"Oh really?" Percy asked innocently, with a face that butter wouldn't melt in. "I am surprised! That wasn't the impression that you gave of me! I'd always though you were afraid of the dark, I wonder why?!"

"It's a bloody mystery." Thomas muttered under his breath. Officially, he decided to say nothing and tried to go back to sleep instead.

And then Percy started singing.

Glass shattered.

...

The next day, the Fat Controller arrived with his shiny new black car. That was lie. He arrived with his shiny old blue car that had been painted black for a laugh and now seemed to refuse to come off.

"Sodding hooligans!" He calmed down to address Sir Topham Hatt. "I would like you to go to the harbor tonight to collect something rather...unusual."

"Is it drugs?"

"I can promise you it is not drugs."

"Then what is it?"

"Wait and see."

"I hate it when you do that, sir."

Elsewhere, Percy was doing his thing. Shunting trucks, sarcastically making quips at the big engines and in general being a bit of a toerag. As he backed down with a set of trucks, Henry arrived with his own goods train to pass through Lower Suddery. Percy waited in the newly added goods yard as the signalman changed the points. Henry rushed past.

"Morning Percy!"

"Morning Henry!" Percy refrained from adding a comment asking Henry if the green hippie had started growing his drugs yet, as he felt like that comment was better saved for later. He patiently waited.

And then, of course, there was trouble.

"The points are jammed!" shouted the signalman. "I can't change them back!"

"Then get someone who knows how to do his ******* job!" called Carlin.

"Can't! Phones are damaged!"

"No they aren't!

The signalman walked back into the box, picked up his phone, walked back out and threw it, cord and all, onto the tracks. "Yes it is. The workmen will mend it in the morning! Too late now!"

"I WILL SUE YOU FOR THIS!" hollered Percy.

"Hmmmm." said Percy's driver, clearly wondering if there was any way to ambush the signalman and beat the knowledge out of him. "I'm sorry Perc. Looks like you're staying here for the night!"

"Where are you off too!?" Percy pleaded. "All for one and one for-"

"Tea." said Carlin. "I'm goddamn parched."

"I'm hungry mate!" said the fireman, quickly hurrying off. "Ta!"

Percy was speechless, for once in many a year.

...

"Ha! Suck it, pea green!"

"James, I will RAM one of those rhinestones up your tender one of these days!" Percy fumed as James rushed past cackling away. The other engines had already made it to the shed, and the reactions had ranged from sympathetic (Edward, Toby) to the apathetic (Duck, the Scottish Twins) to the mocking (Gordon). He could already tell he was in for a hard day's night.

When night time did come, he began to feel very lonely.

He would have sung, only three workmen had quietly threatened what would happen if that was the case.

"Oh dear." he murmured. "It's very dark." He paused. "Well of course it is genius. It's night."

There was a screeching hiss and Percy jumped. "OOOOH OOH! WHAT'S THAT?! IS IT A GHOST?!" He closed his eyes. "I'M NOT READY TO DIE! I HAVE SO MANY THINGS I NEED TO DO!" It was only a owl, but Percy didn't realize this.

Because he, like Thomas, can be a massive idiot sometimes.

"Oh, I wish Thomas was here to suffer with me!" he wailed, before a leaf fell on his boiler and he screamed.

...

Elsewhere, at the harbor, Thomas was yawning. "This had better be worth it." He frowned. "Anyone hear a noise? Like screaming?"

Suddenly, there it was! It was huge! It was yellow! It was accompanied by a oriental sting that may or may not have been racist! It was! It was!

"MOTHER OF MERCIFUL NEPTUNE IT'S A GODDAMN DRAGON!" Thomas looked around. "Find me a lance and call me Saint George, cause it's time for me to SLAY THIS BEAST!"

"Don't worry yourself, General Custer." laughed his driver mockingly. "This one's just made of paper."

"Paper gives you cuts! It is no less dangerous!"

"It's for the carnival tomorrow!"

Thomas frowned. "What carnival? There was no carnival planned!"

"Hey, on this Island, every day's practically a circus."

Workmen hurried to attach the dragon to the flatbed. They even added lights all over the low loader and the dragon, lighting up from inside, for protection. How would this protect them, you may ask? That is something only the workmen know.

And then Thomas set off into the misty night.

BANG.

"MY CABBAGE TRUCK!"

Thomas recovered, and then he set off.

As he crossed the valley bridge, Thomas frowned again. "Hang on, why is there creepy piano music wherever we go?"

"The keyboard player needs to warm up his fingers."

"Couldn't he have done that before we started?"

"Thomas, the man's been sitting in a paper dragon in a soaking wet hold for a week. I think he's allowed to tune his goddamn keyboard!"

...

Percy was asleep in his sidings, having finally dropped off to sleep after fearing the sound of crickets and even the very rails he rode upon. Therefore he had no idea that Thomas was approaching him.

Thomas could see Percy's shape in the distance, and so encouraged not only the sound of the stereotypical Chinese music to play, but for the band rehearsing in the dragon to start up even louder.

"So, scared of the dark am I?!" he hissed as he came clear, letting out steam. Percy opened his eyes, and looked up.

...

The Fat Controller jumped out of his skin as the fire alarm in his house went off.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON!?" He roared to his butler, who was deafened by the noise himself.

...

As Percy continued screaming out "HELP!" Thomas slid away quietly as a leaf.

"I-" declared Percy in a hysterical fit. "-WILL NOT OPEN MY EYES UNTIL CARLIN COMES BACK!"

And he did so.

The next morning, the points were mended (Rumors that Carlin had given the signalman a good thrashing were not proven but his absence did make a lot of sense if you considered this angle) and Percy hurried back to Knapford desperately. He spotted Gordon and he hurried over. The big engine was about to leave with the express. "GORDON, GORDON, YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT I SAW LAST NIGHT!"

"The error of your ways?" He was in no mood for puzzles, a jigsaw had recently annoyed him. "I'm a busy engine! I don't have time right now for your games!"

"I've seen a huge dragon! IT BREATHED FIRE AND DEATH! IT WAS COVERED WITH LIGHTS AND IT HAD IT'S OWN ENTRANCE MUSIC!" Percy panted heavily. Gordon looked at him as though he had finally cracked after all these years.

He snorted. "You have been in the sun too long! Your dome has cracked! Amongst other things! Now, if you don't mind-"

"Cracked like your safety valve you mean!" called out Percy, not too scared that coherent thought had exited his brain. Gordon huffed and was on his way.

When the other engines heard the news, they laughed too.

"Now, don't be too hard on him James." Duck admonished, before quietly chuckling to himself. He had seen worse things than a dragon.

"Look out Percy! Or the dragon may gobble you up!" laughed James as he rushed past.

"At least it wasn't a frigging BOOTLACE!" screamed Percy, now in no mood for games.

"No one believes me." sighed Percy as he puffed over the valley bridge. "Maybe I did hallucinate a dragon after all."

Had he looked down and stayed a few seconds longer, he would have seen Thomas, having no idea where to dump his unusual cargo, go under the bridge and curse the air.

...

Percy soon found out his mistake.

In a move that was practically Jaws-esque in it's execution, Thomas somehow managed to reduce the noise he made and crept up slowly into Elsbridge. The dragon loomed overhead, casting a shadow.

Percy looked up.

...

Meanwhile, somewhere in Paddington, the Flying Scotsman was ready to depart for the Island.

He frowned as his windows shattered. "Damn it! Looks like I'll have to get repairs when I get there. My dear brother'll be lucky to see my tenders!"

...

Once Percy had stopped screaming...he started again. "HELP! SAVE ME! TAKE JAMES INSTEAD!"

"It's all right." whistled Thomas, once Percy had made a sufficient enough fool of himself. He explained what was going on to the gradually more stormy expression on Percy's face. "By the way... how was your night out?"

"I hate you...so much." Percy sighed, and then a tiny smile appeared on his face. "If it had happened to James though? Hysterical."

"You know Percy, maybe we do get scared of the dark sometimes. But if we're engine enough to tell each other, then that means we're quite brave too."

Both engines stared at each other.

"That was a bloody poor moral."

"Yeah, pretty much."


	60. Episode 8: Diesel Does It Again

Cue the the-

Oh wait! Stop theme! STOP THE THEM- Thank you.

Ahem. So TUGS Abridged. That's going to happen. Now, here's what I've got planned. This episode is the first one that prominently shows off some of the things that were sent to the sister show (Okay, the previous one had a little bit, but honestly such little time was spent at the harbor, I didn't think it was worth mentioning) and so I'll be mentioning a couple of elements here and there that'll tie into it. Now, actual writing for it hasn't started as of yet, but I do have plans to start releasing chapters around about the time of the thirteenth episode this season, which is a nice place to end off considering it's Trust Thomas, and then I'll take a hiatus from this fanfic to concentrate solely on that for a bit. Then, production will resume on this fanfiction, and then hopefully it's all steam ahead baby!

And now...re-cue the theme!

...

 _With regards to Knapford Harbor, I must admit that there was some difficulty in expanding the property even more so than it had been already. Our accountants nearly had a fit. It was like watching Pompeii, except in Pompeii it was the volcano blowing it's top. Not the humans. But eventually we were able to put in a good deal of expansion, especially with cruise ships and the like sailing in. We've had regular visits from S.S Vienna, I believe David had a few dealings with another port of hers a while back (Again, my condolences) and other such cruise ships. We've also imported a good few cranes in to help even more so. Of course, the harbor itself is somewhat risky, we've already set out plans for a second dock in Brendam, and I fear that we'll have to move most of what made Knapford Harbor work over there._

 _But that's in the future. And on this occasion, it was the past that I was more concerned about._

...

Duck and Percy enjoy their work at the harbor, mostly because it gives them time off from all the noisy idiots at the big station. Their main job tends to be taking trucks full of cargo to and from the quay. Duck himself was beginning to finish up his job before heading back over to his branch-line to properly run it, but for the most part, the two got on swimmingly.

No pun intended.

But one morning, the engines were exhausted. Duck had still not gotten his breath back after having to take twenty trucks filled with heavier than usual clay to the pits, while Percy was so tired that his face had morphed into Thomas's.

The harbor was busier than ever, so much so that a couple of other engines had been drafted in to give a helping buffer. James, of course, grumbled repeatedly about how this was going to ruin the sheen on his buffers. Thomas, pulling coaches to and from the nearby makeshift station, complained less, though that may have just been because he was resisting the urge to smoke once more and opening his mouth would have meant the desire would have increased tenfold.

The Fat Controller promised that another engine would be found to help them. He shouldn't have, really. Or at the very least, he should have at least checked the register.

"Huh! It's about time." moaned Percy as he tried to get air back into what passed for lungs.

Duck nodded, for once in total agreement with his friend. "I ache so much, I can barely get my wheels to move. So, who would you pick?"

"If it was me? BoCo?"

"Nice choice. I was going for Edward."

"Either one would be decent."

"Indeed Percy. Indeed."

And as they settled down, they waited for the engine to arrive. It came as a shock when it did. The two engines were talking.

"-so what did you say to him Duck?"

"I said to him, I said "Now listen Gordon" I said "You can be a prat to me, you can be a prat to the coaches-" and here he turned red-"

"Good morning." purred a oily voice.

"Good morning Diesel- and so I said, "But you cannot, under any circumstances, call my friend a-" D-D-D-D-DIESEL!?" Duck turned white. Whiter than white. Whiter than the whitest white ever whitened.

The two engines had not worked with Diesel for a long time. Especially considering that he had been possessed the last time that had happened, and despite briefly appearing at the Christmas party, he had slunk away after Duck lost his cool in front of everyone and threw a glass of sherry at him.

"What are you doing here!?" Duck said, actual panic racing through his voice.

"Your worthy fat- Er, Sir Topham Hatt sent me. I hope you are pleased to see me! I am to shunt some dreadfully tiresome trucks!" Diesel's smile was a mockery of friendly interest.

"Shunt where?!" asked Percy suspiciously. He assumed Diesel was out to steal the trucks and turn them even more against the engines. While they hadn't had proper bosses since the Barber Shop incident, it was possible that the truce had broken down completely between them. They did not need a leader to direct them into a attack.

"Where? Why from here to there! And from there to here most likely!" Diesel's voice seemed to grow even more passive aggressively sarcastic. "Easy, isn't it? I know you've managed...barely. I hope to provide some more efficiency around here."

Duck's expression indicated where Diesel could stick his efficiency. But with that last statement not apparently getting through, Diesel made himself quite clear and bumped a line of trucks hard.

"OOOOH!" screamed the trucks, realizing that this was clearly a different diesel from the one who had allied with them so long ago.

"Grrrrr." growled Diesel, sending a memory flooding back into Duck's mind.

"He remembers." He whispered. "How much do you remember?"

...

Both engines were horrified. Neither trusted Diesel as far as they could pick him up, and so decided to take extreme action. They refused to work, and would not move for anything.

Duck's drivers seemed understanding of this at least, for some reason, but Carlin got out, flipped his engine the bird and stormed off towards the nearest pub, The Endowed Mermaid, to complain to the sailors and get well and truly drunk.

The Fat Controller was enjoying his tea and iced bun (His wife had expressed quiet concern for his health, but he had gotten off with a promise to exercise more. He was using his arm muscles to eat the bun.) when the telephone rang. He picked it up. "Srr Tophwam Hwat schpeaking!" He swallowed down the remains of his bun. "Er, Sir Topham Hatt speaking. So there's trouble in the harbor yard!? ANOTHER BLOODY STRIKE?! Right, I'll be there as soon as possible."

As he stood up, his trousers split.

"Oh bother."

Diesel was fuming as he continued another trip around the harbor, trucks impeded his progress everywhere, and they had found a familiar song to taunt him with.

" _Trucks are waiting in the Yard; Tackling them with ease'll,  
"Show the world what I can do," Gaily boasts the Diesel.  
In and out he creeps about, Like a big black weasel.  
When he pulls the wrong trucks out – Pop goes the Diesel!_"

"Change. The. Tune." Diesel hissed as he slammed into the nearest truck. He worked loudly and alone, and angrily. He may have been efficient, but he didn't want to be efficient on his own. Cargo was lying everywhere (The workers having abandoned them with the delay and having slunk off to the Endowed Mermaid.) ships and passengers were late (Including the very angry group from the S.S Vienna.) and everyone was complaining about the Fat Controller's railway. Because of course they were.

Percy and Duck were sulking in their shed. They were both feeling very guilty.

"This reminds me of my first time here." Percy remarked gravely. "I hope he doesn't shut us up here."

"Percy." said Duck in a comforting manner. "If it comes to it, I will personally make sure that you get out of any prison we're put in."

"You're a pal, Duck!"

"What's all this!?" demanded the Fat Controller., new pair of trousers barely keeping it's seams together.

"Er, we're on strike sir."

"You don't sound sure."

"Er...begging your pardon sir. But we won't work with Diesel, sir!" Duck suddenly looked downcast, and in a quiet and hurt voice added. "You said you sent him packing, sir. I never wanted to see him again after the Christmas party. I said as much."

"I have to give Diesel a second chance!" The Controller sighed. "I've given you all chances, haven't I? Thomas, Gordon, James, all of them would have been gone by now if I didn't keep giving them chances. It's always like this at first. No one gets along with the new engine, he causes discontent, and then he slots in." He fixed Duck with a glare. "And I seem to recall that you once said that you only take orders from me."

Duck's works seemed to have the desired affect. Duck groaned. Damn him! Just when he thought the Fat Controller was easy to slip by, he pulled out that brain of his and used it.

"I am trying to help you by bringing Diesel here. Now you must help me. He was the only engine available!"

"Did you look hard-"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Once Carlin had arrived, tipsy, Percy and Duck went back to work sadly.

...

The next morning,as Thomas woke the engines up with a whistle, things had not improved. Diesel's driver was a even more careless fellow than Carlin, and so had not put his brakes on properly.

Diesel noticed this, but didn't mention it as he idled forward.

He went straight into Percy's back, sending the poor engine leaping and panicking that the dragon had returned to get his revenge for what the kids had done to him in the carnival. Hint, that paper sure was flammable.

"Wake up there Percy!" smiled Diesel in such a way that it took all Duck's energy not to punch him. "You have work to do!"

Percy almost told Diesel to sod off, but his tongue refused to get him into even more trouble. As he puffed off, Percy angrily thought that if Diesel didn't even say sorry to him, there were some bigger mistakes than the Fat Controller had thought.

He was right.

Diesel was clearly working through some issues, as later on he bumped some trucks so hard that their loads spilled everywhere. Both engines shared looks of distress. Percy was on the verge of pointing out that when he did this by accident, he got shouted at, but when Diesel did it on purpose, he was ignored, when he swallowed back his sarcastic reply and asked the honest question.

"What will the Fat Controller say?"

"He won't like it." grimly stated Duck.

"So who's going to tell him, I wonder?" asked Diesel in a voice that indicated that if they wanted to sleep that night, they should keep their mouths shut. "Two goody goody tell-tales like you, I suppose?"

Percy and Duck (Well, Duck pretended. He didn't want Percy upset) didn't want to be tell-tales, so they said nothing.

Besides, they hadn't finished giving Diesel enough rope yet.

Diesel, thinking perhaps foolishly that he could get away with this sort of deliberate bad behavior, was ruder than ever. Duck looked at Percy meaningfully as he took the next load of china clay trucks.

"Diesel." He said casually. "You're going in the-"

"Oh Duck! Do you ever rest?"

Duck smiled benignly and rested. He smiled calmly at Percy, who recognized that smile as the one that indicated that he knew that something was about to happen that would work to their favor.

Diesel headed towards the buffers. Unfortunately, these buffers weren't secure. Percy could empathize, as both engines watched as the trucks toppled into the sea. Diesel's eyes were as big as saucers as he watched the carnage unfold.

The silly trucks were sunk.

Soon, the Fat Controller heard the news. The trucks had been recovered (And were currently being dried over a large fire) but the clay was lost. He reacted appropiately.

One pair of trousers later, Hatt was at the harbor, fuming away. He spoke severely to Diesel.

"YOU-!" Vienna's horn sounded. "YOU ABSOLUTE CRAP EATING SON OF A-!" The horn sounded again. YOU UGLY SON OF A-" And again. AND A-!" And again.

"Language!" gasped Carlin, aware of the hypocrisy and loving it.

"Things were better when you weren't here! I shall not be inviting you back!" Diesel tried to pretend like he didn't care, but he hadn't been spoken to like this for quite a while.

"Now, Duck and Percy, I hope you won't mind having to handle the work by yourselves again!"

"Oh sir!" gasped Percy. "Would we ever complain?"

"Yes sir! Come on Percy! Let's get too it!"

The two engines happily moved off, while Diesel slunk away to a disused shed to wait for the boat to make it's long journey back.

"Well." he said at last. "At least I'm on my own, with just my own company.."

"Oh really?" came a voice.

And then:

" _Trucks are waiting in the Yard; Tackling them with ease'll-"  
_

Diesel's scream echoed around the Island.


	61. Episode 9: Henry's Forest

Cue the theme!

...

 _Henry has seen the most changes since we_ _previously left you. While he still has a tendency to get rather...sharp and shortish with certain engines, and he still insists that he is still best pals with Gordon and James despite the bad influence, mostly he has matured into a rather peaceful engine. There is certainly no return to the illness filled days when you first came to the Island, and he's recently taken up studying Buddhism as a religion. Most of the engines have been rather respectful, although privately I think Donald and Gordon are slightly confused about it. Attempts to restart the environmental movement that died down a bit from eighty nine onwards has been...mixed, to say the least. While the campaigns to clean up the River Els have got somewhere at last, further campaigns have not gone so well._

 _Most often, Henry's been spending time in a particularly recent discovery, a forest that has been named, rather imaginatively, Henry's Forest. Apparently this was where Henry went to reconnect with nature following his accident with the Flying Kipper some years back._

 _We had a spot of trouble with the Forest recently, as you're sure to have documented._

...

Henry the Green Engine has lived on the Island of Sodor for many years. Jokes about his age have abounded frequently. He wouldn't want to be anywhere else, mostly because he's lived nowhere else in his entire life.

He likes nearly every part of it, from the canal, to the fields filled with flowers to the white sandy beaches. Even he hasn't seen most of the Island, and so whenever a new part is discovered, he was among the most excited, often getting in ahead of other humans. But there is one place in particular that he loves to visit more than anywhere else.

"Well." said his driver, yawning. "Got nothing better to do. Come on Henry!" he would say out loud. "We've made good time today! We'll stop for a while by the forest!"

"Isn't there a rule against that? Rule 55? Besides, it means that we're not doing work."

"Mate, we clocked off two minutes ago, and secondly, me and the signalman are tight."

Henry, ignoring the fight between his driver and fireman which ran on well worn tracks, grinned as they passed over the watermill. Yet another sign of his good work.

He loved it in the forest. It was full of firm oaks, tall pines, sturdy redwoods and other such trees. There were animals also, all of them natural to the Island and having returned to this forest to protect themselves from the oncoming railway. And yet, when the railway had extended into the forest (Though Henry had insisted on overseeing the project to make sure nothing was disturbed that could be left alone, and the Fat Controller didn't care enough to watch) they hadn't run away again. In fact, it could be said that they flocked to Henry.

Henry minded not. He liked it, in all honesty, and while he wasn't the Disney type to talk to them, he took a quiet comfort in the fact that they clearly trusted him to some extent.

As Henry sat there on that particular day, he rested by a flatbed of logs, from trees that had grown too dangerous to the wildlife and the railway. This reminded him in turn of the first excursion into this forest. He had recruited Toby, as being one of the few sensible engines he felt he could trust, to bring new trees to replace the old ones, while Terrance and Trevor worked hard and planted them.

It had been a rather nice exercise, and Henry could recall just that feeling of comradeship that so often was missed between the inhabitants of Tidmouth.

Now, he could see the trees growing among those originally there on the hillside. He always felt better for being here. He had no idea how to put it into words, but his driver understood.

"It's peaceful." he said. He then hurried off to the signalbox. He needed the toilet, and he had learnt the hard way about using a tree in this forest. The memory of the fox's attack haunted him.

Henry smiled. Then he stopped. He recalled another, far darker memory.

...

The night that everything changed, several engines had cooped up in Tidmouth Sheds in a attempt to avoid the massive storm that was hitting the Island. The doors shook and the lamps swung, almost being ripped from their posts.

"Listen!" said Thomas, putting down his crossword puzzle. "Can you hear a strange sound?"

"Aside from you talking?" mumbled Gordon tiredly. He, James, Henry and Toby had taken refuge, while Donald rested peacefully in the far corner. Douglas would be coming later that night to rest as Gordon got ready for the express.

"Not to worry Thomas." said Toby, as usual, cool as a cucumber. "Just the wind, blowing outsides of our sheds. Never heard it quite like this."

"Do you know-" remarked James. "-if Gordon wasn't here right now, I'd say it was him rushing by with the express."

All the engines laughed, and then stopped laughing, because it wasn't really a joke. Gordon sulked. It wasn't his fault he was so big and beautiful!

But Henry was the only one who didn't join in with the laughing. He was worried, and even as the other engines argued, Donald looked at him with something approaching concern. Of all the big engines, he considered Henry to be the closest thing to a friend he had.

"I just hope the wind won't harm the forest." Henry explained.

"Ach, weesht! It'll be fine!"

...

It wasn't.

By morning, the storm had died down, or left, but the damage was done. And not just to the Fat Controller's office. Henry's driver arrived just as Donald and Douglas were arguing over why Douglas had to stay in the shed and Donald had to go out. Neither got a real answer, and Henry didn't care.

"Trees have fallen on the line! We must help clear the tracks."

Henry's heart sank. Donald puffed out, and in a gesture of support, set off first with the breakdown train. Henry followed seconds later with a train of flatbeds.

But not even he could foresee the damage done. Trees lay everywhere, scattered to what remained of the forest. Plants were crushed underfoot, and there was barely a animal to seen. Donald was about to say that this might be a good thing, as they may have retreated, when he saw Henry's face. The hillside looked so bare, aside from all the broken trees on there.

Henry's sadness was clear. "What will happen, Donald-" he said quietly "-to all the animals who live- lived here?" He puffed on, and Donald had no answer to give.

They parted ways as Donald began placing log after log on the flatbeds. Once they were loaded, Henry took them to the timbermill, where they would be used to make furniture and other things.

"Welp!" declared a executive. "It's a good day for Ikea!" Everyone gave him a look. "Too soon?" He walked off, where karma revenged him for this callous remark by getting his hand trapped in his own saw.

Henry was glad that, at the very least, the wood was getting some use, but he still felt sorry it had come at the loss of his forest. Toby and Thomas were there, helping out anyway they could.

"Think Hatt's trying to send you a message, Toby?" asked Thomas innocently. "This is where you'll end up?" Toby shot Thomas a very dirty look. "Too soon?" Thomas would later head off to his branch-line, and karma proved she would make a excellent darts champion by sending a stray tree to whack him right in the face.

Toby sighed. "Oh dear. I wish there was someway that we could help."

"Well yes, but what? Can you mend broken trees?"

Toby trundled forward. "Hey, uh, Henry, I've got nothing else on, if you want, we can go and get a pint at the Sidings."

Henry sighed. "No. No thank you, but I...I'd rather just...be on my own for a bit. Thanks though."

Toby sighed.

...

He arrived back at the sheds, having found his desire for a drink had rapidly decreased. The Fat Controller was standing there, casually checking his watch. He had a job, though he had no idea who was going to take it. He was banking on it being the first engine he saw. "Hello Toby!" he said chirpily, trying to ignore the feelings of annoyance he had received from several environmental protesters. "You look down."

"I'm sad about the trees sir."

"Who isn't?" said Hatt grumpily.

"And so's Henry, the forest is a special place to him."

Hatt smiled. "Well, funny you mention that. We'll soon put that right, for I have a important job for you to do. It involves trucks and the forest. Can you guess what it is?"

...

"BEST! JOB! EVER!" Toby enthused as be pulled out with a long train of trucks containing a selection of trees.

...

Henry arrived after a long day of moping to get a huge surprise. Toby sat on the railway, watching in delight as Terrance and Trevor got to work planting new trees in freshly dug holes.

"You-" Henry was choked up to say the least. "You-"

"Least I could do." Toby smiled and looked away. "Don't mention it."

"Look Henry!" laughed Terrance. "We're beginning again! The hillside will look better than ever before! You'll see!"

...

Henry returned from his thoughts, a warm smile gracing his face. He let his mind and body disconnect from each other, and just focus on the feel of the forest. Now he could see them growing strong and tall by lakes of clear blue water. And the animals have even started to come back. Sometimes, everywhere is quiet and one could hear anything, and other times Henry can hear the sounds of leaves rustling or a bird's wing brushing the air.

Often, he can hear the sound of children laughing.

And always, he is happy here.


	62. Episode 10: The Trouble With Mud

I'd like to formally announce that requests are officially being closed for the time being. Just for the record.

Cue the theme!

...

"Where's Mr Quackers gone?!"

"Thomas, calm down-"

"WHERE'S MY MR QUAC-"

"HERE! HE'S HERE!"

"Awwwww. You're safe! I'm never letting you go again old friend!"

Mr Quackers squeaked as Thomas lowered him to the buffers. Thomas was rather fussy about having a shower and a bath most of the time. In a rather childish way, he disliked having the soap get into his eyes, and feared that a typhoon would drown him if he was not without his rubber duck.

This made it difficult for the workmen on days where the driver's three year old child wanted his favorite duck back.

Now on this particular morning, Thomas had almost finished his hour long soak when Gordon arrived back at the sheds. His face was like thunder, his speed was almost slasher villain threatening and...well, his smart blue paint was covered with mud.

Thomas stared. "Do I want to-"

"No."

Thomas frowned. "Are you sur-"

"No."

Gordon didn't want Thomas to know that he had actually received this mud via a failed attempt by James to get the engines a proper spa treatment. Failed for him, that is. James was sitting proudly, enjoying the full on body wax, and Henry had left when he realized that he had better things to do with his life.

This, decided Gordon, was the last time he took anything James suggested seriously.

"You look as though you had a mud bath!"

"WHO TOLD YOU!?"

"Be a sensible engine, and have a shower instead! Suits you more."

Gordon snorted, a indicator of just what he would like to turn to at that very moment to stop this incredible sense of wanting to crush everything in his path. "I haven't got time to dawdle over my appearance like some tank engines I can think of!"

"So that alliance meant nothing?"

"I speak of Percy. Seriously. Have you seen him recently? He was thinking of wearing a bow tie yesterday on a coal run!"

"Damn."

...

The wind, having decided that Gordon was to be it's plaything this season, had grown even stronger over the past few days, and was now whipping up like crazy. Gordon entered Henry's Forest on his way to the wash-down, and he tried very hard to ignore the leaves that were now sticking not only to his paint but to his face.

"Phew Gordon!" said his driver, currently being drenched by the water regularly falling into his own face. "Slow down, you crazed lunatic!"

This had the unfortunate effect of making Gordon even crosser. "I'll be dirty and late! DIRTY AND LATE DRIVER!" He hissed.

"That the latest rap album?"

"IT WILL BE."

...

Eventually, he made it to the washdown, and pointedly ignored the stares from those working there. At said washing area, there was a sign reading 'All Trains Must Wash Down Daily'. This was usually ignored by nearly all people and engines involved, mostly because the sign had clearly been written with marker pen in a hurry. But every so often, it was wheeled out on muddy seasons such as this to force the engines to conform and get washed. James, already sitting there smug as ever, had just finished having most of the wax removed from his paint, having been cleaned.

Gordon's expression could best be described as category 2 tornado like.

"Come on Gordon." said his driver. "You'll feel better after a good hose down."

"That's what she said."

This one statement from James took the category up to a level four. "PAH!" said Gordon, and let out a all mighty breath of steam that he had been holding in.

Rumors were that the amount of mud was so much and that it went so high that it could actually be seen from outer space, baffling several aliens and making them wonder if going to Earth was worth it.

"You're-" his driver struggled for words. "-A VERY BLOODY NAUGHTY ENGINE!"

Actually, I tell a lie.

That's not what he actually said.

Unfortunately, there are some standards even the narrator has.

After a long rant, his driver finished off with "James'll have to have another shower!" James himself was suffering a minor panic attack. "You'll have to wait until later!"

"Good riddance!" grumbled Gordon "I'm far too busy to waste time with water!"

This was such a spectacularly stupid sentence that everyone was momentarily struck silent. No one pointed out that without water he was effectively marooned.

...

Gordon finished his journey safely, and he steamed into the big station. He didn't really get why Henry was snickering to himself, or why the Fat Controller was looking at him with such obvious disgust. He backed down and waited to be coupled to the express.

He would be waiting a long time.

"MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS!" declared the Controller. "Gordon, you look like a pig sty with wheels! You can't pull the train in that condition! Henry'll have to do it."

"Oh no." said Henry, with little effort at hiding his glee.

"Gordon! YOU BETTER GET CLEANED UP STRAIGHT AWAY."

Gordon pleaded. He threatened. He wheedled. He begged. He bribed.

...

"MIND MY EYE!" He grumbled a hour later.

The workmen, having had to get clean themselves, took no notice, especially considering how bad his eye looked already.

Eventually, he was finished, and was not happy at how spick and span he was. This was odd. It could be explained, quite simply, by saying that Gordon was, for lack of a better term, a dozy twonk. So for the rest of the day, he pulled and pushed trucks.

This put him in a even better mood.

Can you tell I'm being sarcastic?

He bumped them repeatedly, angrily shouting at each representation of his rage- I mean, truck "THAT'S FOR YOU! AND YOU! AND YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

"What did I do!?" shouted a brown truck.

"Trucks will be trucks." said James, feeling in a philosophical mood after watching Gordon constantly get humiliated that day.

"THEY WON'T WITH ME!" Gordon growled. "I SHALL TEACH THEM NOT TO SCREW WITH ME."

Later that day, James was getting ready at the Shipping and Co hanger when Gordon returned. The big blue engine vaguely wondered why James was taking his train from here instead of the normal places...such as a station, but he bit it down. "Careful James. The hills are slippery, and you might need help.

"Thanks, but even if I did need help- WHICH I DON'T- I'd call someone who could actually handle it. Such as...say, Edward? Or Thomas? Or anyone who didn't get stuck on there?" James puffed away. He was unaware that earlier, the same storm that had swept through Henry's Forest had damaged the trees to such a extent that even the slightest breeze could send thousands of leaves scattering. This had been what had happened that day, and even though the breeze and storm had passed, the hill still looked difficult to climb.

As James entered Wellsworth though, he felt utterly confident. The signal showed clear, and James began to go faster. Gordon, following at a distance, pulled to a stop as the last coach vanished.

"I'll do it! I'll do it!" he puffed.

Halfway up though, he was not as sure.

"I'll...er...maybe do it? I'll maybe do it?"

But his wheels slipped on the leaves, and despite his best efforts, gripping the tracks was practically impossible. He couldn't pull the train at all! "Help!" wailed James. His wheels kept turning forward, but he slid backwards down the hill as his coaches dragged him back towards the station. He swore under his breath, and hoped above all hopes that-

...

-Gordon saw everything.

James was not best pleased.

"Ah well." said Gordon in a smug tone of voice. "We live and learn."

"You don't." muttered James.

"Never mind little James, I shall push behind."

"Give me strength."

"I shall!"

...

The hill was feeling pretty smug about it's victory...as smug as a hill could feel, anyway.

And then both engines started up again. The hill and the wind gaped. Surely not two of their favorite punching bags were back for another spin!? Both engines were sweating and panting, James at the front, powering through the mush that had once been leaves and Gordon at the back, snarling and refusing to let himself be defeated once more that day!

"We can do it!" James whistled loudly.

"We will do it!" Gordon called back, encouragingly.

And at last...

They reached the top of the hill. James rushed over it. "Peep peep! Thank you old friend!"

"Poop poop! Goodbye!"

Gordon stayed there for a minute.

 _So that what it feels like to be Edward._

...

That night, the Fat Controller was bored and went to see the engines.

"Please sir?" asked Thomas. "Can Gordon get his coach-pulling duties back? It's getting on our wick having Henry lord it over us."

"NOT ENDING ANY TIME SOON!" crowed Henry.

"Well, as long as he understands that a good wash-down is essential to every engine, then yes Gordon, you may." He hurried off, realizing that he was late for his date with his wife.

"Of course!" declared Gordon, getting onto his favorite subject. Hypocrisy. "Dirty or clean! I'm a famous machine!"

No one heard but him. They had set the record for falling to sleep the quickest.


	63. Episode 11: No Joke for James

Cue the theme!

...

 **"How's Angelis settling in?**

 **Well, he's doing all right. He took a bit of time to get used to it, but so did Ringo- Er, Mr Starr. He seems to be most enthusiastic about it. We're going through the new episodes quite fast! Well, he doesn't have to stop to get drunk, or record songs, like Mr Starr did.**

 **Yes, we are getting along.**

 **What episode's next? Uh...the one you entitled 'No Joke For James' and that is episode...eleven!**

 **Right. Shall do. I'll get on it right away.**

 **Thank you Miss Allcroft!"**

...

Okay, so the following sentence has been said before. A lot. But, for the sake of argument, let's pretend you've never heard it before and that this is a new and totally unique concept at the moment, kay?

Ahem.

James is a mixed traffic engine. This means he can pull both trucks and coaches. He is brilliant at neither, but is more of a average engine. Which on this railway, meant that you weren't a utter idiot who didn't accidentally send a long line of trucks into the orchard, or swing your coaches into the canal.

He is proud (Again, I know that you know already, but bear with me) of his smart red paint and so is his driver. Sort of, his driver just says it to have a nice and quiet life.

So it was his fault that he came out with gems like "Everyone says you brighten up their day, James!"

This was a lie. Everyone usually said "Oh heck! Here comes that prat in the red coat! I'm off."

James, of course, ignored these people.

...

One morning, in the yard, James whistled loudly at the other engines. This was a bad thing to do so early in the morning, for Thomas had not yet fully awakened and would most likely attempt to bludgeon James in the face.

James, unfortunately, decided to do a very unwise thing and begin speaking."Look at me! I'm the smartest, handsomest, well dressed, most useful engine on the line EVER!" It had been one of those nights where he had been drinking a lot of sugar, and thus was more hyper than usual.

"Rabbish!" said Thomas, affecting James's accent.

"God damn it!"

"We're all useful! Even those two yellow muppets! The Fat Controller says so, and he's Sir Topham Hatt, head of the whole railway!"

Percy and James looked at each other. "Uh, Thomas? We know that."

"The cue cards told me to say that!" Thomas protested. The cameraman smiled sheepishly and tore the rest of his up.

"You know what James?"asked Percy.

"What? Not personally." James laughed.

"You're getting to be a puffed up little tosser!"

James huffed away to Knapford Yards, where he hoped to catch the Sidings open so that he could have a quick drink before heading out in the terrifying unknown. His words, not mine. This plan was scuppered when he noticed that Gordon was already waiting there. But he was still boasting, even after Thomas shunted some trucks and gave a grim look of understanding to the absolutely miserable looking Gordon.

"I!" declared James to Gordon. "Am the pride of the line! Of the Island!"

"Ah. Explains why I saw you pulling a load of trucks today." Gordon snorted, again wishing that he had kept the China Clay truck to himself. Apparently once inhaled, crazy things happened. "You're a goods engine, that's that."

James was horrified, and fell into Gordon's carefully laid (Read: Not) trap. "I pull coaches too!"

"Not as much as I do." grunted Gordon. "So there."

"The Fat Controller has PLANS for me!" James said this mostly to get Gordon off his back. And also to big himself up. And perhaps just a tiny bit of him wanted Gordon to get somewhat paranoid. Gordon didn't know this, but he ruined it somewhat by being only mildly curious.

"What plans?" he demanded.

"Errrrrrrrrrrrr-" James's brain hadn't got that far ahead yet. "Wait and see?"

Gordon stared for a moment longer, then put the idea and all thoughts about it out of his head as he headed off to prepare for his next train. James though, was suddenly crippled with the thought that Gordon was going to go on a massive hunt until he found out everything there was to find out. In actuality, Gordon couldn't care less, but James's paranoia and his belief that he was at the center of the universe combined.

"Oh heck! Now what'll I do?!"

...

Not too long after, Thomas was busy in the yard, shunting some of the new and improved express coaches ready for the next train, when James bustled up.

"Morning James." Thomas decided to live and let live.

"Are those coaches for me?" James was hopeful. He was wrong to be.

"Nah." Thomas said casually, listening but not really listening, if you know what I mean. "These are for the big fatso's express, I'll get your trucks next." His eyes were distracted by Edward puffing by and whistling. James fumed silently.

And then his mind hit upon a trick. A clever trick (To him). A wonderful trick (Again). James had a clever, wonderful trick!

"Actually, Thomas, I'm to take those coaches. The Fat Controller asked me to tell you."

Thomas stared. Now, it wasn't exactly a long stretch to say that the Controller of the railway was too lazy to send a actual workman to deliver this information. He knew that this was likely to be the case for several desicions. No, the plausibility was there for that part. What Thomas had to decide was whether or not he'd be as stupid enough to trust James. "Oh?" He asked. "What about the trucks?"

"Errr. Give them to Gordon?" James offered a grin that could blind anyone.

"Come on!" said Thomas's driver, who was in a rush to get off for the hour and get something to eat."Orders are orders!"

"But sir!"

"ORDERS!"

So when James's driver had returned from his own break, he coupled James up to the express, and didn't question why he was doing that until James had steamed out of the yard towards the big station.

Thomas arrived with the long line of tankers. He looked behind him. Surely he wouldn't have to get his own brake-van?

 _He would,_ he grimly realized.

A few minutes later, after Thomas was trying to rest after having to get several items needed for a actual train, Gordon puffed up. His smile slipped away. "So...er...where's the express?"

Thomas told him about James. "So!" he said cheerily. "Here are your trucks! Ta ta! I'm going off for a crossword break!"

To say Gordon was very cross would be a understatement and a half. So was his driver.

"Wait til the Fat Controller hears about this!"

There was silence for a moment.

"Well?"

"Can't mate, it's my break."

...

Elsewhere, James was laughing to himself and congratulating himself on his cunning plan. His words, again, not mine. No, literally. "What a clever plan! What a clever plan!" he practically cackled.

He arrived at Elsbridge feeling smug. He passed Percy, who was grinning at him in a way that indicated that there was something that was about to happen to him that would make James very cross and Percy very glad.

Percy was wrong of course, reasoned James.

Then James looked over, and realized that Percy was very right indeed.

"Some jokes are funny. Mostly when they're told by engines who aren't you. This one is no exception. You've caused confusion and delay. Mostly the former."

"Yes sir." said James, feeling slightly small.

"Stay in the shed until you are wanted."

As James puffed away, Hatt muttered under his breath. "Which shouldn't be for a good long time."

...

The other engines teased James. Mercilessly. Edward and Toby were more concerned with other things (What these things were was never truly confirmed until a good long while after, and shall be told another day.) but Gordon and Henry had returned to their old double act.

"I wonder-" said Gordon calmly. "-who'll be pulling the express today?"

"Well it's probably be you." replied Henry cheerfully. "I mean, there's a certain red idiot who got stuck in the shed for being silly."

There was a pause, in which James was allowed to marinate in his own depressed nature.

"Oh look!" Henry shouted. "James, when did you get here?"

James could barely get enough steam up to give a witty response.

...

The morning after that, he went back to work. Thomas was there, having been taken off his branch-line for his own good thanks to some bad weather.

"Hello!" whistled Thomas. "Good to see you out and about again!" He grinned crookedly. "So...no coaches for you to poach."

"Sorry I tricked you-"

"Eh, it's cool. My driver's the idiot in this situation."

"HEY!"

Both engines laughed. There was a pause, and then James swallowed back a sarcastic comment and said, very sincerely. "Are these my trucks?"

"Yes." said Thomas in a kind voice, swallowing back his own remark "They have missed you."

"Liar."

Both laughed again. They looked at each other.

At last, Thomas said. "James? Do me a fave, kay? Don't ever change. I-" he sighed. This was going to cost him cool points for sure. "-I actually like our sparring." And he puffed off before James could get a witty comment in.

James grinned and got to work quickly, heading off to the harbor for most of it. He pushed and pulled the trucks about, and somehow managed not to derail any of the trucks, or cause a incident, or even do anything noteworthy.

In essence, he was behaving like a normal engine.

He was exhausted.

"Come on James! Home time!" said his driver. "No trucks or passengers, just we two."

There was a pause, and then the fireman walked out. "You know what? I quit. APPARENTLY I DON'T MATTER!"

"NO! Smith! DAMN IT JON, DON'T LEAVE!"

James watched as both men retreated to a distance, and their argument steadily got more and more personal. And...somewhat steamy. James frowned. He could have sworn that his driver and fireman were now...

Oh.

OH.

 _Well,_ though James, in shock, _that's new. And fine, I mean, new world and all. And they look happy. Lover's spat, tis all. Oh wait, that's literal now._

Anyway, his driver was wrong. A man hurried up.

"Excuse me!" he called. "I have a meeting with Sir Toppers Hatt? Mustn't be late! Can I have a ride back with you!?"

"Eh! Aren't you Jeremiah Jobling?"

"Times are hard."

"Of course!" smoothly cut in the driver. Then to James: "He's taken a job as a railway inspector. Do this and we get major kudos points!" James was most impressed, and he hurried off quickly, heading back towards Knapford.

He steamed along the line and through Henry's Forest as quickly as he could, using a old shortcut that none of the engines who weren't Henry knew about. There was advantages, he thought, to being so vain that he needed to stop in secluded places to apply his special touches.

The Fat Controller was waiting and the Railway Inspector greeted him warmly.

"This clever engine gave me a splendid ride! You must be proud of him!"

The Fat Controller clenched his teeth. "Yes indeed. James, once again you are a really useful engine!"

"Are? When did I ever stop?"

"Don't push it."

"Sorry sir."

And the Controller and Jobling stepped away to discuss a certain situation which was-

-ah, but I mustn't say more, or I shall ruin the next story!


	64. Episode 12: Post Train

Cue the theme!

...

There is a generalization of the various railways that aren't the Island of Sodor. The engines are all guilty of making this mistake, as in all honesty the quite justifiable fears of being scrapped have therefore led them to think in terms of 'Them' and 'Us'. This generalization took the form of the term 'The Other Railway', which was applied to those lines that had...less than satisfactory practices with the treatment of steam engines. Mostly it involved the engines not getting confused over which railway had been cutting open their fellow steam engines.

Not recently, however.

With the steam engines now becoming more and more valuable and therefore becoming more and more protected, the term was applied to one singular railway. No one could quite describe where it was. It was definitely in England, and it could be reached via the Island. People definitely traveled on it, though when asked they had some surprisingly sketchy details about it. But aside from that, casting a actual place was...well, it was nigh impossible.

This then, was the true Other Railway.

Edward and Toby wondered vaguely what they were even doing there.

But before we tell their story...let's tell you another.

...

At night, when the other engines are tucked away in their sheds and are fast asleep-

"ACH! WILL YE NOT SHUT UP A MOMENT AND LET US GET TO SLEEP?!"

"Yes! I have to look beautiful tomorrow and it's very hard when you're talking so loud for me to get my sleep!"

-Yeesh, fine!

Ahem.

But even when everyone is in bed and sleeping the sleep of engines, you can still hear the faraway call of a engine's whistle and the clickety clack of train wheels hitting track. Sometimes the ducks at the watermill leap in fright at the strange nocturnal green bear that lumbers out and gets to work, and other times the people near the coast vaguely wonder why the arrogant blue tank engine arrives there. Surely it's not to sell more of his gaudy merchandise?

But this, is the sound of the Post Train.

One train is pulled by Thomas and the other by Percy. They're actually thinking of just putting all the work load on Percy so they get less whining from Thomas whenever he has to pull a heavy load of coaches up from the valley.

The loads, at the moment, are too heavy for one engine to do alone. Besides, Thomas didn't want to suffer on his lonesome.

The post is loaded into the coaches at both harbors, and the two engines pull the train through the silent stations delivering their precious cargo's. It's also where Thomas and Percy try to one up each other on the scaring tactics.

It hasn't worked yet, in case you couldn't tell.

On a clear night, a big bright and shining moon guides their way. This leads to both of them singing 'Button Moon' off pitch just to annoy the supposed Man on the Moon. This leads the moon to retreat and sulk for a bit until Hatt puts both engines on truck duty to appease it.

But often, the two trouble tossers can't see even the stars. This makes things...difficult.

"OW! Who put that there?!"

"That's a wall, Thomas."

But whatever the weather, lamps along the track always light their way. Unless they forget to leave the lamps out, in which case the post is screwed.

One night, Percy was waiting at the harbor junction. The main line train was late and he was freezing his buffers off. Already he had begun to very calmly wonder about whether or not eskimos had this kind of trouble. He suspected not.

At last, Henry arrived, pulling a makeshift train consisting of the Flying Kipper and a large van full of mail. He came to a bumpy stop and gave a weary glance over to Percy. "Sorry Percy. The mailboat from the mainland appeared to be delayed for whatever reason. Apparently pirates."

"Come on Percy!" said Carlin, who was no more happy to be out here than Percy was. "Let's make up for lost time!"

Percy left Henry to slowly crawl home back to Tidmouth while he raced ahead. He puffed through Knapford with little to no trouble, dropping off the mail needed there before heading on. He puffed along the line as quick as he could, occasionally stopping to let off mail (In one case, Carlin cursed the air blue as he waded into the canal to rescue a errant letter for the idiot on the Sodor Maid) but with the sun rising Percy rapidly felt more and more tired.

His last stop was at Dryaw, and he was now exhausted with his final piece of work done. _Never mind,_ he thought, _it's nice to be up and about at the start of the new day when no one else is allowed...especially no-_

"Hello chaps!"

"GOD DAMN IT HAROLD! You...You...DIZZY THING!" It was not the grandest insult that Percy had come up with, but we will give him the benefit of the doubt and say he was just tired.

As opposed to be a goddamn prat.

Which is more likely, let's not lie.

"I always said that railways were out of date! But you're so slow with the post, you should give everyone their stamps back." Harold grinned. Percy knew that there was a terrible pun coming along. He just didn't know what. "Post haste."

Percy then proceeded to tell Harold exactly what he was going to do with his rotor blades if he carried on insulting him like that. It was graphic. Harold would have merely blinked and ignored him, but he still hadn't got the ability to blink yet.

Percy was too tired to care at this point, and so grumpily headed off to the sheds.

...

"Good morning Percy! You're up early!"

"Nope! You're wrong! I'm back late!" Percy said drowsily. He backed down into his shed and fell asleep almost before his buffers had touched the bar. Duck laughed and waited for his own driver to come.

Odd, he thought, that Edward and Toby aren't back yet.

...

Later that night. Percy felt better, and his driver decided that they would set off extra early to afford them some extra nap times. Also, it meant that he would be able to snag a few last minute drinks at the Refreshment stand.

Thomas was waiting at the first station. He looked concerned, and Percy frowned. "Hello? What's wrong?"

"Oh! Thank god I've seen you! Need a chance to talk, the driver says that the man in charge of the Post Train's only gone and done a prat move. He's complained to the Fat Man about the delay last night!"

"But that wasn't my fault! There ought to be a law against such a douche existing!"

"I know that! You know that! And even the Fat Controller knows it, maybe it's because the postmaster once got angry at the sun for staying in a awkward spot? I don't know mate, but the post person wouldn't even give him the time of the day!" Thomas was seething, and for a moment both engines united as one in anger against the 'Man'

"Now what?"

"Tonight, we'll have to be quicker than ever before!" Thomas was already to go, and Percy wasn't far behind when they heard a familar sound. "Oh BLOODY typical!" snarled Thomas. "Trust us to have to start at Dryaw! Why couldn't we go to Wellsworth!? Or anywhere that doesn't have...him there!"

"Hello Chaps! There's news flying about!"

"Oh give me a second Harold." Thomas said sweetly. "And I'll make sure that news goes right up your-"

"Ahem! Didn't let me finish, old duffer! All over the place, they're saying that the post train's scrapped and I'm doing it instead! Wings work wonders you know! Always!"

As he flew off, both engines swallowed down a desire to see him taken out by a low hanging branch.

"Rubbish." Thomas muttered, and both trains set off, working as fast as they could. Everything ran like clockwork that night, albeit a clock that was so fast that it was almost impossible to see what the hell was going on.

Thomas and Percy steamed through every station and made good time wherever they went. And every so often, they'd stop to drop off some mail as well! They'd sometimes forget to do this as they rushed to get the job done.

But it's not like it was in the job descrip- Oh wait.

Thomas rushed along the coastal paths, along the lines usually reserved for Edward or the other big engines to drop off more and more mail. Even so, he was growing steadily tired. Elsewhere, Percy was practically rushed off his wheels as he dashed back and forth the harbor to gain more and more bags of post to be delivered.

At one of the last stations, Thomas noticed a man who was sitting on a bench. He looked cold, cross and grumpy. He explained to his driver, who was a bit of a Good Samaritan, that he had missed his train home for whatever reason.

"We can give you a ride- Hang on, aren't you Jeremiah Jobling?"

"Uh." Jobling looked shiftily. "No."

Silence.

"Okay then. It'll be rather uncomfortable, and it may take a fair bit."

"Thank you!" said Jobling gratefully. "Anything's better than sitting here!"

...

The next afternoon, once they had both had a good sleep, Percy passed Dryaw Airfield and smiled at Harold. Harold was not smiling and looked as though he would rather crawl under a massive helicopter shaped rock than be there right now.

"Hello lazy wings! Too tired to fly today? Or too fat?"

"The wind is too strong! I've been grounded!" grumbled Harold. "For the next TWO WEEKS!"

"Ah well." Percy smiled. "You need rails. Work wonders, doncha know. Always."

"OH VERY CLEVER!"

...

That night, the two engines were shown a letter by the Fat Controller. It was from Jobling, who had gotten home and had a rather long and awkward explanation for his wife.

"He thinks both of you are splendid. Everyone says the post train is the pride of the line!"

Both engines paused. "Is that it?"

"Yes, now get back out there!"

Both engines groaned.

"I'm sure wherever Edward is, he's having a better time than us!"

...

"Thank you for coming with me, Toby."

"Anything for my old chum." Toby glanced around. "What are we doing here?"

"Well-" Edward hesitated, then whispered. "Sir Topham Hatt came to me earlier this week and told me that there were rumors that the Other Railway was housing a number of refugees from scrap."

Toby shuddered. "Okay, why are you here?"

"He wanted me to check out because he believed that Marklin may be involved." Edward sighed. "Still haven't seen him in such a long time, and Duck tells me that Diesel is back on the Island temporarily until the next boat arrives. Therefore, it occurred to Hatt that Marklin may be awaiting a new vessel to come along so he can return to the Island and wreak havoc."

"ATTENTION!"

The massive loudspeaker crackled into life, in the dismal and dark area yard. It was the middle of the afternoon and yet if you were going simply by the sky, you'd have sworn it was midnight. And that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that all around, there were others. Engines with faces disguised by strange and unnatural contraptions. They looked like armored engines, a special branch that had been used in the war that Edward recalled. And then there were the diesels. Silent and still, lined up as if on guard. At the sound of the voice, every eye was directed towards the voice.

"THE HONORABLE FAT DIRECTOR WISHES TO ADDRESS YOU. THOUGH HE CANNOT BE HERE TONIGHT, HE WISHES ME TO COMMUNICATE FOR HIM! WE ARE CLOSE, MY BROTHERS! WE ARE SO CLOSE! PRODUCTIVITY IS UP TWENTY PERCENT!" A roar of approval. "WORK RATES HAVE BEEN TRIPLED!" Another roar, this one louder. "AND ALL YOU HAVE TO DO TO BECOME A PART OF THE GLORIOUS REVOLUTION IS TO...JOIN US! WILL YOU JOIN US?!"

The roar was deafening. The steam engines, those who were there anyway, were frantically foaming at the mouth. Edward felt sickened.

"Edward." he heard Toby say with dawning horror. "Look." He turned his face and felt his boiler chill with shock.

For there was at least twenty engines, all steam, with the words 'SCRAP' written all over their bodies. They were shivering, and looked terrified. And behind them, gearing up were massive claws that looked as though they could rip apart the shell of a tank.

"AND ALL THOSE WHO HAVE NOT UNDERSTOOD THIS OPPORTUNITY...THIS REVOLUTIONARY OPPORTUNITY... THEY WILL BE CONSIGNED LIKE THE REST OF THEIR PATHETIC KIND TO THE SCRAPHEAP!" The voice was almost hysterical in how furious he was at the steam engines.

"I-" Toby started. "We can't just-"

"CRUSH THEM! MANGLE THEM! SCRAP THEM!" came the cry from the assembled trains, trains without any mercy whatsoever.

"Edward!" shouted Toby.

That was when Edward blew his whistle long and loud, and the crowd seemed to panic somewhat. The scrap engines looked in shock, before Toby let out a shout. "RUN!" He roared, and they did. Some scattered towards the direction of the Island, others headed backwards towards the outskirts of the Other Railway.

By now the crowd were ready to riot, and Edward and Toby slipped away.

"By...by god Toby!" Edward gasped as they crossed the bridge back into Sodor. "What the hell!?"

"I have a idea." Toby said grimly. "You recall that Marklin noted that the reason that he was...ghost like, we'll call it, was because of a botched conversion into a diesel? My guess is that they've managed to perfect the technique since then. It's been so long, hasn't it?"

"And those steam engines, if I can call them that?"

"Again, I'm guessing but..." Toby shook his head. "Diesels aren't all bad. Steam Engines aren't all good. What I think this 'Fat Director' has found is the very desperate. The arrogant. The violent. The self-preservers. Those who'll do anything to stay alive, including selling out their own kind! It's...barbaric!"

"It is." Edward groaned. "God in heaven I hope I gave those poor sods a chance to escape."

"It's a better chance than they would have had." Toby looked at Edward. "We tell those living at Tidmouth. We tell Sir Topham. We tell no one else. In all honesty Edward, I'd rather forget this night, if you don't mind."

"You and me both old chum. Enough playing spy for me."

...

Elsewhere, as the Fat Director's engines fanned out, one lone train sat, hidden in a siding.

"Mr Oliver!"

"Toad, I can't move-"

"What do you mean!?"

"That last burst cost me the last of my coal! We're stuck here! What do we do now?!"

"We'll have to hope. And wait."


	65. Episode 13: Trust Thomas

Just a quick thank you note to all of the people reading this story! It wouldn't be as fun without you. Also to note, this is the half-way mark of Season 3, so it's here I'll take a quick break to work on the TUGS Abridged project.

And now, cue the theme!

...

Edward and Toby's story had been contained mostly to the Fat Controller and the other engines at Tidmouth. They reacted with a mixture of horror and curiosity over what had happened. Understandably, Donald and Douglas had gone whiter than a sheet and had agreed that they were not going to talk about this in the slightest. Duck looked thoughftul, and spent a lot of time there after talking with his driver and fireman about things that the other engines didn't know. But the other engines mostly contained themselves to vague wondering.

...

The next day, Thomas the Tank Engine was feeling bright and cheerful. It was a splendid day, and he was so happy that he didn't realize that he had gone onto Toby's old tramway until it was too late, and even then they managed to get to the next station in record time.

"Why is it that we keep going up there?" questioned Annie, before Thomas's cheeriness came back in full force.

"Good morning sun! Good morning trees! Good morning cows!" He whistled this to a field of very mellow cows who had no idea of what a steam train was. They therefore didn't reply, and thus spent the rest of their lives in blissful ignorance as to what the big blue thing that randomly shouted words at them was.

If you think that stopped Thomas from being his usual smugly cheerfully sense, you haven't been paying attention. "Never mind, they're busy with their breakfast!"

"It's twelve o'clock."

"Your point being?"

"Anyone having their breakfast at this hour is a idiot."

"Hush! The cows may hear you!"

Next, he saw Bertie. The bus was in a bad mood already, as he drove around the corner that came closest to the railway, he practically bounced off the road and into a large hole that had been left there.

"Care for a race, Bertie?"

"OW! **** ME WITH A SIDE OF CHIPS! Another hole in the road?!"

"Another brick in the wall!" Thomas cheerfully puffed off. "Sorry Bertie!"

...

He was still in good humor when Bertie finally made it to the station. The bus drove in with a face like thunder and limping, as it was, with a injured front tire. Thomas's smile could have provided power to the entire UK for a week. "Bad luck Bertie! Now, if you were a steam engine, you'd be running on really reliable rails!"

"Like that time they buckled due to the sun?"

"Doesn't count."

"Or that they once led you to a unsafe mineshaft?"

"Bertie, why do you have such a downer on the railway? I mean, even more so than usual."

Bertie snorted. "Look Thomas, you may think your precious railway is the bees knees, but it's not! Trust me, for us types on the road, having to rely on trains is the worst! The railway was supposed to deliver tar that would help fix this goddamn mess of a road up two weeks ago."

"Well that's not our fau-"

"You can't trust a thing that runs on rails!"

Thomas looked at Bertie. Despite himself, he felt somewhat hurt. "I run on rails! You can trust me, Bertie. I'll see if I can find out what happened." He hesitated, before puffing off, towards the section of line where his branch-line intersected with the Big Station's yard. This left a fuming Bertie to ponder what he had just said.

He shrugged

Wasn't like the little blue puffball would actually do anything. He was the most arrogant son of a motherless goat whose name wasn't James or Gordon.

As if he'd actually even remember Bertie's story.

...

Elsewhere, at the yard, things were going...well, they were going. Edward was pulling the express, and he rolled his eyes at Douglas, who laughed. The object of their amusement was James, who was snorting about the yard so much you'd swear he had stolen some China Clay.

"IT'S TOO BAD!" He snarled as he banged into some trucks. "Percy gets to go and work at the harbor for a extra few days, and now I'm stuck here with the filthy trucks!"

"Racis-AAAAAAH!" One truck went flying.

"TAKE THAT!"

"Oooooh!" groaned the trucks "Just you wait! We'll show you."

Gordon, who was supposed to be helping James but had backed off because of a bad back (James suspected that Gordon had gotten out of this so he wouldn't have to do hard work) laughed loudly. "Hey, I'll let you in on a little secret."

"Is it about your shrine to Daisy? Because trust me, I know."

"NO!" Gordon coughed. "No, if you pretend to ill everywhere...well, put it like this. You couldn't shunt trucks here or go to the quarry there!"

"Hang on!? Percy!"

Percy rushed off, feeling embarrassed that James had spotted him despite all of his cunning disguises. This false mustache hadn't worked at all!

James grinned. "What a good idea!" He gasped in delight. "Oh look! Thomas! Let's try now!" Both engines assumed the faces of mourners at the funeral of a close friend as Thomas backed down.

Thomas had overheard the tail end of the conversation, but he had the feeling that his driver hadn't. So that meant he had to play the good Samaritan "Cheer up, assholes. It's a beautiful day!"

"Yes." said Gordon gravely. "But not for James."

"Why?" Thomas asked, knowing the answer but wanting to hear what Gordon was going to make up.

"He's sick." Gordon nodded.

"Yes he i-I mean I am! I-I don't feel well at all! I've got...backward...signalitis!"

Thomas stared at the stuttering James. Then he sighed. "Don't worry. I'll help out if you're ill." He wished his driver wouldn't force him to say such over the top things. It made him look like a happy go lucky idiot.

James smiled feebly. Personally it was a performance that would have made Kenneth Branagh weep, but Thomas's driver wanted to get things over with, so he ignored this and went to get James's trucks.

The second Thomas was gone, both Gordon and James sniggered to each other.

Some of James's trucks were located not too far from the edge of the yard, and they were coupled up behind Thomas. The blue engine hurried along to the quarry to get the rest. He was on the verge of fuming, but was determined that this would not spoil his day in the slightest.

The trucks though were still angry. The world view of the average truck is bad enough without engines like James beating them up, so you can imagine the vile things that went through their minds. "We couldn't pay James back for bumping us! So we'll pay tricks on Thomas instead! One engine is as good as another!"

"See, this is why no one likes you." sarcastically commented a brake-van.

...

Thomas, mind you, was deaf to everything that wasn't fitting his whole sunshine, rainbows and kittens riding on magical unicorns frame of mind at the moment. He collected all the stone from the quarry, ignoring Toby trying in vain to teach the new diesel how to work it so that the entire place didn't explode, and set off for the next station.

Thomas crossed over the quarry bridge, feeling the wood strain. "Why don't they just get rid of this bridge and get another?" he wondered in a mutter. This gave the trucks a idea, but that must wait for another time.

Danger lay ahead. One could say that about nearly every part of the Island, but in this case, one of the sidings led to a ferry that would take trucks across. No engine should ever cross it, they were warned.

"Now for our plan!" giggled the trucks.

"Plan?" Thomas had just about enough time to mouth the words "Oh Sh-" before the trucks barged into him.

"Go faster! Go faster!"

"Slow up! Slow up!" exclaimed Thomas. Actually, exclaim isn't the right word. Screamed would be more appropriate.

His driver applied the brakes, and it was on;y thanks to this that Thomas didn't immediately end up face down in a muddy river. He had had enough of that last week. But how was he to know that the alcohol at Crovan's Gate was so strong?

It didn't stop Thomas from smashing through the first set of buffers. The coupling jolted, freeing the trucks from their tyrannical chains and Thomas was sent careening on the ferry across to the other side.

He winced in advance as he hit the bank with force. His buffers shuddered and bent somewhat, and when Thomas opened his eyes, he saw a angry toad eyeing him up in a suspicious manner. Thomas was dazed and surprised enough to think that this was a normal occurrence.

"Bust my buffers." muttered Thomas as the ferry began to sink. "The day started so well too."

"There was your mistake." remarked the fireman, who tried in vain to leap across before he sank into the mud.

If James Cameron had been there, he probably would have played Nearer My God to Thee. But he wasn't. So instead Thomas just sank undignified.

...

Eventually, after some time, Duck arrived to take away the trucks, lecturing them all the while about just what a lot of silly asses they had been.

Not long after, Edward arrived pulling the Breakdown Train. "Need a hand, Thomas?"

"No. This is how I spend my afternoons now." Thomas sighed. "Thanks Edward."

"No prob old son."

On their way back to the junction, suddenly Thomas remembered something. "Uh, Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, this is a odd time to ask, but you know Bertie?"

"The bus?"

"His road has been waiting for some tar recently? Apparently it was to be delivered by rail."

Edward frowned as they pulled around the corner, sending Thomas hanging for dear life. "Now that's strange." He remarked. "A truck or two of tar's been left at my station! Must be for Bertie. Driver, could you make sure it gets to Bertie now?"

"I'm just a slave to you, aren't I?" Charlie Sand remarked.

"You're the driver. I'm the brains." Thomas shared a good laugh with Edward about this.

...

Later, when Thomas had been left somewhat undignified in the Yard, James spoke to him.

"I'm sorry about your accident!" He said wearily. "And so is Gordon."

"Am I?!"

"We didn't mean to get you into trouble."

"No." coughed Gordon, trying to look natural. "No indeed! A m-mere misunderstanding! Still, all's well that end's well, that's what I say!" He tried to smile, and then didn't because of the rather vengeful look on Thomas's face.

Just then, Bertie arrived. He looked far more cheerful. "My road's being mended now!"

"Oh." said Thomas in a rather hurt voice. "I'm glad."

"Thanks for all you did." Bertie had the decency to look greatly embarrassed. "Now I know that I can trust a engine! Especially if his name is Thomas."

Thomas sighed. "Thanks Bertie. At least SOMEONE CAN TREAT ME RIGHT."

James and Gordon had hurried off to the sheds. Bertie left not long afterwards, leaving Thomas to his own thoughts. He still had company.

"Well." he remarked aloud. "What a day for surprises!"

The toad, looking forward to a ride home, agreed.

Then Thomas noticed he had a toad on his buffers. "AAH! AH! AH! AH! HELP! HELP! SLIMY THING! KILL IT! WITH FIRE!"

Thomas is now terrified of toads.

...

"Sir...we regret to inform you-"

The Fat Director held up his hand, and the soldier fell silent. The Director raised a cigarette to his mouth and took a long, deep puff. After he sighed, he looked at the Captain. "Continue."

"Uh, well...most of the scrap has made it either to the Island or to areas of protection. We can't track one Great Western engine and his brake-van, but at this rate-"

"So. Total loss." The Director sighed. "Captain, do you know who those two...engines were that interfered with the recruitment process?"

"Not exactly. I bet Marklin would know."

"Soldier, you're dismissed." The soldier rushed out, happy he hadn't been cut to pieces. Director and Captain looked at each other for a moment. Well that was a lie. The Captain looked at the Director. The Director looked through the Captain.

"Ach, you're wasting ye're bloody time with this lot!" The Captain was full of contempt. "The worst navy cadets would be better at a fight than these Raggy Dolls!"

"They are unrefined yes. But there is something to be said for pure, unbridled idiocy. Put a smart man in a delicate situation and he'll try and reason his way out. Put a dumb man in and he'll raze everything to the ground in the time it takes for you or I to sneeze." The Director looked out over the Other Railway. "A pity about the scrap engines. They would have made our latest initiation so much easier."

From the conversion came the sounds of screams of utter agony.

"Turn up the music."

The Captain growled, placing a record on a old fashioned record player. The sounds of 'The Lark Ascending' drowned out the screams of the steam engines undergoing the worst operation of their lives.

"Ach, ye really think that bloody yank Boomer'll fill up his end of the bargain?"

"I have faith that he won't dare disappoint me."

"Do you now?"

"Faith you should share. I'm the one who rescued you. Everything's coming together."

...

What's he talking about? What does this mean?

TUNE INTO TUGS ABRIDGED TO FIND OUT.


	66. Episode 14: Mavis

Tugs Abridged has begun! I shall alternate between the two stories for the most part, but I feel the need to get back to the Island of Sodor for now. Also, we're going to be trying something new. Instead of narrator notes or the Fat Controller's letter, I'll be feeding more into the overarching story a bit. at the end.

Cue the theme!

...

Mavis is a diesel engine. She is one of the few female engines that worked on the Island in what could be considered a full time capacity, unlike most of hte tohers who only worked part time because they thought that working with James was not worth the price.

Her main job appears to be shunting trucks in their sidings, and fending off ambitious flirts in James and Douglas. She has six small wheels hidden by sideplates, similar to Toby. Some of the more sarcastic engines suggested that the reason that they were flirting with her was because they had crushes on Toby.

Mavis is young and full of her own ideas. Toby had originally made a joking comment about not wanting women with ideas there, in mirth, because he was actually looking forward to escaping the work at the Quarry and getting back to other things. Mavis and he had never gotten on after that, despite how often he apologized.

Because of this, or because of her fascination with shunting trucks around, she liked putting Toby's trucks in a different position everyday. This had the unfortunate effect of making Toby somewhat annoyed.

It made him cross, and he would tell her so. "Trucks!" he grumbled. "They should be where you want them, when you want them. I'm not trying to tell you your place, but it would be helpful if you could maybe leave them in a certain place so I don't have to go around searching the quarry top to bottom?"

"Fiddlesticks!" said Mavis firmly, and bustled away. Toby swore under his breath. She had a unfortunate habit of flouncing away quite at random.

At last, even Toby's patience ran out. "I can't waste time playing hunt the trucks with you!"

"Why not? You put up with it from that blue showoff!"

"Thomas is different. I know what to expect from him!" Toby sighed. He hated how he was talking. He felt like he looked like the bad guy in this situation. "Look, you take them yourself today. Maybe that way both of us can be happy."

And with a ring of his bell, he headed off to the Sidings for a cold pint and a complaint to Percy. Mavis was pleased. In her last job, taking trucks had helped contribute to making her feel useful. Hence the sabotage.

Anything to not be sent back...there.

...

At the quarry station, she was greeted by Diesel. He oiled up to her and gave her a look over. Diesel was still trapped on the Island until the release papers for the Other Railway came through. He had spent this time avoiding everyone who wasn't a diesel, and mocking those that weren't.

Mavis had complained often to Diesel, sensing a kindred spirit. "Toby is a old fusspot! And he has a bad attitude!"

She did not see the irony. Diesel saw the chance to pour oil on flaming waters. "Oh really?"

"Toby says only steam engines can manage trucks!" This was a blatant lie fed to Mavis by the trucks themselves, but she was young. She had yet to learn better.

"How absurd. Depend upon it Mavis, anything that those steam engines can do, we diesels can do better." Diesel knew nothing about trucks except how to get them to sing mocking songs about this, but Mavis realized none of this.

...

Toby's line through the quarry crosses with a main road behind the station. For a short time too, it also runs side by side with a farm lane. Bertie the Bus often used it in his travels, while Terrance used it nearly every day to get to and fro his jobs. The entire section of line here is protected by a brick wall, save for the level crossing. The muddy lane often gains frost during the winter, and stays this way until at least February. It was January now, and the frost was at it's worst. Toby takes the chance before crossing the lane to stop, while his fireman pops over, grabs a cup of cocoa and warns traffic to halt. Then he sets off again.

He was a expert at using the trucks as a boost to get him across the frost and the small hill he had to climb. It was a technique he shared with few others, mainly because they'd probably get it wrong and require him to have to bail them out.

In this kind of weather, it is considered by himself to be the only safe thing to do.

So he decided to break his rule and tell Mavis about it. He was aware that trying to tell her what do to was a bit like waving a red cloth in front of a bull, but he had to try.

"I can manage, thank you." Mavis said coldly. "I'm not a old fuss pot, like you."

"Kids." Toby growled as she set off. "What are they coming to?"

The trucks were tired of being pushed around by Mavis, and even more tired of having her voice grate on their nerves.

"It's slippery!"

"Let's push her around instead!"

"ON! ON! ON!"

Mavis was not aware of the truck etiquette, so this did not make her panic.

This was something she needed to learn.

She brought them down the lane instead at stopping at the top just in case, stopping at the level crossing. As Terrance and Bertie pulled up, they spotted the driver and came to a stop. Terrance, of course, was smiling away. All traffic halted.

"One in the headlamp for fusspot Toby!" chortled Mavis, bragging to herself. As previous mentioned, however, she had stopped in the wrong place. Because the idiot gene is a equal opportunities striker. She had given the trucks the chance that they had wanted. Well, they wanted a lot of chances, but this was currently in the top ten.

"Hold back! Hold back!" They cried, and they slammed their brakes on.

"Grrrr...UP!"

This incredibly eloquent argument failed to move the trucks, who merely grinned and held Mavis in place.

...

Workmen arrived quickly, and began throwing sand on the rails. Whether or not this was to melt the frost or have a beach party was never ascertained, but Mavis's wheels slipped on the ice and she remained trapped. Everyone was impatient.

Mavis took it well.

"GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH I'M GOING TO MURDER SOMEONE!"

...

News reached Toby back at the quarry, and he practically crowed about it for the next minute or so. "I warned her!"

"She's young yet." soothed his driver. "Come on, and-"

"She can manage her trucks herself! I'm a old fusspot according to her! Well, let's see how SHE LIKES IT!"

"They're your trucks really. Mavis is supposed to stay at the quarry, she's not cleared to go outside here yet. If the Fat Controller found out..."

"Hmm...yes." admitted Toby. He bit back his pride and decided to go and help Mavis despite himself.

He arrived in the midst of a emotional argument, where Sam the Farmer had just finished telling Mavis where she could shove her trucks. Toby rounded the bend, chortling. "So, you having trouble, Mavis? Thought you could handle this."

"GRRROSH!" said Mavis, who had lost the ability to use coherent sentences a long time ago. Toby smiled and was coupled up to Mavis. With much puffing and spinning of wheels, Toby pushed Mavis and the trucks back. The hard work made his fire burn fiercely, while his fireman dropped cinders to unfreeze the mud. At last, he made it to the top, and whooped with joy.

"Bye Mavis!" He said cheerfully. "You'll manage now, I expect!"

She said nothing until he was out of sight. She left the trucks in the shed and scuttled home to the quarry as quickly as she could.

She wanted to have a word with Diesel the next time she saw him.

...

1963

"The experiments were a success?"

The Fat Director removed his goggles and took a look. "The entire Trumptonshire county's been affected. I doubt so much as a bird noticed the gas." He turned to the doctor. "Doctor Mopp, I must admit, your willingness to test this gives me faith."

"Ah, thank you." Mopp was a tall, stately gentleman, who looked somewhta like Rasputin if he had combed his hair and beard a bit more. "I must admit, when your company approached me, I wasn't sure but now-"

"Clean bill of health for everyone there! Camberwick Green, Chigley, Trumpton. All will be healthy thanks to you, Doctor."

Mopp smiled. "If you say so. Now, I must join my friends!" He hurried out, the Captain walking in as he did so.

"What's got a bee in his bonnet?"

"The results."

"Ah." The Captain frowned. "I must say, even by our standards this is a little...barbaric. I'm a soldier, but this...even the wars never produced anything quite so deadly. An entire county? And for what?"

"Simple." The Fat Director pulled out a map. "Firstly, it shows that the gas works. If nothing else, it'll prevent any attackers from getting to the Other Railway. And secondly, it gave us a chance to search the entire county. Wherever that package went, we can trace it from the office records. My suspicion is that it was shipped somewhere to The Merioneth and Llantisilly Railway Traction Company Limited in Wales-"

"Mouthful."

"-but I doubt we'll find it there. I have a suspicion that it is somewhere near the Silver Hatch area at present. There's some tycoon there planning to build a racing stadium there, so we must hurry."

"What about yon friend?"

"Who, Doctor Mopp?" The Fat Director rolled up the map. "He won't remember us. He's infected as well. I give this entire area a minimum of three years. Maximum five. Then everyone here will be forgotten, cast aside by the government. But not by the public. Better to make examples out of them." He pointed. "My car awaits. We must hurry!"

"Aye. That clown of yours?"

"He shall watch over it. I've already given him the music box."

Of the Trumptonshire county, the Fat Director was right. The government quickly covered up the existence of one, already quite isolated area. The inhabitants, what was left of them, were quietly bundled into white vans and taken to top secret laboratories to be studied. Whatever the gas was, it had done it's job. All pores had sealed up, aside from hair color or certain characteristics, no way to tell age or gender. Their mouths had seemingly vanished, and their eyes were now glassy, unblinking. The one known simply as Doctor Mopp informed the government about the mysterious man from the massive corporation, but for whatever reason, he could not remember the name of either.

The Fat Director was also correct in assuming that the public would be informed. Cameras had been left all over the three main locations, recording the slow descent. Someone released them to the BBC, where a narrator was dispatched to record new narration to the three new shows, Trumpton, Chigley and Camberwick Green. The government went into panic, for there was no way to find out who had leaked the tapes, but there was little they could do, save make sure that the inhabitants were cared for. For they did not die. The one side effect of the gas meant that these poor souls were trapped in agony for the next twenty or so years.

There was one other thing to note.

The BBC had received a great amount of footage.

No one was sure where the music box had come from.

Nor the clown guarding it.


	67. Episode 15: Toby's Tightrope

Cue the theme!

...

Percy smiled. It was a nice day for just being Percy. No nasty jobs for him today, aside from briefly taking a couple of trucks to the harbor, and then he could go and have some fun. Maybe catch a game, see a movie. The VHS business was kicking off like crazy, and he wanted to be first in line to get one of the...er, saucier movies.

He snapped back to the present, as he headed deeper into the quarry.

All he needed was a bit of stone for his trucks.

He felt like he was going into Nam in Apocolypse Now. Trucks were stacked and lined in different places than they should be, finding lines blocked at random and forcing him to go around another way.

Not helping the fact was that snow and frost lay everywhere, and there was nary a sound to be heard. He shivered. Percy was a very cold engine, and hated this time of year. January. The last month hangover, is what Edward called it.

He ventured further, and found, at last, a line of trucks. He could hear a bit of sniffing coming from the other side. He saw Mavis, the new diesel engine, sheltering in the shadow of some rocks.

"Mavis?" He said with concern. "Was that-?"

"Just ignore me Percy." Mavis groaned and tried in vain to pull herself together. "I-I'm fine."

"No you're not." Percy was sympathetic. He had gone off and had a couple of emotional moments to himself when he had first arrived. He never showed it, of course, but living in a workhouse for the first few decades when no one knew what you were could take a toll. "Cheer up, may never happen."

Mavis was still remembering the trouble she'd had with the trucks and the crossing. "Manager says I don't listen to advice. He says I've no business jauntering down Toby's line."

"Manager's a bit of a stick in the mud." Percy said somewhat reassuringly. "I'm not sure he even really has ever met a...diesel."

"You were going to say woman."

"I was, but I wasn't sure what sounded worse."

Mavis smiled. "Well...I still think Toby's a bit of a fusspot."

"Sorry, gonna have to say this, Toby's forgotten more about trucks and safety than you or I shall ever know." Percy was firm, but not hostile. He got the feeling that Mavis had been getting a lot of stick, whether rightly or wrongly he didn't know, and he didn't want to add to it. "It would help, I admit, if you could place the trucks where he wants them. It does help. Then you'll get Fat Man's seal of approval, Really Useful Engine. Now, if you excuse me, the harbor is calling and I need to take these stones."

Mavis nodded half-heartedly. She liked Percy, but listening to his advice was something that she hadn't got the hang of yet. "Why shouldn't I go on Toby's line? Free country."

Percy sighed. He had the feeling he'd have to listen to Toby venting a great deal more when he reached the harbor.

...

The siding arrangement for the quarry were...awkward. Rumors were that the chief architect had gotten incredibly drunk the night before, scribbled down some random lines, stumbled out of his house and got hit by a truck. It showed. They twisted and turned, and to put the trucks where Toby wanted them, Mavis had to make several journeys and rearrange at least one other line of trucks every time she did so. It was annoying, to say the least.

It was long work, too. Mavis got bored rapidly. She began making plans and ideas.

One plan in particular struck her as both being helpful to her personally and not having a way to backfire and cause trouble. One day, as she waited in her freezing cold shed, she discussed the matter with her driver. "Now, we use the teeniest tiniest bit of Toby's line, we would save all this bother of having to go to the sidings every single time!"

The driver agreed. He was a idiot who tended to think more with his mustache than with his head. He allowed them to go as far as the first level crossing, to where certain sidings would be concealed in the white snow, in particular a much larger siding just a short while from the crossing.

Mavis waited and watched.

...

A few days later, and Sodor's notoriously freaky weather struck again. This time, a heatwave rushed through the Island, melting the snow and frost, and giving Henry and Edward heatstroke for three days.

The snow melting meant that the quarry grew busier, and engines such as Percy and BoCo were allowed in to start working. Therefore, Mavis was forced (Happily, mind you) to take some of the longer trains to beyond the level crossing. Which was not the name of the new Srar Trek film by the way.

Now for her plan. In actuality, a lot of this had been blind hope and praying to god that this would work. Mavis wanted to go further down the line without it seeming like it was her fault. She met up with some truck leaders, and casually started up a conversation.

"Can you keep a secret?"

The trucks looked at each other in bafflement. Was this gal for real? They couldn't not take the chance. "Yes! YES!" They cried.

"Will you bump me at the level crossing, and tell no one?!"

The trucks frowned. This sounded familiar.

Very familiar.

Ah well. Like any good tribute band, doing the same things over and over again was bound to pay off eventually. They promised quite quickly. Mavis had to go away to get some work done back in the main part of the quarry. While she was away, Toby was sent by the manager to take the next train of trucks to Tidmouth Hault, over the very unreliable bridge.

The trucks decided once again, that one engine was as good as another.

He reached the level crossing with good time. He glanced from left to right, and he put his brakes on. "All traffic should be halted." he remarked to his driver.

"Let's not have another Mavis-incident."

"Come on, we're probably being too hard on her. She's young."

"When did you start quoting stuff back to me, Toby?"

"Since I've had a couple of days off without he- Hang on, are our brakes on?"

"Yes!"

"Then why are we MOVING?!"

The braking had been the signal for the trucks. "ON! ON! ON!" They yelled, and they banged against Toby's buffers. Toby had no chance to react before he was away, the trucks screaming and yelling behind him. The water on the rails made it hard to get a proper grip, and as the fireman rushed for the sandbox, he was knocked unconscious by the roof.

The melted snow was causing even more trouble. It had ran down the valley and into a once relatively peaceful stream into a torrent of rushing water. The bridge overseeing it was creaky enough, and now it was on the verge of collapse.

"DAMN OUR HEALTH INSPECTORS!" wailed one workman as he watched. "Fingers crossed some other railway doesn't pick up the 'Shake Shake Bridge' method! We'd be screwed otherwise!" He rushed to get a drink, another drink and help. In that order.

The wood was rotten, and slowly it began to fall to pieces.

The process was sped up when a huge log rolled down the waterfall, raced towards the bridge and took out one of the support beams, smashing the bridge to bare bones. And in this climate, bare bones wasn't good enough. The rails were now stretched out across like a tightrope across the thundering river. Toby rang his bell weakly as they rounded the corner.

"STOP YOU FOOLS! STOP!" Toby was now in full panic mode. He knew what would happen, worse than any of the other engines, if he fell into that river. Images of his dashed body flashed through his mind, and he bit back at the terror rising. But the trucks paid no heed, and forced him on. As his driver fought for control, they came nearer...

...and nearer...

and nearer...

...until at last, they were resting over what looked like a abyss to Toby. The driver had braked his hardest, and Toby had stopped, staying absolutely still but with his wheels treading the tightrope.

He said nothing. He felt pale. He wished he had said something more heroic to Henrietta than "Please remember the milk, m'dear.". Something more meaningful as well.

A piece of the bridge fell off. This did not improve Toby's mood.

Mavis followed the trail of destruction under orders from the Manager. The second she saw the trucks, she felt horrified. She felt sick. She rushed to the rescue, all the while babbling apologies out at Toby. The tram was currently trying to enter a state of zen, so mostly answered with short, terse answers that were none the less somewhat positive.

Workmen anchored Toby with chains attached to a firm tree stump, while Mavis made sure to remove the trucks. They were somewhat more sober than usual, because these trucks were somewhat new to the idea of actually killing a engine. When she returned, she began to help Toby to safety.

Toby screamed a lot as Mavis pulled him back. Mostly out of terror. Also at one point because he felt as though he was going to murder the next engine he saw. He was hoping it would be James.

Once they reached the points, Mavis began apologized repeatedly once more. "I'm so so so so so sorry! I can't think how you managed to stop them in time!?"

"Uh, uh it was...it was a trick." Toby felt himself grow stronger. "You know, driver talks about people who walk tight-ropes at the circus. Didn't fancy doing it myself."

There was a awkward silence.

"We're...going to need to talk later." Toby remarked at last.

"Yes, yes, er, we do." Mavis looked terrified. And it was odd that Toby, despite everything he had just been through, couldn't summon up any real hatred or exasperation.

"Look, I'll...vouch for you. Even if you do have a lot of ideas about the way things work, that don't really work on paper...it's...it's not something to be discouraged. If we all stayed in our allotted places in life, we wouldn't get anywhere. And when you can work, you do a damn good job. We just need to work on a couple of basic pointers, and maybe come to a arrangement, okay? I'll...I'll be less of a fusspot, and I think we can arrange for you to get out of the yard every so often, and maybe we can try and work on your truck shunting skills as well as your attitude."

"Okay. Toby?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you're a fusspot."

Toby felt touched. "Er...thank you, Mavis."

...

Later, the Fat Controller arrived.

"A very smart piece of work!" He said, admiring a painting of himself. Then he turned to Mavis. "Oh, and you're all right. Mavis, you did well too, so I hear. Maybe? I've been out of commission the last few days."

"It-It was my fault about the trucks, sir. But- But if I could-"

"Could what?"

"Come down the line sometimes sir, just to learn a bit. Toby says he'll show me what to do."

"Certainly!" The Fat Controller said. "If your manager agrees." He frowned. "Who is the manager?"

"Jim."

"Jim!? I thought I fired him years ago! Isn't he the one who doesn't like women in the workplace?"

"That's the one."

"Right. Well, new world. Let me give him a little refresher course."

...

An agreement was reached with the new manager. Now Mavis is as happy as can be. She still mistakes, because she is still young and has much to learn, but she is never afraid to ask Toby for advice and help. The Fat Controller thinks she is really useful indeed.

There is but one other thing to note, briefly.

...

"Okay, what's the problem?" Toby looked around. Edward, Duck and Percy were there. "Hello gentlemen, is there a problem?"

"We're just making sure we've got another one for the road." Edward's mug was tapped as if to prove it.

Mavis swallowed. "I, er, was talking to Percy a few nights ago and he said something about the Other Railway-" Edward and Duck suddenly became very interested. "-and, well, he mentioned that you'd been there?"

Toby looked at Edward. Edward nodded and the tram turned back to Mavis. "Yes. Me and Edward went there at the end of last year to see if we could track down...someone we knew. We barely got out of there."

"How bad has it gotten?"

"You've been there?" Duck was surprised.

"Where do you think I was before I came here?" Mavis shrugged. "It wasn't very pleasant, to say the least."

"What, for diesels?" Edward must have realized how he had sounded, for he quickly followed it up with "They seemed very anti-steam when we went over there, didn't they Toby?"

"Yes. The diesels seemed to be the majority by a large margin."

"If you're lucky, you're given the attention of the Fat Director." Mavis laughed at their expressions. "Yes, that's really what he insists on being called. We don't know his real name. But you're sort of forced into one corner of the railway, and unless you manage to get into the inner circle...you don't leave unless there's a meeting."

"Inner circle?"

"Oh yeah, there are these bunch of arses, pardon my French, that get allowed to roam the entire Railway under the Fat Director's role. Like they're his bodyguards or something. They find other diesels and runaways and bring them back to be...processed. It's kinda why I went a little nuts about wanting to get out of the quarry. I really don't want to be stuck here for the rest of my life. I thought I'd avoided that when I managed to slip out of that horrible place."

Toby groaned. "You know, we could have saved a lot of trouble if you had just come out and said it."

"Probably."

There was a pause.

"I'm not getting a apology out of you, am I?"

"No."

"I think she's had to apologize for enough." Percy remarked.

Toby sighed. "Fine. Come on then, let's get back to Trucks by Toby Part 12."

Edward smiled. "Well, you enjoy yourselves. I'm heading off to have a chat with Trevor."


	68. Episode 16: The Really Useful Party

I'd like to thank everyone for their kind reviews. I genuinely was worried whether or not the expanded universe would come across as well as it did in my head. I promise things won't get too much darker, but there is another section which will perhaps add to the myth arc a little more! I hope you enjoy.

Cue the theme!

...

Trevor the Traction Engine could be charitably called old fashioned. Uncharitably, he is often referred to as a corpse that refused to stay dead. He didn't care one single jot though, and was determined to live his life to the best of his abilities. Even if it did mean that the Vicar occasionally sent him out to the scrapyard to do some work. It was a bit morbid, in honesty, to be in the place where he himself may have once ended up.

Then again, the Vicar tended nowadays to approach the sherry cabinet a tad more than strictly necessary.

He also knows that he is really useful, and that if he is lucky, Trevor will get to see his friend Edward, the blue engine. As opposed to the other blue engines who he mostly tolerated. And in Gordon's case, ignored.

Early one particular morning, Trevor was chuffing around the vicarage orchard. He was just about finished breaking his record when he saw Edward approaching. Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver had to make a quick stop to steal- Er, borrow some of the Vicar's sherry. Trevor ambled over to see Edward. He had some important, relatively at least, news to tell him.

"Hey Trevor. I happened to notice the Vicar's been pacing a little more than usual. What's up?"

"The Vicar's realized that there are lots of children who do not get the chance to go on holiday by the sea." Trevor rolled his eyes. "I know, it seems odd that he's only worked this out now, but his sons are giving him no end of grief and he's currently on his seventh bottle of sherry of the day."

Edward sighed. "Humans, am I right?"

"Indeed. That's why he's come up with the genius idea to allow me to give rides to all the visitors to his fete. Money goes towards the trip, and he's been out all night putting up posters about it."

"Oh, so that explains those things in the windows of Wellsworth. Does he normally spell seaside with a 'c'?"

"He does now."

"Well I'd like to help too." Edward looked wistful. "Unfortunately, without my rails, I would be rubbish at a garden party. I never know which fork is correct to use."

"Preach."

Diesel rolled past, sneering at the two oldies. Edward gave him the engine equivalent of the bird as he moved on, pensive.

...

It was a beautiful day, and the sound of the tipsy crew made Edward almost crack a smile. But despite all of this, he still felt quite depressed. He was worried. He wasn't sure why, but the combination of Mavis's explanation of how the Other Railway worked and his perceived uselessness at a lot of things life was throwing his way was taking it's toll. More so than usual.

"Oh I wish-"

"Wish what?"

"A lot of things. I wish I could do something to help with that party, for example. Trevor's always helpful, and I'm just stuck here...as I've always been."

His driver laughed. "Oh you're helpful in your own way, Eduardo!" Edward decided not to remind Charlie that Eduardo was his masseuse. "That's on the railway, taking us around to get WICKED DRUNK!"

"Of course that's all I'm good for." muttered Edward.

...

The next day, however, it was Trevor who was down. And not just because he had been trapped back in the scrapyard again while his driver went to bail the Vicar out of the nearby pub. Edward put on a happy face as he rolled up, but immediately saw that there was a problem. "Why so glum?"

"Bad news. They're cutting my pay." Trevor paused. "Oh, and the Vicar's been so 'busy' he's forgotten to put up the posters in more than one place. Now no one will know about the party." Trevor sighed. "Kids are going to be so disappointed about it."

Edward frowned in sympathy. And then he had a idea. He then dismissed the idea of moving to Cuba and setting up a new life for himself and had a better one that was more linked to the situation at hand. "Don't worry, everything's going to be all- Is that Marklin's body over there?"

Trevor glanced back. There was, indeed, the remains of a old Marklin tank engine in the corner. "Interesting. Don't recall bringing that in. But this idea?"

"Oh, right." Edward then explained to the driver and Trevor his somewhat odd plan. "The vicar...or any sane, sober man can plaster his posters over my cab, boiler and even a few of my own special coaches, that way, wherever I go, they'll go. Free advertisement in a nutshell!" He paused. "I should really go into marketing if this documentary thing ever ends. I'm a genius."

Trevor laughed. His driver seemed interested. Though that may have been because he was slightly tipsy once again.

"Wellllll done Edward." he slurred. "I'm sure the Fat Hat will agree!"

...

"You want me to what? And clean your vomit off the floor!"

Charlie wiped his mouth sheepishly, once more sober. "It's...er...it's a favor for Teddy. Edward thinks that if we put all of these posters on him and around the station, it might get people thinking."

"Teddy...the vicar, right?"

"Indeed sir."

"He was the one who spends most of his time down the local pub?"

"Yeeees. But I have heard he has had a difficult couple of months, and he wishes to do something genuinely helpful for the children."

The Fat Controller sighed, and agreed. "But you warn Teddy that he needs to get his act together."

...

Edward steamed through the stations. Through Knapford and Dryaw, between Elsbridge and Tidmouth Hault. And every time he collected passengers, they were inevitably drawn to his posters. Either that, or it was Sidney's barbecue which he had come up with in a rare moment of clarity. "Look!" they said, in unison. "Drunky the Vicar is holding a party!"

"Do we have to go?"

"Well it's for a good cause."

"But if he starts playing the harmonica, I'm leaving."

They were all in agreement about that. Teddy's harmonica playing was like the opening chords of the Four Horsemen riding out.

...

Meanwhile, Trevor was resting in the orchard shed. One of the many changes in the Island between series's was the construction of a brand new road. Therefore, when Bertie the Bus arrived, Trevor was not confused as to why Bertie had somehow managed to grow tracks on his wheels. He opened his eye wearily. "Oh. Morning Bertie." He liked the bus, but he could be very...annoying.

"Hello Trevor! Why are you dozing there!?"

"Because-" Trevor said patiently. "-I have to get my strength up, and this is the only way I really can."

"You're dozing like a old stick in the mud."

"Well firstly, I'm not a old stick in the mud." Trevor said, with no real bite to it. "Secondly, I don't call you Stick in the Pothole, do I? Thirdly, I'm not dozing, I'm resting. Big difference there." He told Bertie about the vicar's plan.

Bertie was not phased. "I'll be there too! There'll probably be some rather smoking hot buses from the Crovan's Gate station!"

"I think you're missing the point-"

"I'm not sure that people will want to ride in a traction engine after a smart red bus like me has taken them there!"

"Oh go to hell, grasshopper." said Trevor wearily as Bertie rushed off.

...

The party day soon arrived, and as many of the Island's residents wearily made their way over, Charlie and Sidney made sure to remove any and all harmonicas from the line of sight of the vicar. It had rained heavily during the night, in yet another example of the freak storms that the Island experienced, and all of the melted ice and snow from January had cascaded down and made the orchard ground sodden.

But Trevor was not concerned. "Rain and mud won't spoil my day!"

"No indeed!" said Jem Cole. "We'll use the road, so we don't get trapped in the mud and bogged down. I bet you at least ten pounds that a car is going into the mud at some point, and we'll have to help them out."

"I won't take that bet, because it's a sucker's one."

Trevor soon arrived, and once coupled up to a massive trailer, was soon chuffering up and down the quiet (relatively, there were several drivers raving about the poor parking spaces) country lane, giving rides to many laughing children. He was aware that they were laughing mostly because they could pelt the Fat Controller, sitting in a dunk tank, with eggs, but he took it as a victory none the less.

He was just turning a corner when he heard Bertie. This was not unusual. Many people on the Island heard Bertie before they got a chance to see him. "Hello old timer! I'm taking everyone to the REAL party! Edward's idea wasn't too bad after all!" He rushed off before Trevor could say a thing.

Sighing, Trevor let off a somewhat cheerful whistle, and then went to turn around the roundabout to return back to the orchard. And then there was trouble. Get used to this saying, by the way.

"Help! I'm stuck! Oh what a world! WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!"

"Bertie?" Jem Cole remarked.

"Bertie." Trevor confirmed.

His wheels had slipped deep into the orchard mud, and was now spraying mud all over the road and anyone unfortunate enough to be close to it. Terrance the Tractor, having been over in the corner smiling away as per usual, dropped his mug of beer and made his way over.

"I plow the fields around here! You're trying to take over my job, aren't you?" He looked to Trevor. "We better get this idiot out!"

"Oi! Watch it!" Bertie was in no position to argue, however, and soon both tractor and traction engine were in place. Using strong ropes, it was quite easy for Terrance to pull Bertie clear of the mud. Trevor helped mostly by standing to the side and occasionally giving a tug with his winch. And every so often, Trevor had the naive hope that this would teach Bertie a thing or two.

He knew he was wrong, though.

Farmer Finney waded into the mud to try and make sure that the Vicar didn't try and use this as a excuse to get drunk. As Bertie came to a stop by Trevor, the Vicar was dragged by Charlie, Sidney and Finney towards the stage to give a sober announcement.

"Thank you, Trevor! You're not a stick-in-the-mud at all!" Bertie remarked.

Trevor smirked. "No. But you were, just for a little while."

"I'm, er, never going to live that down, am I?"

"Not a bit."

...

Later that night, as Edward was preparing to head back to the sheds, he saw the Vicar walk towards him. He spoke to Edward and his driver, Sidney having gone home to try and resalvage what was left of his life. "Thanks for that idea, my son. With your posters, hundreds of people came to the party!"

"So, it worked!" Edward remarked. "The kids get a trip to the seaside?" He was very pleased.

"Indeed!" The vicar's smile faded. "But, I do have one last thing to confess...the secret behind my recent slip into...well, the alcoholic beverages. They are not...just caused by my home life."

Charlie was curious, despite himself. "Oh?"

The Vicar pulled out a large document from his bag. "This was discovered a few months ago by a member of my parish in the attic of the old orchard shed. It was hidden there, supposedly by my predecessor's predecessor, the Reverend Nathaniel Timms. I believe he has a brother, Peter, in a area known as Greendale, near the town of Kendal. In it, he chronicles his findings of a collection of documents regarding certain...activities. In it, he describes a sort of...disaster, befalling every other vicar."

"But that's rumors, sir!" Edward interjected. "It simply can't happen!"

"Can't it?" The Vicar flipped through a list. "I am vicar of this parish. This curse was first enacted upon the twentieth vicar, Archibald Granger. And since then, the next vicar has always had a lucky escape, but HIS successor have died in agony. Accused of being a witch, called up to war, influenza leaving it's mark, a car accident...Timms was killed when he, a perfectly healthy man with no medical trouble whatsoever, suffered a heart attack while taking his congregation out on a trip to the cliffs. The book itself is somewhat sketchy, but it is made very clear that my number is marked!" Teddy was terrified, his face paler than it had ever been and his eyes darting from left to right as though he would be struck down by some random act of God.

"Ted?" Charlie looked concerned. "I'm going to get you home as soon as I park Edward up at Wellsworth."

...

As Trevor happily slept in the vicarage orchard, thinking of all the happy children at the seaside, the Vicar was escorted home by a concerned Charlie. His wife frowned as he explained what had happened, but agreed to call an expert on matters spiritual to check and see whether or not there was any truth to all of this.

As for Edward himself, he had been placed in the shed, with the book still with him. As a thought, he suggested that Duck, staying the night, could maybe have a look at this. He was soon asleep, having been tired after the long day.

But Duck didn't sleep. His crew stayed in the shed, copying out every line of the book, before heading off to post it, on a special envoy to a undisclosed location.

No one spoke of the incident the following day.

...

 _EXTRACT, FROM THE NOTES OF THE REVEREND TIMMS._

 _It appears that this 'curse' had it's origins in ancient times, in particular during a rather busy time period. The Middle Ages were well known for their superstition and belief in matters of black magic, but this story seems to be corroborated by recorded information of a most peculiar sort. In language we would more than likely see in more modern times, we have a first hand account of the curious incident by a jester, known only by his nom de plum as Alias. Interestingly enough, it tells of this Alias being amongst a group setting out to Sodor to stop a ancient threat. These included:_

 _-a court wizard by the name of Meredith who apparently served a figure known simply in the story as 'King Arthur', who was rumored to have set himself up as the true king in the wake of Harold Godwin's death, before his court fell to that of William the Conqueror. Though Meredith, it seems, did have a form of power, he was not a expert at it._  
 _-a group of vikings, simply named as the Nogs, led by their chief, Noggin the Nog. One of the last tribes remaining of the old Vikings, in fact rumor has it that they still live today as nomads, politely refusing to join in society._  
 _-a strange creature, described in Alias's notes as being a odd spirit from a place not on any maps, the Doily Woods. Described as having a rather large and prominent nose and a rather snooty expression, he was referred to as Willo the Wisp._  
 _-The Vicar of Sodor, a rather meek soul by the name of Paul Stone, who joined this quest for the fact that there was a great disturbance on the Island that he lived on, and he needed assistance._  
 _-Catweazle, a old sorcerer of William the Conqureror who claimed to have seen into the future. It was his suggestion, having seen it supposedly in his visits to the future (And adding credence to the theory of this being true, he predicted this was seen in 1969) to creature the machine that would destroy the threat._

 _This motley group met this disturbance, who took champions in the form of Nogbad the Bad, The Black Nadger and others far more foul than even that. The distubance, believed to be a incarnation of the Devil, was eventually defeated but-_

 _THESE NOTES ARE INDECIPHERABLE AT PRESENT._

 _-The cost was far too severe for the Vicar as well, for he was cursed to die a early death, and so every other vicar would also die horrible and painful deaths in the due course, no matter whether they were good or bad. The curse has supposedly come true, as nearly every second vicar following Stone has died a rather unusual death. But unusual still is the weapon that Catweazle invented, left and forgotten by the group as they made their escape, with the ringing of the devil's angry cries in their ears._

 _It's name was Lady._


	69. Episode 17: Buzz Buzz

"I just don't see it, m'self."

"You wouldn't." accused James angrily. "You wouldn't know genius if it rammed you straight in the buffers!"

Toby mildly smiled. "That's as maybe James. But I tell you this. You're about as likely to get a single in the Top Ten as the Krankies." He sighed. "Sorry, it's a bit harsh, but it's the truth. I mean your attempts to break into light entertainment have been-" He cast about for a word that wasn't nearly as insulting as his actual thought was.

"Distracting?" Henry remarked, coming to the rescue.

"Exactly! I mean, I'm not saying you shouldn't try, but could you maybe do it in a off season? Instead of dragging me and Percy into yet another hair-brained scheme?" Toby nodded towards the projector, which had refused point-blank to show James's rendition of 'Ashes to Ashes' once more than need be.

"HA!" scoffed James. "I will be famous some day! And you'll be sorry!" He puffed off self-importantly, leaving Toby and Henry to roll their eyes and get on with their work.

...

In the orchard, Trevor was enjoying himself. His work had mostly returned to pottering around, doing any odd jobs he fancied. The vicar had grown somewhat calmer, and so had not gotten drunk for quite a while. This was a relief not only to Trevor and Jem Cole, but to his parishioners too. No longer would Teddy randomly throw wine at the choir boys screaming "OUT OUT SATAN BEGONE!" like he had in his worst days.

Still though...Trevor had known Edward for a while now, and so both had discussed the strange tale of the curse that the Vicar had told. It troubled him.

As the birds sang, and the apples grew juicy and ripe, James bustled in. Trevor grinned. Despite himself, he had a great fondness for James. The two never really quarreled, a fact that put Trevor in a small minority of people, engines or other such creatures on the Island.

"Hello Trevor!" James called, stopping by the orchard for the school children inside to head on in and pick apples. "You look almost as bright and cheerful as my red paint! Anything more is impossible, but very nice indeed!"

"Oh I am!"

"You're impossible?"

"No, I mean, cheerful. It's a nice morning. Good to get rid of those winter blues, if you ask me."

"Or blues in general." James suggested. He frowned and listened. "Sorry, but what's that noise?"

"Oh that? That's the Vicar's latest passion" Trevor glanced aside to a few white things littering the orchard. "They're bees. All of them have been contained in those boxy things, I believe the Vicar refers to them as hives. He took it up about a week ago, and he's sad to give it up for the moment." Trevor shrugged. "But he says they make excellent honey. I have to take them to the station later. They're being given to some of his friends, mostly those who know how to use beehives."

"He doesn't, does he?" James snootily remarked, pretending that he was the, pardon the pun, bees knees. "Well i mean, it's obvious if you know how, isn't it?"

A loud honking of a horn made them turn to see BoCo pull up, with a long line of cattle vans trailing behind him. He smiled cheerfully at James, who nodded warily. It wasn't that he hated BoCo, it was just that...he was always aware that he had been one of the big defenders of Diesel when he had first arrived, and so had a slight paranoia that he was being played for a fool.

"I know I'm stating the obvious, but take care you two." He warned. "Don't make the bees angry. They may sting you. And then you'll end up looking like Gordon."

Trevor laughed, but James, mindful already that he had been lectured earlier today, frowned. He didn't like being told what to do. Especially by a diesel. He buzzed away, pun not intended again, without saying goodbye.

"Oh dear." BoCo sighed. "Well, this is off to a great start."

"Don't worry." comforted Trevor. "He just needs some time to cool off."

"Ah well. Ta Trevor." BoCo quickly hurried off to see Duck at the harbor. He had a feeling that he would be drinking a great deal.

...

"Make mine a scotch!" Duck instructed the bartender as he tried in vain to reign in the freak hurricanes that were Bill and Ben. The tank engine twins were busy arranging trucks this ways and that, and Duck was becoming increasingly aware that all his training, guile and intelligence was no match for the hellions.

So when they scampered away, he was relieved. Even more so to spot BoCo moving in.

"Morning Duck."

"Morning BoCo." Duck moaned in agony as he tried to sooth his injured pride with the scotch. "Those two are terrors!"

"I remember the very first time I came here! They made my bloody eyes pop out! Edward put a stop to it, but he's gotten so busy over the years." BoCo sighed. "Weirdly enough, I feel old."

"Well, it's just those two. So young still. And you're right. Edward is the only one who can even vaguely keep them in order. I sometimes call them the bees, just for the hell of it."

"It's a good name." agreed BoCo. "They're even worse terrors when they start buzzing around."

James arrived at that moment, having angrily decided that he was going to blow off steam by taking out his anger on some trucks. He immediately jumped in with one of his famous cutting remarks. Cutting as a spoon, anyway. "What's that, Duck? Afraid of bees? They're only insects after all, so don't you dare let that buzzbox diesel tell you what to do!"

"Racist." muttered Duck. He wondered if James was being clever by using the term buzzbox. He quickly dismissed the idea. "His name is BoCo, and he was trying to be funny. We-"

"I wouldn't care!" continued James, in the midst of yet another rambling monologue praising himself. "If hundreds of them wanted at me, I would merely blow smoke and frighten them away! They'd buzz off then! I'd become the bogey-engine of bees!"

"Buzz buzz." Duck remarked.

This angered James for some reason. He was very sensitive, as has been noted before.

...

The next morning, James arrived at Tidmouth to collect his coaches. Thomas whistled at him as he puffed away with a second set for Gordon. James smiled, and gave him a whistle. He could afford it this morning. He felt in fine spirits.

It was not to last.

The passengers were keen and excited to get on board and get out of Tidmouth, which still smelt a bit from all of the weed that was being smoked there. Several of the porters had taken some as well, which might explain why they thought pulling one of the bee hives onto a heavily crowded platform was a good idea. Even as the porter shouted "MIND YOUR BACKS!" the hive hit a person and toppled forward.

"Well that's unfortunate." remarked Mrs Kyndley before running faster than a lady her age should have.

And then there was trouble.

It was impressive how fast the station cleared like magic. One beehive had effectively rid the station of a hundred people.

James frowned. "Oi! Why aren't you coming to admire me splendidness!? I-" And then he saw the bees. "Ah. Oh. Oooh heck." He heard the familiar buzzing, as the bees began to swarm around. They were certainly animated, though they were too tired and cold to be cross. They headed over to James's fireman, hoping that he could mend their hive. The fireman hid under a blanket, while his driver began frantically saying every prayer he could think of. Neither of them understood.

So the bees turned to James.

His boiler was nice and warm, and the bees rushed upon him, soaking up the heat as the fireman tried in vain to calm them down. James was outraged! Black did not go with red one bit this time!

"Buzz off! Buzz off!" He said, unaware of how many bee puns he had already made,, and he hissed steam at them. "Ha! Take that you brutes! You messed with the wrong engine!"

One bee burnt his foot. "OOH! EEH! AH!" he screamed, in bee-tongue. He rose up into the air, determined to get some form of revenge, for what he saw as a purposeful attack.

James stared. "Where is he?! Where is-"

The bee hurtled down and...stung James on the nose.

...

Somewhere on Mars, the scream echoed across the red canyons, scaring any life that would have emerged back into it's crater.

...

James had had enough. So had his driver and fireman.

"MY NOBE!" wailed James through his now glowing nose. He set off so fast that he left the coaches sitting at the platform. Thomas, having just returned, was incredibly baffled.

...

They tried everything to get the bees to leave James. At first, they stuck him on a turntable and began turning it faster and faster to try and shake them off, to no avail.

"OH NO!" wailed James. "NOBT ABGAIN!"

Then they tried washing them off, which only made them cling to James harder, while James got a noseful of water for his troubles. Which made his speaking problem even worse. He was now also cold and cross. He now had one thing in common with the bees.

Then they tried smoking. But this made James cough.

So they put him in a tunnel and forced him to try and fry the bees once more in his own steam. It also didn't work and it left James with a hacking cough that persisted for the next three days.

It also made him nigh-unintelligible and caused him to refuse to speak for the next three days until the sting wore off.

"Well James." remarked his driver. "We'll just have to head back to the orchard and fetch another hive." He stood back quickly as James let out a roar that was inhuman, even if it was partly drowned out by the droning of hte bees.

The Vicar waited anxiously for James. Once he arrived, the Vicar grinned as the bees fled from his boiler towards a brand new warm, state of the art hive.

"Come on James, what you need is a good hose down!"

James muttered something obscene under his breath.

...

That evening, the Vicar arrived at the sheds to thank James. Duck was feeling chipper that day, and so had negotiated with the other engines to make sure that no one laughed at James.

To his face, anyway.

"Thank you for saving my bees, son." James glared as the Vicar carried on. "You know, it is a pity it's not Christmas. Then when we could call you James the Red Nosed Engine."

And that triggered it. Everyone who had been holding back couldn't help themselves. They laughed long and hard. Even James did, though that sounded more like a choking snarl to be honest.

Instead, they referred to him as the Bee Knees. Partially because the bee pun was too good to pass up, but also because he was supposedly more useful than ever.

Yeah. Wrap your head around that one.


	70. Episode 18: All At Sea

**_Hello, sir._**

 ** _Well...it's been a long time, hasn't it?_**

 ** _I apologize for the lateness of this letter, I have had quite a busy few months fixing everything up. It's a bit awkward, having been here so long and having not told them yet. It gives me little time to transcribe this letter to my driver, and even littler to actually get it posted. Especially considering how crap the postal service is on this Island. The Post Trains are over-worked and you can tell. It's not often that I catch Percy and Carlin arguing so fiercely with the Fat Controller. I recall very well Percy screaming that he was going to murder the Fat Bastard if he didn't get some rest soon._**

 ** _His words, not mine._**

 ** _But enough of that...you wanted me to write to you if I ever felt as thought I was suffering from a crisis of faith regarding the mission._**

 ** _I have._**

 ** _It all began...well, just a few weeks ago._**

...

Percy and Duck liked working at the harbor by the sea. Well I assume Duck does, I've never really gotten a chance to know him. Thanks Asquith! So what if I'm not Ringo bloody Starr?!

Ahem.

The harbor was often free of some of the bigger nuisanc- I mean engines, who would come in and boss them about if their trains were not ready. Here, for the most part, they were their own masters. Which often resulted in Percy rearranging the trucks in the wrong order and innumerable stops for tea breaks, but the system strangely worked.

It was now summer, and they often had to work extra hard, long into the night. This resulted in Duck getting somewhat crankier with the trucks whenever he saw them, and Percy occasionally muddling up his words. But most would argue that there is no better place to be in those nights, and Percy would certainly agree. If for no other reason than the fact that it was just him and Duck, chilling out and laughing at their own odd jokes. Thomas occasionally joined them, looking for the latest crossword clue, which Duck always somehow knew.

Thomas often stormed out of these meetings. He was a bit of a bad sport about being made to look a tool.

The big ships brought passengers, usually complaining about the standard of the foreign food and how quaint British life was. Duck and Percy looked at each other and vowed never to take them to the seedier part of Sodor, for fear of accidentally having a group of corpses on hand. That was how naive the tourists the Island attracted were.

The cargo machines carried machinery, and other such things. The Fat Controller was aware that the Cold War was now officially over, but had ordered in anti-aircraft turrets. Just in case. It was often the job of Percy and Duck to carry these things around. It left Percy a wreck on most nights, and even Duck needed a stiff drink from time to time. They puffed back and forth the quay as the important cargo was unloaded.

But it was the mornings they enjoyed the most.

...

They noticed, that day on which our story takes place, that the horizon was packed with sails flapping against the blue sky, and canal boats waiting to be fixed. There was the Saucy Nancy, so named after the woman of the night who entertained there, and the Old Ragdoll, a canal boat that was awaiting repairs and named for the two ragdolls that rested themselves. There was the fabled White Fleet, that had just towed in a sailing boat by the name of the Bumper. And then there was the Fanny Ann, which...well, work it out for yourself.

There was something to be said for the regatta. The Island, as has been mentioned before in our tale, tended to suffer from certain pollution in respect to it's water. The River Els is only the first that, if you pardon the pun, springs to mind. Yet here, there was clearness. Clear blue water as far as the eye could see. Which was rare even for a dock. It did things to Duck, who often came here when he wasn't searching for whatever it was he searched for, to soul search.

"I wish I could sail to far off lands." he remarked at last.

Percy glanced at him. He could never get a read on Duck. "Engines can't go sailing. We don't float. Which means we can't just send James sailing off into the distance, more's the pity." He laughed at his own joke, but Duck ignored him. He still had his dreams. And his nightmares.

And those...those were things he could never talk about.

Suddenly they were rudely interrupted. Harold looked down at them with amusement. "Wakey wakey, Ducky!" He landed on a helpful pad and grinned that annoyingly disarming grin. "Don'tcha have work to do, old boy?"

"I'm looking-" Duck said through clenched teeth "-at the boats." Even his fabled calm was somewhat tested by the helicopter on occasions.

"That's the regatta!" whirred Harold.

"I didn't know that." muttered Duck sarcastically. "I thought it was just a pretty bit of water."

"Lots of boats! Lots of races! Lots of fun! I hover round in case I'm needed!"

"No one ever needs you Harold." growled Duck, suddenly aware that he was beginning to grow weary after such a long night's work. Longingly, he looked to the horizon. What it must be like, he thought, to be able to just GO. Silence. No worries.

Harold was still talking, when Duck remarked. "Do you ever go to the horizon?" He asked somewhat quietly.

"Yes!" said Harold, glad to be able to talk about himself again. "And beyond!"

Percy, who was still somewhat baffled that there was a world beyond Britain, added. "Didn't even think there was a beyond?"

"You ever go to other places at sea?" continued Duck, eyes still not focused on the helicopter. In his mind's eye, he saw Beyond. He saw Baghdad, and Turkey, and Holland, and Germany, and India and all the wonderful places he had never- would never, he corrected himself sadly, see.

"Certainly!" Now Harold was itchy to go. "I can land on ships you know! Anywhere! Anytime! Now, tar-rah, chaps!" And he flew away, quick as a flash, leaving a very befuddled Percy and a very ponderous Duck.

The latter sighed.

A bird then decided to empty his lunch all over Percy's face. Which spoilt the mood a little, to say the least.

...

For the rest of the day, Duck went about in a almost dream like state. He talked about the regatta almost non-stop, but in a way, Percy could tell he clearly wasn't even aware he was doing it. His mind and tongue were separate entities now.

At last, he lost patience. "Well Duck! You know what, I'm glad we're here and not out there! Our rails can take us to all the places we need to be! I don't see-"

"I know." Duck stared out once more. "Thomas gets it though. He knows what it's like to want to see the world."

"Oh don't go Thomas on me Duck!"

Suddenly, the alarm sounded, jolting both engines back into the present. "Oh great!" moaned Percy "Another bloody beached whale! Greenpeace is going to kill us at this rate!"

"That's an emergency!" snapped Duck's driver.

"No, I thought it was a peacock." Duck muttered back.

"I'll check with the harbor master." He was gone for what seemed like a second when he bounded back with bad news. "There's some bloody fool of a man who's hurt his hand at the regatta! We've got to take him to hospital, Duck. Harold's bringing him now! Come on!"

"I'll see you later Percy!"

"Likewise! Don't get distracted by the pretty water!"

...

"Do you think he always has that brass band playing that song for him, or is just me?" Duck muttered out of the side of his mouth as Harold descended self-importantly onto the landing pad. Duck came to a quick stop.

"Good to see you again Duck!"

"Yeah yeah likewise, where's the injured guy?"

"Coming now. Silly fool decided to try and stop the motor with his hand." The man was helped to safety by the snickering pilots, and Harold grinned at Duck. "Need to stay here, don'tcha know. Case of other emergencies. Otherwise I'd take this silly gent to hospital myself! Ta ta!" And he took back off again, leaving Duck to roll his eyes and start off as soon as the man was in his cab.

Duck set off on his journey as soon as he could. Suddenly, he felt his wheels connect with the track in a way they hadn't in a long while. He grinned and sped up as he raced through the countryside, over the three tiered bridge, over one of the many bridges, past towns and villages to the place where his driver knew where there'd be someone waiting through ESP. Or something.

As he puffed through the tunnel, Duck wondered vaguely if James's nose had healed yet. It was very amusing to watch.

At last, he arrived at Lower Suddery level crossing, where Bertie rushed up. "Couldn't get a ambulance!" he panted "So they sent me. A bus. I know right? It's pretty damn stupid but what are you going to do?" The man thanked everyone as he climbed into Bertie. "You were wonderful!" laughed the bus. "No wonder they call you Great Western!"

As he drove off, Duck smiled. "Percy's right I suppose. Engines are happiest when their wheels are firmly on the rails."

He then paused. "Mind you, coming from this Island, staying on the rails isn't exactly easy."

...

That night, both engines stayed a little longer at the quay. The air was warm and the sea calm, as the boats softly bobbed up and down. Percy had just taken a sip of his brandy when they heard a familiar buzzing sound.

"Shooting star over there." remarked Duck. "Make a wish, I guess. But if we get a talking cricket, I shall complain."

"Don't be daft. It's not a star. It's Harold probably, he's hovering overhead. If he's coming to brag-" Percy began. But something fluttered down towards Duck. His driver caught it, after the fireman got clonked over the head with it.

"It's a flag from the regatta, Harold's giving it to you as a present."

"Kind of him." Duck said. "He may have whirly arms instead of wheels, but he knows just how a engine feels."

"Still a asshole though."

"Yeah. See you in the morning. I wanna stay here a little longer."

"Cool." Percy puffed off. Duck stood there for the longest time, simply looking at the flag that had been given to him. He was touched. He then looked at his driver, and recognizing that look, both he and his fireman fetched some paper.

And began to take a letter.

...

A FEW WEEKS LATER.

"Duck, you haven't been out here all night, have you?"

Duck glanced back. "What? Oh, sorry Percy. No, only looking." He gazed out at all the boats. At the gulls cawing and the soft sounds of a town waking up, and of boats softly making ripples in the water.

Percy smiled, and looked at Thomas, who nodded. Without a word, they settled in besides Duck, and watched out over the seas.

"Thanks." Duck said quietly, to his friends.

Yes. Friends.

Duck still wonders about the lands beyond the horizon, and of all the places he'll more than likely never get to see. But he enjoys being with his friends most of all.

And I think he knows that sometimes, the best travels are those we can only dream about.

Don't you?

No need to answer, it's a very beautiful moment. I'm just going to wipe away this dust that got in my eye. You know how it is.


	71. Episode 19: One Good Turn

**"You enjoying yourself, Mr Angelis?"**

"Very much!"

 **"I noticed you snuck a little insult into the previous episode."**

"Ah."

 **"Don't do it again."**

"Fair enough."

...

Bill and Ben (And here the sound of Edward and BoCo groaning could have reached China) are the most mischievous engines on the Fat Controller's railway. And considering that this is a Island that has Thomas the effing Tank Engine on it, that's saying quite a lot.

They had, for a brief time between series's, been given some consideration as to whether or not they should be let out of the China Clay Pits to start working with Percy as the pilots for Knapford. Edward, BoCo and Gordon, in a rare instance of all three getting along within seconds, had gone straight to the Fat Controller and implied that doing so would be worse for the Island's economy than the Great Depression and Hyperinflation combined, so they had mostly remained trapped in the quarry for now. Their main jobs were to take trucks back and forth the pits and the harbor yards. That was it. Anything else and they would be glared at. A lot.

The two still liked to have fun together, and often played tricks on the workmen. This ranged for the harmless (swapping nameplates and numbers) to the somewhat annoying (repeatedly insisting that they were setting up a union to rebel) to the disruptive (pulling trucks away before it could be filled up, causing a obstruction). The foreman of the quarry would often come running out, drunk as a skunk and bellow random words until the twins backed down. The teasing ways got them into trouble more times than they wanted to admit.

One morning, the Fat Controller came to see them. He was in a great mood, mostly because he had managed to appease Lady Hatt over the latest edition of the Daily Mail, which had repeatedly slagged her off as a gold digger, by promising that he would gladly make sure that any further references to her in such a manner was going to deal with Sodor's crack legal team.

He was aware that they did not, in fact, have a crack legal team, but it pleased her to know that the harsh and unfair words were being somewhat dealt with, so he was content to try and make sure that they got together a legal team at some point.

But back to the story.

"There's a important goods train that has arrived in the big yard up at Knapford. And I need you to help the other engines." He nodded to them, and quickly bailed, leaving the drunken quarry-master to set things up.

"Oh yes sir! Of course sir!" said the twins, good as gold and looked as though butter would have a hard time getting even slightly runny in their mouths. Of course, the second that Hatt had left, and they were immediately gleeful at the fact that the Fat Man had finally given in.

Said Fat Man slammed his foot down on the brakes on the country road later and swore as he realized that he had unleashed twin hurricanes upon the island. He immediately decided not to tell Edward, for fear that the blue engine may finally flip his lid and end up killing someone.

He hoped cynically that if this did happen, it was at the very least someone he could afford to lose. Like James. Or Gordon.

Or, in a ideal world, both.

...

The twins, meanwhile, set off as soon as they could on their important journey. As they crossed the three tiered bridge, they became aware of the fact that Edward's branchline had practically been evacuated.

"Scared of us, I reckon Bill!"

"Damn right, Ben! No idea why!"

"Yeah! We're as good as gold we are!"

"The narrator said so!"

BoCo was resting in the yard, drinking a milkshake. It was part of a new initiative put in place by the sponsers. Allcroft and Mitton, who hadn't spent much time on the island recently, had been forced to include more moralistic behavior. Not that it was, in any way, a bad milkshake, but BoCo missed his fizzy drinks.

And then he saw Bill and Ben and his face took on the color of said milk. He forced a grin back onto his face. "Well, you're a little out of your way, aren't you? Here comes trouble."

The twins rolled up beside him. They grinned at him, in that way that was designed to push all buttons of any sane and rational person who believed in the rapidly disappearing belief of politeness. "Fatty told us you were tired!" slyly remarked Bill, or what he thought was slyness, but in reality was just smugness. BoCo rolled his eyes. "He asked us to take all of your trucks just for you."

BoCo chuckled, though forcing himself to. He glanced over to Edward, who had heard everything and was shutting his eyes in a vain attempt to make the twins not exist any more. "You two never stop, do you?"

"Stop? I know not the meaning of the word!" Ben spoke in exaggerated ye olde English.

BoCo rolled his eyes. "I'm wise to your tricks. We do, reluctantly, need your help here. Get along."

"Ahem. Right." Both twins puffed away, full of self-importance.

Edward's eyes opened a fraction. "Are they gone?"

"Yes. For now. There's going to be trouble."

"I know." Edward said grimly, as he chewed upon a carrot. He would have preferred to have chewed on something a bit tastier, but fatty foods had been frowned upon because of the new health kick.

It was a hard life.

...

The twins were soon pushing and pulling the heavy and naughty trucks into place. Whether they be open topped, tankers, vans or even the Breakdown Crane, nothing was safe from their greedy little eyes. It did, however, give BoCo and Edward a chance to rest, even if they were constantly terrified that the yard was going to be on fire if they shut their eyes for a moment.

At last, the first day's work was done. The yards looked somewhat tidy, and therefore, Edward felt safe enough to take a train full of trucks towards Wellsworth, while BoCo headed off with a section of vans to drop off at Tidmouth Hault. It was not a long run by any means of the word, and Bill and Ben had surprisingly done okay in not screwing things up.

They felt somewhat confident that they could get back before anything went wrong.

Oh how wrong they were.

The twins had heard many things about the mythical turntable located in the yards. Mostly how it was crap and it really needed replacing. But they didn't care, for they were going to use a actual turntable for the first time ever! They were very easily impressed, despite appearances to the contrary.

Bill went first, as he sat on the turntable, he realized it was somewhat less exciting than he had been lead to believe. "This is fun." he said, drenched in sarcasm, towards Ben. But even though it was terrible, he was determined to milk his turn for all it was worth. Foreman Norris, who had many jobs considering the shortage of foremen at present on the Island, stopped the turntable.

"Oi! Get off! Big engine coming through!"

Bill grimaced, but got off. Foreman Norris was tired though, and he was getting very confused about why he had to be both a stationmaster and a foreman, so he stopped it in the wrong place. As Bill moved off, he barely noticed until too late that Ben was heading down the same track for his own turn. Both engines came to a grinding halt, but not before slamming into each other.

They eyed each other, grimly.

"I was here first!" whined Bill.

"BULL! You're in my way and therefore you must MOVE!" Ben snapped back.

"I WON'T!"

"YOU WILL!"

"I WON'T!"

"YOU WILL!"

"DE-JA-FRICKING-VU!" snarled Sir Topham Hatt as he stormed in."If you two don't behave, I shall not allow you here again!" He paused. "Why did I even allow- You know what, never mind. Get back to work, you bloody goblins!"

"I'm more of a elf."

"Shut it Ben."

...

Edward and BoCo sighed. "You know-" BoCo remarked as they drove along. "That wasn't a bad journey."

"No, all things considered, it was nice to get out of the yard and actually do something for a change."

"Exactly! It was nice to see a bit of green instead of grey."

"You're not wro-" Edward sniffed. "Can you smell burning?"

Both engines froze, and then looked up towards the large amount of smoke rising up from the yards.

"...We never saw this."

"I agree, we never did."

"What are we even talking about?"

"I don't know. Because it never happened."

"Right."

"Right. We're still getting our trucks."

"Right. So really we should head to the bar to make sure that we are filled up."

"Agreed, only thing to do really. Get a bit of milkshake down us."

...

The next day, the fire was put out, and the ten tankers of oil were removed to somewhere where they wouldn't smell so much. BoCo, having taken up chewing gum to make sure he didn't start smoking, looked around in horror at the damage. As Ben arrived, still fuming, BoCo made sure not to scream aloud how he was going to murder him at some point for causing the fire.

"That Bill! Imagine getting in my way on the turntable! And shunting those tankers right next to the hot coal trucks!"

"Didn't you put the hot coal trucks by the tankers-"

"AND FURTHERMORE!" thundered Ben. "He's a really silly engine!" He seemed proud of himself for coming up with that insult.

"Way I heard it." BoCo muttered, his teeth gnashing at the gum "You were both in the wrong."

"Pha! You heard it all wrong! Must have been from Bill."

And so it went on. The twins were even worse than usual, if possible. Pretty much any work was going to be impossible. They grumbled about it all day, and soon even Edward, having long since tuned himself to not care about the squabbles, lost his patience.

"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE BOCO!" He shouted one day. "I need a drink!"

"There's a smoothie-"

"DAMN THE SMOOTHIE, I'M HAVING A LAGER." And with that statement, Edward chugged back a good long gulpful of booze. "Ahhhh!" he said, woozily. "Tha's the stuff right there."

BoCo rolled his eyes, but smiled in good humor. "Better not see the cameras catch that."

"All this grumbling is spreading a bad- No, worse atmosphere in the yard. Worse than usual, and that is saying something right there."

"Quite right. I've got a plan."

"Oh thank god, someone has." Edward grinned despite himself. "In all honesty, I think Hatt's learned his lesson. We just need to get this week's goods out of the way, and then we can get the twin terrors back into the China Clay pits. So, lay it on me."

...

"So, you see sir, BoCo has a plan to get Bill and Ben to work together and get-"

"Go ahead."

"I-" BoCo's driver was wrong footed. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Do whatever it takes, just please get them to work together again! The union's already down my neck as it is! Just do it! I'm start making arrangements straight away!"

...

The next day, after a long and fruitless attempt by both Edward and BoCo to try and get Percy to come back from the harbor to give them a hand, the Fat Controller called Bill and Ben to the yard.

"BoCo's, er, taking a special train to the harbor. Now, his regular train's currently still sitting here, waiting on the siding, so you two should pull it together." Hatt prayed that the two engines would not glance to the side and see BoCo sneak back in quickly to watch from the sidelines.

"But-"

"But-"

"Ah, I see. Knew I could rely on you two." And Hatt stepped back and decided to watch the fireworks.

Oh what pretty fireworks they were.

"I'll take it!" huffed Ben. "I'm the stronger out of the two of us, and I don't smell!"

"Fair enough, knock yourself out." cackled Bill. As Ben was coupled up, Bill watched in amusement. Ben couldn't help but feel as though Bill was waiting for him to fail. He decided not to give him the satisfaction of doing so.

He started forward, straining with all his might. But BoCo's train was too heavy, and as he puffed, he became aware that the odds were becoming increasingly slim of him even reaching the water tower a few feet away from him.

"Go on." Bill said, innocently. "Do it then."

"Can't!" wheezed Ben, feeling as though his lungs had experienced twenty years of smoking all at once. He came to a stop, and both twins looked at each other. For whatever reason, both found it incredibly funny and burst out laughing.

"Finally!" shouted Edward as quietly as he could.

"Don't think we should take turns this time Ben." remarked Bill.

"I know! It's such a poor message for kids!" Ben agreed. "Let's pull together!"

Both engines were delighted as they puffed together across the bridge, pulling BoCo's heavy goods to the next station. It was good to be helping each other once again. Best of all, it was good to be friends again.

Also because they were going to destroy the hell out of the harbor.

...

Edward, BoCo and the Fat Controller breathed a massive sigh of relief as they left.

"Well...all's well that ends well, right?"

Hatt laughed. "Probably...Hang on, does anyone smell burning?"

The three paused, then looked towards the harbor, which was now smoking.

"GOD DAMN IT!" they screamed, as they hurried towards the twins.


	72. Episode 20: Tender Engines

I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers! You guys are awesome and I hope you're enjoying the story! Next episode is going to be a bit less comedic, mostly because I really want to adapt Escape well. It's one of my favorites, and I hope you all enjoy it! But firstly, let's take a gander at Tender Engines.

Cue the theme!

...

One morning, Gordon was in the yard taking on a large supply of coal. The smell of burning harbor had yet to die down fully, which meant that he had a clothes-peg clamped firmly down upon his nose. It made him look somewhat ridiculous.

Gordon was aware that he probably didn't need as much coal as he was taking, but he felt as though he deserved it. His raise had been cancelled after a brief incident between him and the Scottish twins (the less said about which the better) and taking this coal made him feel better. He was, in engine terms, comfort eating.

"That's the third load of coal you've had today Gordon!" James scolded. "You're getting fat! You greedy guts!"

"You're on your second load." Gordon grunted. "You don't get to talk about being greedy."

"I have to keep this figure up! My body is a temple!"

"Temple of doom, maybe. Besides, I'm a actually important engine who does important things. I don't keep looking in the mirror every time it feels like one of my amethysts is coming loose. But then, I suppose if you would understand the burdens that have been placed upon my...buffers."

"Well at least I'm not fat." muttered James as he huffed away, going about his work.

"At least I'm not pulling trucks today."

"GOD DAMN IT!"

Gordon chuckled, and reveled in the small victory.

...

He didn't have long to feel good about himself. Arriving briefly at another one of the yards, he was dismayed to discover that the water towers were out of order again. The excuse given was that someone had decided that the most recent water supply was a toilet and had...er...well, let's not go into details. Suffice to say no one was keen to use the water towers until a clean supply could be established, and thus Gordon took on water from a stand-pipe.

Edward whistled to him, and Gordon half-heartedly whistled back. His clothes peg had left him in some pain.

"I wouldn't drink too much of that water if I was you!" Duck suggested, innocently. "Might give you boiler ache. Or...well, more than usual."

"PAH!" Gordon snarled, aware that getting sassed by Duck this early in the morning was something that happened to very unlucky engines indeed. "Is this 'Educating Gordon' day!? First James, now you Duck! Big engines have big needs, and little engines are...well, they're just annoying! Bog off!"

"Don't say I didn't warn you!" mocked Duck, as he hurried away. He had drunk too much the night before (alcohol, that is) and was thus a little bit giggly. It wasn't very dignified but he wanted to live a little.

...

Educating Gordon Day continued throughout the rest of Gordon's journey. The Scottish Twins ranted to him about the previous night, Percy snuck in a few taunts as he shunted Gordon's coaches and even Thomas, who Gordon hadn't even insulted, off-handedly mentioned how Daisy had gotten herself a new boyfriend since they'd last seen her.

So Gordon steamed into the yard near the Big Station, determined to get a quiet moment to himself and enjoy some peace for a change. Percy whistled to him, and Gordon let loose a whistle blast that he hoped contained all of the pent up anger that he had experienced throughout the day.

And then he spotted something odd.

Two green tenders, with no engine in sight, poking out of one of the sheds. They almost looked like Flying Scotsman's tenders, but that couldn't be it. The Fat Controller would have told him, so they could hang out and do brotherly things.

Like listen to everyone extol his older brother's virtues, and see everyone demand Scotsman's autograph, and be left alone at the end of the night with the bill while the Flying Scotsman went off with his groupies.

Gordon was a little bitter towards his brother, in case you couldn't tell.

"That's what I need." Gordon remarked to no one in particular. "Now if I had two shiny tenders, I wouldn't need to stop so often, and I'd probably be beating off girls with a stick! No more listening to silly little engines if that was the case!"

"Those tenders belong to a visitor." remarked his driver. "Apparently we're not allowed to talk to him right now."

"Why? It looks just like Flying Scotsman!"

"He's ill." The driver remarked, feeding Gordon the excuse cooked up by the Fat Controller.

"Huh. His head's probably too swollen for him to do any proper work, thanks to all that praise he keeps getting." He glanced back and groaned. "Oh terrific. As if my day couldn't get any better!"

Diesel,, waiting for the boat to take him back to the Other Railway, sidled up alongside him. He smirked that oily smirk of his and glanced at the tenders with something akin to disgust. "Everyone knows that tenders are a mark of distinction, Gordon. And of the old ways that need to be torn down so that the progressive future may take hold."

"Have you been listening to more of those bloody Bolshevik engines again?" Gordon remarked. "I keep telling you, they don't really have the faintest idea of what they're talking about."

"I'm afraid that there are no amount of tenders that'll save you in the end. One tender, two tender, you'll be dragged away none the less."

"You know I'd trust you more on that score if you didn't say that every time you met a steam engine-"

"Remember the London and North Eastern Railway? All it's regions have effectively been modernized. The same goes for the London Underground, and for nearly every other line running up and down the length of the UK. Dare I mention how quickly the US has managed to overhaul their railways? Face it Gordon, this Island is living on borrowed time, and trust me, you'll be one of the first to go. Fastest and best, and pulls the express? Only one of those is true, and not for very long. We're taking over, and we don't need tenders to make us feel important."

As Diesel oiled away, Gordon couldn't help but feel depressed.

...

He felt the same the next morning, and therefore was a easy target by some of the other engines. They were really just trying to tease him back into cheering him up a bit, but it didn't help.

Though they probably would have done better if they hadn't brought Henry along. Henry, who had had to listen to Gordon's constant mood swings and angry rants for the past ten years or so. The fact that he constantly flipped back and forth between being a nature lover and a arrogant git was lost upon the big green engine.

"I'm not happy." Gordon grunted.

"You amaze me." muttered Thomas as he shunted some coaches together.

"I know, it's boiler ache!" Duck remarked brightly. Donald laughed as he puffed past, putting Gordon in a foul mood.

"It's NOT boiler ache, you silly little quacker! It's the realization of the awful truth about life and how one day all of us will end on the scrapheap!" Gordon wailed. He had not had his disposition brightened when he had looked in the paper and seen a article about a new type of engine, referred to only as a 'electric' engine. More competition was not what they needed right now.

"Of course it is!" Henry said, chirpily. "That water's terrible for you! Your boiler must be full of sludge! Have a good wash down, you'll feel a different engine!"

"And you'd know, wouldn't you?" Gordon muttered darkly. "I mean being so ill all the time. If we did have boiler sludge, we probably caught it off you."

"Oi! Cheeky."

"I've got work to do, I can't talk to little prats like yourselves!" Gordon glared at Henry. "And don't be so vulgar! I really don't need you, of all people, being on the moral high ground about my health!" And he backed down furiously into Tidmouth Station, leaving Henry to snicker away.

Duck was concerned though, despite his gentle teasing. He resolved to talk with Diesel later on.

Besides, he already had some idea of what he was going to do to break the ice.

...

"Hi Edward."

"Hey Gordon." Edward glanced to the big engine, and noticed the down expression of his face. "Why so glum?"

"Edward." Gordon sighed. "Do you think I'm...arrogant?"

Edward was immediately struck by the fact he appeared to be somewhat trapped with regards to giving a answer. Say yes, and Gordon's feelings would be hurt even more, especially given how much time it taken for them to build up a friendly relationship since the last series. Say no, and Gordon could probably tell whether or not he was lying.

He stuttered. "Er, well, I mean, why?"

"Because it's only just now occurred to me how out of date I am."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. Steam's not been the preferred choice by the world for ages now. I mean you get a couple of trains every so often in far off countries, but at the same time, our time truly has ended. The diesels are taking over."

"Not quite." Edward was disturbed by the fact that Gordon had suddenly turned into a actual thinker. Gordon had never thought on such complicated matters before. It looked like it hurt. "I mean, there are still societies set up to keep steam alive. And diesels aren't all they're cracked up to be. I heard that the electric train's making them obsolete in their own way."

"Still though..." Gordon stared off into the distance. "I feel old."

"Oh no doubt." Edward nodded. "Feeling my age now as well." The guard's whistle drew his attention. "Sorry Gordon, I have to go! We'll talk later!"

Gordon whistled halfheartedly as Edward hurried off. He hissed mournfully as he backed down onto the train. James rushed past him with another express train, and let out a mocking laugh.

This was not what Gordon needed. S

"Cheer up Gordon." said the Fat Controller, who feared that extended company with Gordon would convince him to slit his own wrists out of sheer depression.

"Sorry, but I can't. Is it true what Diesels says?"

"Which is?"

"That diesels are taking over?"

Hatt clicked his teeth. He had hoped to spare the engines the knowledge of what was happening outside the Island, but it was becoming increasingly hard to do so. He decided to go for a brief attempt at comfort. "Don't worry Gordon, that'll never happen here. For one thing, you have any idea how costly it is having to get all those newfangled whiz kids to fork over their little toys? And then when you get them, they don't even work properly. No, steam's always going to be the best option for me, you've got no reason to panic."

Gordon nodded, deciding to drop the subject. "Just one other thing sir. This visitor who totally isn't the Flying Scotsman-"

"Sorry Gordon, due to reasons beyond our control he's still hiding in that shed like the Phantom of the Opera, and won't see anyone."

"-but why does he get two tenders again?"

"Are you seriously telling me that you have tender envy?"

"Sir, I understand that you get a lot of comments about your own weight-"

"Okay, just to end this conversation, Scotsman has two tenders because on his line, there is a long distance between coal and water depots."

Gordon looked blank.

"He's unfit."

Gordon felt much better at the problems that his brother was facing, aware that he was being the pot in the pot-kettle conversation, but not caring, he puffed off with the express train.

Hatt, meanwhile, congratulated himself on being such a wise father figure, turned around and walked into a lamp-post.

"Who put that there?!"

...

"Yes, I've just seen him at yon branch-line. Probably be heading ta the docks later." Donald rolled his eyes. "Though as ta why ye wish ta talk to him is beyond even meself."

"Well, he came over here to insult my friends for one thing." Duck smirked as Donald burst out laughing. "Yes yes, I know. But despite his arrogance, I can't help but like Gordon in a odd way. I also don't appreciate his threats. But there was something else. I just want to make sure that Marklin isn't using Diesel as a sort of cover story. I mean, really, we've let him have the run of the whole Island. I can't help but panic over the idea that he may try and talk to other diesels in the same way he did to Mavis and induce a riot."

"Aye, tis a bad thing indeed." Donald glanced back, spotting a familiar shape coming. "Ach, here comes the big green goblin."

Duck suddenly grinned mischievously, in it's self a rare sight. "Want to see how far we can trick him?"

"Percy's rubbin off on ye...let's do it!"

Henry had been complaining all morning, after briefly spotting the Scotsman hiding in his shed. Suddenly, his own jealousy and tender envy was aroused, and thus, when he banged the trucks out of the way, he was in the midst of yet another tirade, probably caused by stress and the lack of proper water. It had this effect upon engines.

"I always work hard enough for two tender engines! I deserve another tender! I deserve much more than that, but a tender will do for a start! What's that?! Speak up, it's rude to whisper in front of me! It's the law!" Duck had just whispered something to Donald, and then immediately looked innocently over. "What were you saying? An insult? Were you trying to insult me?"

"Henry, would you like my tenders?"

Henry looked at Duck for a moment. The gears in his head were certainly turning, but they weren't making the connections with that statement. At last, he spoke. "Yours? What do you have to do with tenders?"

"All right!" Duck feigned hurt. "Deal's off! I shall take my wares elsewhere to someone who wants them!" He turned to Donald. "Donald, would you like them? I get the feeling they would suit you!"

"Oh, oh tha's verra kind of ye, but I wouldnae deny ye the pleasure or deprive ye of the honor!"

"It is a great honor." Duck agreed with great solemnity. "But, I mean, I can't merely use them for myself, being only a tank engine and therefore having no need." He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards Henry, and was amused to see a look of alarm beginning to spread over his features. Now for the killing blow. "Perhaps James would-"

"I'm sorry I was rude!" Henry hurriedly remarked, terrified at the thought of James having even more ammunition to lord over him with. "How many tenders do you have exactly? And when could I have them?"

With the practice of a snake-oil salesmen, Duck considered in a flash. "Er...six, and you can have them this evening! If you're good!"

"Six lovely tenders!" Henry practically exploded with joy as he ran off, laughing.

Duck and Donald held their composure until he went around the corner, before bursting out laughing.

...

Diesel stood in the less populated area of the docks, waiting patiently. The boat would be arriving in a matter of minutes, and then he needed to get n position so that Big Mickey could lift him up.

So when he saw Duck idle up alongside him, he groaned. "Listen, if you've come to gloat-"

"I've come to ask how you are."

"Ha! There's a laugh! You don't care a jot, do you?"

"I care when you're hurting my friends. When you're insinuating that you've come here to threaten them." Diesel looked at Duck's eyes and saw only a cold disconnected glare. "When you're beginning to incite hate speech against steam engines, see that's what really getting my gander going. When you're trying to suggest that you're going to lead a army of diesels to take out my friends, when you come back here after all the shit you caused in 86, never mind that you weren't yourself back then. You threatened me in more ways than one-"

"What are you talking about?"

Duck mentally noted that it was clearly Marklin who held the relevatin about who he really was, and that Diesel absolutely had no idea. "Never you mind. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to get on that boat. You're going to go to the Other Railway, and you're going to stay there. If I see you back here ever again, if ever try and make sure that any of us on this Island are attacked, I'll make you regret that you ever put wheel to tracks."

Diesel was deathly pale.

"Now run along. I think that's your boat."

Diesel tore away and rushed to the crane.

...

All day, Henry was excited, babbling away about it to anyone who'd listen. Thomas, Annie and Clarabel, Jem Cole driving the Sodor Maid down the canal. He rushed into the yard that evening, as Duck casually rested on the turntable. "Think it'll be all right? Really?" This was the umpteenth time he had asked.

Duck grinned, making sure to keep his face hidden from Henry. "Of course! Let me take you to them!"

...

"I don't see why we have to be here." Gordon muttered rebelliously. Edward, who had been let in on the secret by Donald, merely smiled and made a noise that indicated he should watch.

James, Thomas, Donald, Douglas and Percy had all gathered around Tidmouth Station to see what was going on. They thought at one point they heard a very loud scream of outrage. The engines moved into position to get a good enough view.

Duck came first, whistling cheerfully.

Henry came second.

He did not whistle cheerfully.

He tried to ignore the sensation of just what he was actually pulling behind him, trying in vain to ignore the massive smell that arose from the six old, scrapped, dirty tenders that were filled to the brim with boiler sludge. He tried not to vomit. Laughter broke out, and he tried his best to keep calm.

"Had a wash out, Henry? You'll feel a different engine now!"

Henry wasn't sure, but he swore that this voice was Gordon's. It probably was. Karma works like that on the Island of Sodor.

...

The docks were dimmed. Workmen were still busy, but there were areas that were now almost completely devoid of any activity. This worked to Duck's advantage as he slipped into the shed and sidled up alongside the two tendered engine. "Apologies for the lateness, sir. Had to deal with making sure that Diesel got home without telling anyone."

"Not to worry. I should apologize to you, Duck. I have been later than I expected. Truro filled you in?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now." The Flying Scotsman's powerful face swiveled to Duck's, staring deep into his eyes "Let's talk about how the mission is progressing."


	73. Episode 21: Escape

Much thanks to all of you! Oh, and terroroftherailway, fingers crossed you'll like what I've done with Arry and Bert. Also, for the record, not as many jokes this time. This is a rather serious episode, and I want to show my love for it.

Cue the theme!

...

1990.

"Have the experiments shown any sign of improving, doctor?"

The doctor polished his glasses nervously. "I-indeed sir. The blueprints you gave us were very thorough, very...er, very easy to understand as well. It took us some time, but I believe we have stable copies of the engines that you have requested."

The Fat Director strode forward, towards the large docking bay. He could just make out the strange, shadowy figures, covered in tarpaulins and being loaded onto wagons. "How many did you get?"

"Well sir, the-the diesels were far easier to do, save for the one you mentioned as 'D2'. She has been missing for quite a w-w-while now, so we had to make due with D1, D3 and D4."

"Very good. And the steam engines?"

The doctor's tongue clicked. "Those are more...problematic. We have created successfully stable clones, using the same material, however they will need a great deal more testing than the diesels. I would not put them to work for another year, at least."

"Another year." The Fat Director's hands locked together in a steeple. "Well-" he murmured to himself "-we knew the plan was going to be delayed a bit. And the steam engines may prove more useful in the future than at present. I still have barely a foothold on the Island itself, I can't send them-" He stopped, and turned back, looking the German doctor directly in the eye. "And the failures?"

The doctor tried not to shudder. "They have been...disposed of."

"Good. You have done well doctor. You have taken charge of my team in a most effective manner. They have been prepared, just in case more copies need to be made?"

"Indeed, Herr Director."

"Well then, go! Enjoy your reward!"

The doctor scurried out, happy to leave the Fat Director's presence. The Director himself rubbed his chin, lost in thought for a moment. He looked out.

Operation Facade had long since been a goal of his. Since he had discovered the Island of Sodor, he had long since wanted to expand the Other Railway over there. What he had neglected to tell many who worked and lived there was that they were beginning to run out of the magic needed to create the unique conditions for sentient engines. But the Island had been old in 1943, and yet it still chuffed on. The engines he made would be a good way to get spies onto the Island.

Still though, he held back. He knew that one day there'd be a proper use for them, but until then...he would put the three diesels to work. And then he would attempt to get Boomer back on track with his own search. He pressed down on the intercom button. "Captain?"

"Aye."

"Is Doctor Gurtzer in his car?"

"Aye, he and his Bosch father."

"Good...go ahead."

The explosion was never really looked into. The doctor and his father, having survived the Third Reich and all the horrors, perished in a car accident just outside the massive complex that was the Other Railway, and everything was sown up in a nice neat package.

None of the engines knew about this, of course. Doctor Gurtzer and company had never even been on Sodor. But Operation Facade was to make a brief appearance in this next story.

...

PRESENT DAY.

"So how is the Vicar?"

"He's off the sherry, if that's what you mean."

"Oh, that's good-"

"Now he's started on the vodka."

"Ah."

"Kidding. No, he seems determined to make a better impression with his flock now. Nothing but kind, Teddy."

"I know, old chum."

Edward and Trevor had a relatively decent day off, so they spent it chatting away like the old friends they were. Things were rudely interrupted when Douglas came storming past, pulling a train of heavy coal trucks and scowling like someone had thrown his bowl of cornflakes in his face. "Oh fo god's sake Edward! Stop gossipin in the sun! There's work ta be done!"

Edward looked at Douglas's retreating tender with annoyance. "Odd. Usually Donald's the more belligerent one."

"Maybe it's me." Trevor shrugged. "I joke, but some of the other engines tend to get a little edgy around me. I think they believe I'm trying to take their jobs. Just because there are a couple of lorries going around nowadays, you'd think that it was the 50's all over again!"

"Leave it to me. I'll chat with them." Edward glanced over and swore. "Oh for god's sake you can't even look away for a instant- NO BILL! The tankers go on the other side! Don't you wave your buffers at me, young engine, or I'll get BoCo to take away your trucks! What do you mean, Ben's not giving you a turn on the radi- We don't have radio! You do? How? ...Okay, you tell your driver that if he doesn't give it back to Farmer McColl, then he's going to jail!"

...

Later, Edward huffed in with a train full of empty trucks. BoCo had managed to give them to him while he was dealing with a somewhat mopey Ben. He whistled cheerfully to Percy, and glanced over to James on the turntable. "Trucks need to be filled up, ready for Duck, James."

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, pretty much. Not a democracy mate." He turned to Douglas. "Listen, Douglas, I wanted to talk to you about earlier."

"Aye."

"Now, Trevor and I are old friends. I would appreciate it greatly if you would be perhaps a tad more polite? I think he gets the idea that you hate him."

"Aye."

Edward frowned. "Douglas, pancake day is being transformed into national Reich celebration day."

"Aye."

"You're saying aye just to get me to leave, aren't you?"

"Aye."

"Come on Douglas! You're not usually like this. Unless you and Donald are pulling that whole 'Missing Coach' stunt again, which quite frankly would be a rather childish trick. I'd expect it from Bill and Ben, rather than you two. Besides, you and Trevor have a great deal more in common than you may think."

"Aye?" Douglas raised a eyebrow a fraction. "What?"

"Scrap." Edward stated, bluntly. He was rewarded when Douglas shuddered backwards violently.

"Don- Don't say that word in front of me, Edward! It makes ma wheels shiver!"

"Sorry Douglas. But Trevor knows exactly what you mean. He doesn't talk about it often, but he was this close from becoming another torn up husk at the old scrapyard down my branch-line. Now, me and the Vicar did manage to save him, and he is really useful, but he gets terrified about going back there even to this day."

"Aye." Douglas said quietly. "I'm sorry Edward. Just that I've had a wee bit of bad news."

"What?"

"I'm, er, being sent out ta the Other Railway tonight to take some deliveries. Henry can't go, he's still busy cleaning out all of that boiler sludge."

"Oh Douglas, I'm sorry." Edward looked ashamed. "I wouldn't have brought scrap up if I'd known."

"Ach, it's fine. Really, it's a simple trip back to the railway and back. I've got my driver and fireman with me, and they've got their own guns. They're ready for anything. I just wish it wasn't just me going."

"I can imagine." Edward shook his head. "Oh I don't know. We've got more engines than I thought we'd ever have, but even so, the Fat Controller does need another steam engine!"

"Aye." Douglas agreed gravely. "And soon."

There was a loud bang, and Edward was showered with coal. He turned to look at James. "Well?"

"How was I supposed to know that the hopper was broken?"

"By the 'Out of Order' sign?"

"I always assume that's more of a suggestion than anything."

"You would."

...

Douglas could feel every creak and every shiver inside the Other Railway's main yard. There was no massive meeting going on like the night that Edward and Toby had been here, but there were still some engines.

The odd thing was that two diesels, labelled D1 and D4, looked a awful lot like Mavis and Diesel. Except somehow not.

It was the eyes. The little way that the eyes looked too glassy to be really real.

With every shunt, he was constantly glancing back to make sure there was no one there to try and get a hold of him. Long experience had kept Douglas alive. He wasn't just a package deal. Donald had helped him, to be sure, but there were just as many times as when he had assisted Donald out of a tight jam. Slowly, he moved the midnight goods train to a further part of the OR Island, this part was where only diesels worked.

D1 moved alongside him, and D3 rested in a shed.

"BoCo?"

D3 turned, and it became very clear to Douglas that this wasn't BoCo, and that speaking had been a massive mistake. Almost as massive as the strange scar that ran down the diesel's face. "Neffa mind!" He huffed, and quickly began backing up to head out of the yard.

He was just shunting some last minute trucks out of the way, ready and willing for the return journey when-

The hiss echoed across the almost silent railway. Douglas tensed up, almost instinctively, and watched in curious horror as every diesel turned their attention towards him.

 _Tha sounds like a steam engine,_ he thought quickly. Quietly, he let out a hiss, as if to try and convince the others that it was merely him. They paused, and then went back to work, though D1, D3 and D4 looked at him suspiciously.

The hiss came again, this time it sounded like whoever was doing it was terrified beyond belief. "Quieten down!" Douglas half whispered, half snarled to himself. He cleared his throat, noticed the large tanker of diesel oil and backed up. "Whose there?" He asked quieter this time.

A whisper rang out.

"Are you one of the Fat Controller's engines?"

"Aye! And proud of it! But who are ye?"

The voice, with a West Country burr, sobbed. "Oh thank god! My-My name's er...it's er...it's Oliver! I've got a brake-van, named Toad! We've run out of coal, and have no more steam!"

D3 was moving back down towards them. "Hush!" whispered Douglas, terror in his voice. The scarred diesel looked at him for a moment, then moved on. Once Douglas was sure that he was clear, he glanced back, spotting, just through the mist, a rusty engine, his coloration hard to tell. And if he squinted just hard enough, he could see a weary brake-van, a ugly bruise formed over his left eye. "Then what are ye doing here?"

A bitter laugh arose from Oliver. "Escaping. Or supposed to be. Should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque."

Douglas stared around. Surely the diesels would be coming back. "From what?"

"Scrap."

Douglas shuddered once more, and tried to calm himself down. The odds of Oliver escaping were less and less like actual statistics and more like wishful thinking. He could already feel his own driver and fireman stirring nervously. Then, on a whim, Douglas's fireman rushed over towards Oliver's cab. There, sitting there, were two very weary and tired men. Grabbing hold, he helped them into Douglas's cab, sitting them down and making them as comfy as they could.

"Look." Oliver sounded weary. "You don't have to help. Just please...get Toad out of here. It's my fault that we're even in this situation." He looked down wearily at the shattered remains of the chain wrapped around his neck, and the weeds that had grown during his hiding attempts.

"No Mr Oliver-" slurred Toad, clearly suffering. "I will not leave you behind!"

Douglas bit his lip. And then he remembered Edward's story about Trevor, and he steeled himself. "I'll be glad ta help ya! But both of ya! I shall not be a-leaving any engine behind!"

Oliver stared in shock, the first glimmers of a smile appearing on his face. "R-really?"

"Aye! It'll haff ta look like yer're ready for scrap, and I'll be takin ye!"

The driver, spotting a nearby bucket of paint, hurriedly added more warning signs to Oliver and Toad's body, alongside those already there. The two crewmembers from Oliver were roused, and they were helped into Toad, hiding there.

"Nae time to turn around!" grimly remarked Douglas as he coupled up to Oliver. "It's a risk, but I'll haff to run tender first!" Douglas winced. "And I've only just had mah paint done as well! Gordon'll haff a field day!"

"Gordon?"

"Oh just ye wait Oliver. You know, coming back here, reminds me of how lucky I am to haff escaped the first time! I miss them all! Gordon, Henry, even that bloody prat James! Ah, it'll be grand bringing ye back!"

"You escaped?"

"Another time, perhaps. Come on!"

And they started off.

...

In the sheds, tucked up in their sleep, the engines had no idea of the great danger Douglas was in. They had spent the evening discussing bets on when James would come out of the closet, and how badly England was going to be doing in the next World Cup.

Not Donald though, a odd feeling resided in his tender.

...

Starting off, Douglas was aware of just how bland the Other Railway was. No station names. No workmen bantering. There was nothing unique about it, aside from the smell and the huge and great amount of darkness that seemed to radiate in every corner.

Okay, maybe that was unique to the railway. Douglas didn't know if they had a railway in Essex, but he suspected even that didn't occur there.

The sound of dogs barking brought hi back to the present, and to the situation at hand. He could just about make out several vicious looking guard dogs rattling against a massive cage, fangs bared in what he assumed was the dog equivalent of "OI! GET BACK HERE!" He turned back to look at Oliver, who was very clearly giddy with fright. D1 and D4 were beginning to get antsy, and they glared at Douglas with such hate that he very nearly stopped all together.

They had just cleared the station, when they were stopped.

"Ah ha!" said a rather rude looking fireman "A Great Western! And a brake-van too! We've been looking for them! Can't take them, I'm afraid, chum." He said the last word with a great deal of savagery.

"Ach, but they're all furr us!" exclaimed Douglas's driver. "See for yerself!" The Foreman looked suspiciously at the driver, but walked over quickly. He glanced over Oliver and Toad, with the eye of a expert surgeon.

At last...

"Seems in order. Don't stay too long. We don't take kindly to Scots in these parts."

"Prat." muttered Douglas's fireman as they pulled away once more, free at last. D1 and D4 stared at the three escapees for a moment, trying to think about whether or not to follow them. Douglas took up more speed as they crossed over the industrial area, the area where the Other Railway met a almost abandoned city. He could see the bridge in the distance.

"And that was a close thing!" Douglas muttered, sweat pouring from his brow.

"We've had worse!" smiled Oliver, bravely. "There was one point, after we'd escaped, when we relied solely on the kindness of signalmen to get us by. The control heard about us, a mystery train they called us, and tried to hunt us down. We were able to hide on the old quarry branch for a bit, but we heard everything. Baying hounds, snarling diesels. I won't lie, I almost wet meself."

"Small blame ta ye!" said Douglas with feeling.

And then:

"STEAMER ESCAPING!" came the alarm. "YOO-HOO, YOO-HOO!"

"Are they yodelling?" laughed Douglas, trying to put Oliver at ease. "They can't get us! We've done it!"

"We have?!" Oliver opened his eyes as they rumbled over the bridge just as the sun came up. "We have! WE'RE FREE! Toad, did you-"

"Yes sir! Safe! We've done it!" Toad coughed. "Well, you gentlemen have."

...

Arriving at the Crovan Gate Yard's (which looked a awful lot like the Ffarquhar yards, now that Douglas thought of it) they relaxed.

"We're home!"

"Ssssh!" hissed the fireman. "There are the works! We'll find a place f'Oliver there!"

"Good bye!" called Oliver. "Thank you!"

"Yerr a truly enterprizing engine!" remarked Douglas with feeling, as he backed away.

Oliver sighed.

"Hello there."

Oliver jumped in the air and turned to stare at the strange blue engine in terror.

""Now now, it's okay. I apologize if I startled you."

"You! You were the one that night! At the Other Railway! You saved our lives!"

Edward's eyebrows raised up. "Good heavens! You were one of the scrap engines?! I'm glad you two survived at the very least! Oh, where are my manners? I'm Edward. Welcome to Sodor...Oliver, was it?"

...

"And then what?!"

The other engines were on the edge of their berths as Douglas regaled them with the story.

"And then I left him by Crovan's Gate, I couldnae just bring him to the Fat Controller and present him like a puppy, could I?"

"The Fat Controller will have to know!" James said, thoughtfully.

"No way, James. He was just going to keep him a secret for the rest of time, wasn't he?" Henry said, still in a prickly mood.

"James is right though. And there are words that I never thought I'd say. Douglas should tell him at once!" Gordon added.

"Well here he is!" said a voice. "Now what's this all about?" He turned to his guards. "See, this is why making a dramatic entrance is cool! I could never get that look of fear in their eyes like that!"

"Er, beg pardon sir-" Duck remarked "But we do...er, need another engine, after all. You have said so yourself on many, many occasions in that wise way that you have."

"Suck up." muttered Henry.

"Yes, a steam engine! Not to be racist!" Gordon hurriedly added.

"Well that is a interesting idea. However, unless one is to be found and presented to me, I do not think that I can do that, I am afraid. It should really be saved from scrap as well."

"But sir!" burst out Douglas. "One has!"

"Oh I know."

"YOU TEASE!" Thomas burst out angrily.

"Ahem. Yes. Well. Apologies. Thanks to you Douglas, he's now at the works being mended! Oliver is just what we need for Duck's branch line!"

"Oh good-o. Neighbours."

Everyone whistled loudly.

...

"I wanna see him!"

"Bill! Ben! Act your a- No! Act older than your age!"

Oliver opened his eyes. "Douglas? What-"

"Welcome to the crew, ye bloody enterprising engine!" Douglas laughed. Thomas, Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby, Donald, Duck, Mavis, BoCo, Bill and Ben all let loose a chorus of whistles and horn blasts. Oliver tried not to let it go to his head and failed.

Now, Oliver and Toad are painted in Great Western colors, completely mended. Duck and Oliver got along splendidly, and worked together brilliantly on their branch-line, despite the good-natured taunts from the other engines. They laughed at first, and called it the Little Western. Both engines liked the name however, and the Little Western it will always be.

The alternative was the 'bloody small green engine' line, so they really had no choice.

...

"And here's a glass ta my brother! The hero of the railway! Douggie, ye made us all verra proud indeed!"

"Here here!" called out the others, as they took a sip of the booze. Douglas grinned and awkwardly nodded. He glanced over at Trevor, who was chatting to Edward and James. The two had made up their quarrel, and were now good friends.

Douglas smiled.

If this was to be his one moment in the limelight, one moment where he wasn't a package deal, he was, in the words of his brother, 'verra proud indeed' too.


	74. Episode 22: Oliver Owns Up

This one's going to be a rather comedic episode for the most part! Hope you enjoy!

Cue the theme!

...

On a clear day, when the sky is blue, and there is just enough breeze to blow the clouds away, you can stand on the big hill over-looking the valley and see Duck and Oliver busily working on their branchline that runs via the sea.

You can also see it on a murky day, when the sky is red as a clear warning of the armageddon, when there is no breeze and down on the actual beach as well, but the preceding sentence was far too picturesque to pass up.

Of course, busy is a relative word on the Island of Sodor. One could argue that a snail was busier than whatever the hell happened on Thomas's branch-line on Wednesday's. No one got anything done on Wednesday's. Especially Thomas. For whatever reason. But even by the admittedly low standards of the Island, Duck and Oliver were very, very busy indeed.

They were proud of their matching coats of gleaming color. The gleaming color was green, in case any of you were blind. Some argued that having the same kind of paint color was nothing to be proud of considering just how many engines had similar shades, but Duck then quietly reminded them that they were all idiots and that if they were going to pick anything to give them a lecture on, paint would not be the first thing that came to mind.

Oliver often talks about the time that Douglas saved him from scrap. Because really, conversation of the Great Western rapidly enters a circular fashion due to the fact that one engine (Duck) was clearly holding things back and the other (Oliver) had had nothing else really interesting to talk about for the past few years that wasn't scrap related.

"If it wasn't for his help-" Oliver would say, as Duck focused his attention on something that was perhaps a tad more interesting, though he'd never admit it "-I might have been caught when I ran away from the scrapyard."

Duck liked Oliver. He really did. But he was beginning to note a rather interesting pattern over time. Every so often, Oliver began omitting certain details from the story. For example, the fact that they had been caught because Oliver had point-blank ignored Toad's advice to stop and ask for directions. And the fact that they had had some lucky help from Edward and Toby and had not, in fact, just gotten away by their own luck. And that it wasn't as if they had found Donald the instant after they had ran away.

Duck vaguely wondered it, by the time they reached 1993, Oliver's story would involve him entering the Other Railway with enough grenades to set off a ferry and breaking out tens of thousands of scrap engines, all the while screaming like some mad engine version of John Rambo.

He tuned back in just in time for Oliver to finish his sentence "-And I would never have come back here to live on the Fat Controller's railway."

Duck whistled approvingly. It was all you could really do to sound polite.

...

That night, some of the engines gathered in one of the larger sheds, located in Knapford Yards. There was to be a busy few weeks of it, and so they had all been drafted in. Edward, Toby, Donald and Douglas had managed to get out of listening to Oliver's stories via having to do actual work.

The other engines all wanted to know about Oliver's adventures. It had been a long time since anyone even remotely exciting had dropped in and actually wanted to talk to them in donkey's years.

"Amazing." remarked Henry, actually referring to the hooting of the rarely spotted Sudrian Owl at that moment.

"Oliver-" said James, sensing a opportunity to get the tank engines on his side "-has resource!"

"Do those go on chips, James?" Percy asked. It was hard to tell sometimes whether or not Percy said these things to be flippant or out of a genuine curiosity.

"And sagacity!" Gordon put in, also wanting to dispel any myths about him being classist.

"Those go with onions, right?" Percy leaned over. "What does that mean?" he hissed to Thomas.

Thomas rolled his eyes. He had no idea what sagacity meant. His word a day calendar had not reached that far yet. But he was willing to take any chance to show how clever he was, so he picked a random definition out of the air and prayed it was the right one. "It's about being clever and wise."

"He is-" finished Gordon, having bored every other engine to sleep save for Oliver and James, who was used to listening to people drone on for hours and hours (Himself, mainly) "-an example to us all."

...

Surprise surprise, I'm sorry to say that Oliver became very puffed up in the smokebox. He also became big headed as well. The smoke-box thing mostly meant that he occasionally burped a little too much. I'm actually not sorry to say that, because quite frankly-

Been handed a note saying that I can't slag Oliver off too much because of merchandise. Huh.

"Henry says I'm amazing! He's right!" He said as he whooshed along. Oliver clearly didn't know Henry nearly as well as he thought he did. On that very day, the Fat Controller arrived at Tidmouth to meet Oliver and give him a job. Anything to get him to shut up for ten minutes and not bore him to death. The Controller, that is, not Oliver. He wouldn't bore himself to death.

"You're, er, doing well! Now you must learn how to look after trucks!"

"Must I?"

"YES! You must!"

...

Every wise engine knows that you cannot trust trucks. Now,, this may seem a racist statement, until you learn the fact that the trucks costantly broke the nose of anyone offering them kindness with no strings attached, and that only by making sure to show strength of character did you assure that you didn't die a painful and miserable death in a field somewhere, with cows eating mud off your buffers.

As mentioned previously, it was a busy month, so all the engines had been drafted in to do dirty work. Gordon, Henry, James, Duck, Oliver, the Scottish Twins...Edward would have joined them, but Bill and Ben had been reluctantly called up to assist in Wellsworth again, and he had his buffers full there as well.

The other engines warned Oliver of this problem (No, that was a lie. The Big Three were currently trying to convince themselves that they were not, in fact, snobs while trying to pass the buck onto other engines) but he took no notice.

No one was surprised.

"You think I can't manage!" he raved as he puffed into the coaling plant. "Gordon knows better! He said I'm sagacious!"

"He said ye were what?" Donald looked confused. "Tha a insult?"

"Look Oliver." said Duck, now on his last nerve and on the verge of snapping completely and using his training to severely wound Oliver in the chassis. "You may be...good gracious or whatever it is you want to call it, but trucks can be troublesome and-"

Donald cut in, amusement very, very clear. "Say nowt more Duck! It's a pity ta be sure, but tha wee silly nut will have ta learn for himself!"

"Thank you! I think!" Oliver puffed away, leaving both engines to watch.

It occurred to Duck that Oliver was very lucky that it was Douglas who had found him, and not Donald.

...

Oliver pulled some loaded trucks to a siding, and pushed a group of empties to the nearest chute. The Ffarquhar Yards were in good shape, but Duck had specifically moved him there out of the way of any real threats to actual work.

Oliver left them there, and headed off for a quiet smoke break round the back. Thomas passed him, and immediately hated Oliver for the fact that he had done in five seconds what nearly six years of living on the Island hadn't done, made him regret giving up smoking.

Then Oliver returned to collect the loaded trucks. He did so at the WORST possible time. They were comfortable, and didn't want to move.

"What right do you have, you Tory son of a gun, to move us?! Don't you poke your funnel in here!"

"We want Duck!"

"Or Donald!"

"Or Douglas!"

It was very likely that they would have gone on listing the various engines they wanted instead of Oliver had not said engine bumped them rather rudely. "Look sharp!" Oliver grunted.

"That ain't the way to speak!" said one truck, hypocritically. "We'll pay him out!"

"But we said we'd work for free-"

"SHUT IT MARV!"

Oliver saw nothing wrong going on as he puffed away, and at first, the trucks were moving smoothly. A better engine would have seen straight away that this was suspicious in and of itself, but Oliver was so caught up in cloud nine that he failed to notice it.

And then suddenly, he felt them push forward.

"Ohhhhh sh-" he had time to say, before they forced him on and on. His driver applied the brakes, but it was useless against the surging trucks, who were now cackling away.

"ON! ON! ON!" They called out.

"WHY! DON'T! YOU! SAY! ANYTHING! DIFFERENT!" hissed Oliver as he fought hard, but they still forced him on and on, forcing his wheels to turn backwards. Up ahead, Duck casually glanced behind him as the turntable swung around to one of the nearby sidings. He quickly decided that getting off the table would be a great idea.

At last, the trucks grew tired and weary.

"I'm winning!"

CRASH.

...

As they say in the business, it was too late. Oliver suddenly realized that staring up at the sky was far less exciting than the astronomers made it sound, especially when you were lying bruised and bemused, bunker frst in the turntable well.

Duck, having recovered from the fear that Oliver might be dead, casually idled over and looked down. He surveyed the damage and decided that the deadpan approach would best be suited for this discussion.

"Hello Oliver. You being one of them good gracious engines once more? Hmm, somehow I doubt even Gordon had this in mind for you. Now, beg pardon, we don't really like this sort of surprise. The twins are going to miss their Turntable until it is mended as well!"

"OH SHUT UP AND GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Temper temper."

...

That evening, Oliver was hauled gently to safety. Hatt was cross to say the least at having to get up this late at night.

"I'm sorry sir!" wailed Oliver, making the workmen wince. "I should have listened to Duck's advice...and maybe the other's. Jury is still out on them. I don't feel good gracious, or whatever, I just feel like a twit!"

"Well if the boot fits." muttered the Fat Controller. Out loud, he remarked "Well Oliver. Now you know the damage trucks can do. Though how you didn't know before- And don't tell me it was because of SCRAP!"

"Yes I do sir! I look like a load of scrap iron!"

"Ho ho ho." Hatt said, without humor. "I don't think so. But you need to go to the works to be mended."

"HOORAY! HOLIDAY!" Toad crowed. He had had enough of Oliver's stories for one week. The other engines felt somewhat sorry for Oliver, even as Douglas dragged him off on the Breakdown Train to Crovan's Gate.

"Branch line won't be the same without you!" puffed Duck. "Come back soon!"

"Douglas, don't you dare sell me for scrap!"

"Who do ye think I am? Mah brother?"

...

A few days later, Oliver did come back, much to Toad's relief/disappointment. His coat gleamed and shone in the sun, and he was a wiser engine too. And he never made a mistake about trucks again.

Ha! Can't believe I actually said that with a straight face!

Oh dear, editor's looking annoyed. Merchandise people probably want me head.


	75. Episode 23: Bulgy

Cue the theme!

...

It was a special holiday on the Island of Sodor. The local village idiots had even printed out a banner to commemorate it. Though many believed that they had taken it far too literally, and it was frequently pointed out that it was a Bank Holiday and not, in fact, just 'Special Holiday'.

The actual title was probably something closer to 'Yet Another Sodding Bank Holiday' but that was a little much for the printers to get onto the banner. There was a ink crisis on the Island at the moment.

Bertie the Bus was working harder than ever before, which was saying something. He didn't even make sassy comments to Thomas about races, which Thomas found both amusing and rather alarming. But mostly amusing. All the engines were busy too, so he soon stopped laughing. James was sweating so hard that one could swear that he was going to be boiled alive from the sheer amount of perspiration. BoCo did better, though that may have been because he was generally placed in charge of truck pulling duty. It was something he enjoyed, mostly because he was competent at it, unlike other engines.

Duck seemed to breeze through with barely a worry in the world, and Oliver stood up well at the same time. Sarcastic comments were made that the Great Western engines were clearly aliens from another planet. Duck had responded to this by remarking "Nanu nanu" and had laughed in private at the angry expressions on their faces. He had even returned to taking the express while Gordon had suffered from a combination of his usual high nerves and heat exhaustion.

...

Now when the events of the story take place, Duck was waiting for his next train to be filled up by Tidmouth. It was a very comfortable position, not least because he got to see Henry's attempt at coaxing the trucks to be good for him fail badly.

Near him stood a red double decker bus with a expression like someone had fed him five lemons at the same time. He did not look friendly like Bertie, even when Bertie was at his worse. He was covered in what could charitably be called political signs. On his front, there was a rather in your face sign that read 'Free the Roads' and Duck could just about make out several other signs that read such charming things as 'Britain First' or 'Make Britain Great Again' or 'We Will Not Be Silenced'. You know, the typical things that buses tended to wear.

The bus growled as the happy passengers milled around the coaches.

"Stupid nonsense!" He remarked at last, and Duck decided to immediately begin preparing the 'Great Western Patience Defense' in his own head. He turned and tried to look somewhat interested. The bus continued. "I wouldn't have brought them to this filthy place if I'd known! I'd had had a breakdown or summat!"

Duck could not really disagree with the comment about Tidmouth Station being filthy. Standards were constantly being let go, and the summer sun had only managed to increase the smell of weed that arose. The second step of the defense, after the attempt to look politely curious, was to grin naturally and attempt to get the arse you were talking to to shut up out of sheer force of personality. "I'm glad you didn't! You would have spoiled their fun!"

Stage three, crack a joke. "Besides-" Duck continued "-I've heard Mrs Kyndley gets quite rowdy once she's had a few in her!"

The bus scoffed. It was then that Duck realized that his usual charm wasn't going to be able to budge the wall of self-righteousness that was beside him. "Pah! Enjoyment? That's all you hedonistic engines live for, am I right? Sitting up there in your ivory towers, looking down at the world and laughing at us roadies! One day, your railways will be ripped up and you won't be smiling then!" The bus snarled and spat at the tracks. "Probably built by some bloody immigrant."

Duck decided to abandon said tactics completely in favor of bluntly stating his gut reaction. "Oh, you want to got there, do you? We've got a friend called Bertie. You know what? He's a bus too, and he actually gives a crap about the railway! Sometimes he mocks the living hell out of us, but the things you are suggesting are...well they'd horrify him!"

"Oh, Bertie! Bertie the bloody Bus." Bulgy scowled. "He's one of you. A little shite who's a disgrace to the word 'bus'. When the revolution comes, he'll be the first to go! Too small and too happy! Life here isn't worth a damn jot if you're not one of the capitalistic, little, smiling, bourgeois engines! I'm going to do some bloody work! People'll start realizing just how pathetic you engines really are!"

Duck took no notice.

Or at least, he told himself he didn't.

"Silly prat." he muttered.

...

Duck met Oliver at the junction of one of the newer stations near the coast, Haultraugh. He told Oliver all about the bus. He was surprised to see Oliver laughing, mostly because he assumed that as someone who had, until recently, been under threat from scrap, he might take things a little seriously.

"Oh him!" Oliver said after finishing laughing. "Oh I know him of old! I call him Bulgy!"

"Why?"

"Because it's his name."

"A fair reason."

"No, he's one of those buses who tended to frequent the Other Railway during the Cold War. Went AWOL a few years back though, apparently he was beginning to get on everyone's nerves. He sells newspapers. All of them the Daily Mail."

"Ah. That wretched hive of scum and villainy." Duck rolled his eyes at Oliver's shocked expression. "Yes Oliver. I do, on occasion, soak up a bit of pop culture."

Oliver laughed once more and headed off.

...

That afternoon, Duck patiently waited by the junction once again. He was in a happy mood, not least because he got to see Percy cheerfully enjoying the good weather at the harbor.

He was aware of a sudden hullabaloo behind him, and Thomas shouting "OI! SLOW DOWN!" as Oliver skidded into the station. He wasn't laughing any more.

"Blood and stomach pills, Oliver! This is a station, you know."

"You would NOT believe what I've just heard!" Oliver panted and suddenly began coughing. Once he had recovered from his rush to reach Haultraugh, he looked Duck dead in the eye and remarked "Bulgy's got a friend with him."

"Oh?" Duck perked up.

"Yep. He's a even bigger racist than Bulgy, if you can believe it. He's taking Bulgy's passengers home first, so that Bulgy has plenty of time to nick ours!" Duck stared in shock at Oliver's words. "You're right to look shocked! I heard them cackling away! Something about how this was their Island before us, and that Doctor Beeching had a point about us!"

Duck swallowed down this invocation of the name of the infamous culler of railways and scoffed, though a little unsure. "He can't do that!"

"He says that he can get them to the big station on time faster than we can!"

"Rabbish!" Duck said, invoking James's pronunciation of the word to show his contempt. "It's much further by road, and the summer sun's probably caused the tarmac to get quite messy. He'll never get to Knapford before us!"

"Normally I'd agree. But Bulgy says he knows a shortcut! We need to be on our guard!"

"Right!" growled Duck. "Meet me at Tidmouth later. I'll bring the Scots for back up! He's not getting away with this!"

...

The homeward rush usually was one of the biggest money makers of any train journey. As the engines sat and waited for it to start, Duck's eyes drifted over to Donald and Douglas, both waiting on another line and waiting to spot any double decker bus. Percy gave a shrill 'peep peep' as he passed, startling Duck out his contemplative mood.

His driver and fireman were chatting. "So this driver of Bulgy's? What'd you learn?"

"Name of Adrian Gotch. One of those students who were charmed by all that claptrap the USSR was spouting out, headed over there before the Wall went up. Then he joined the Communist party over here in Britain, or whatever was left of it, before he was shoved out for being too much of a git."

"God, no wonder the bus is so screwed up."

"Well part of that has nothing to do with Gotch. Bulgy's been accused of rough-housing some of the younger buses, harassment in the workplace, that sort of thing."

"Where is everyone?" remarked Duck aloud.

"LOOK!" Oliver shouted. "Over there! That bloody bus is a mean scarlet deceiver!"

Bulgy was sitting there, bold as brass, grinning with fake sweetness and brimming with glee over his cleverness. A sign had been posted on his side, reading 'Railway Bus', and on the other side, another which read 'No Seriously, I'm Really A Railway Bus'.

The four engines were speechless for a few seconds, before Bulgy stuck out his tongue.

 _"Ya boo snobs!"_ He cackled as he pulled away. _"Let the revolution begin!"_

Duck snarled. "Come on, girls! Let's see what he's up to!"

"Ooooh!" twittered the coaches. Duck was a very good catch in the coach world.

"Evil commie Nazi!" spat Oliver.

"Oliver, I'm fairly sure that the terms 'commie' and 'Nazi' are mutually exclusive, but what the hell do _I_ know about politics?" said Duck, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, cut me some slack, I was-"

"On the run from scrap?! I never would have guessed!"

...

The passengers were beginning to regret their decision. Bulgy's driver insisted that the only music they were allowed to listen to on the long drive were spoken word records by Margaret Thatcher. Mostly about the Falklands and how right she had been. In actuality it was just Gotch doing a very good impression, but Bulgy didn't know this.

"Er, do you think we may have made a mistake?" remarked Jem Cole at last.

 _"-And another thing! Where the hell do these immigrants think they're going? They're after our benefits, I tell you!"_

"Probably." remarked Farmer Trotter. "There's enough bilge coming out of his mouth to feed my pigs for a week!"

There was a very harsh bump that jolted most of the passengers out of their seats. Jerimiah Jobling glanced down and let out a shocked gasp. "We're on the bloody rails!"

The others looked down. Sure enough, Bulgy was now riding the rails. He didn't know the meaning of the word 'hypocrisy'. Or how to spell it. He suddenly felt very angry at seeing Duck rush under the bridge upon another one.

"YOU CHEAT!"

"Ha! _You little cowards'll be given a nice place at the bottom of the scrapheap!_ " Bulgy took off once more, shaking his passengers around like Mexican Jumping Beans. Duck let out a harsh whistle that indicated what Bulgy could do with that bridge. He wanted to pay him out, but he didn't know how.

"And don't get me started on those little-" The horn blared as Bulgy ranted on about the homosexuals _"-I mean really! Do they know how much of a prat they make themselves look? Prancing around like a bunch of bloody fairies."_

They had to hold Cole back at this remark.

Bulgy's other sign had fallen off, revealing the words 'Join the Anti-Rail League' written on it. From out of the top window, a loudspeaker admitted his thoughts _"Stop the rails! Close the borders! Vote for the Conservatives! Down with Liberals!"_

Many people just looked frankly baffled at this.

...

Duck had just reached a stretch of line where only one engine could pass, when he saw a man waving a red flag urgently. "Oh balls!" he remarked. "Again!? That's the seventh bush fire in three days!"

The narrow road crossed a narrow bridge. And there, jammed under the bridge, was Bulgy. He looked weakly around for help, but none seemed to be forth coming. His loudspeaker still blared on.

 _"And don't even think about asking about those bloody femnazi's! What the hell do they think they're doing? Bunch of bloody queers, the lot of them! Probably out there eating away at-"_

A number of handbags and one brick sailed at Bulgy's head. All targets hit. Mrs Kyndley and Lady Hatt nodded to each other in mutual respect.

"So that was your shortcut?" Duck chuckled. "You idiot!"

"Enough of that, you PIG!" Bulgy would have stuck out his chest proudly, had he a chest. So instead he settled for rattling his grill "I shall be a martyr for the cause!"

"What cause?"

"The cause of FREEDOM from oppression!"

"No one's oppressing you. How many buses are dedicated to this cause?"

"..."

"Well?"

"...One."

"One. You, I suppose? Naturally. Seems to me like we're not the problem. Also, for the record, you are officially the worse martyr ever if that's the case. Right now, you like a right dozy pillock. It's not exactly Les Mis, is it? Pinned under a bridge because you wanted to get to a stop a little quicker than me."

Bulgy had nawt to say to that. Dust promptly smacked into his face and caused him to have a coughing fit.

"He tricked us!" howled the passengers.

"He wouldn't accept our return tickets, the cheeky sod!" Farmer Trotter looked as though any minute now he would magic a pitchfock out of nowhere and start beating the silly bus to death.

"He wanted us to think railways are no good!" Jobling scowled. "And me best suit as well!"

The crew examined the bridge as the passengers were helped up by the guard into the carriages. The guard had just enough time to see Adrian Gotch leap over the nearest fence in escape. He didn't follow him though.

The screams of "OH GOD THE THORNS, WHY?" was reason enough.

"Well it's risky." remarked the driver. "But we should help the passengers!"

"They are urgent!" agreed Duck, in a way that made every passenger happier than they had been all day, and also made Lady Hatt resolve to give Duck a raise. Duck was a winner in this situation. Slowly and carefully, he set across the bridge.

He was aware of a great many bricks shifting in clear agony, and aware even further of Bulgy wailing as each brick smacked down onto his roof and face. "CAREFUL!"

"Great martyr you are." muttered Duck. The bridge quivered and he hissed audibly.

"STOP! It might fall on me!"

"Serves you right, you miserable old trout, for telling lies and being a colossal-" Duck took a deep breath, and focused on crossing the bridge in one piece.

Which he did. The bridge did not collapse.

...

Duck made good time, and all the passengers caught their trains home as well. He told the tale to the others, and all agreed that they were lucky to be rid of Bulgy. They began working harder than ever before.

Gotch vanished, later to turn up at the Other Railway, responding to a message from the Fat Director regarding the missing Great Western scrap engine. The Director was livid at the news, but thanked Gotch for his loyalty, and rewarded him by offering him a job working for him.

Rumors about this 'friend' Bulgy had never really died down. He was never seen following Bulgy's fall from grace, though rumors that he underwent a transformation and became a rather cantankerous steam roller were very, very popular indeed. But his story is due for another time.

As for Bulgy, in a nice bit of irony, he was promptly disowned by every bus on the Island and was ignored by them deliberately. Bulgy and his ways never learnt, even as the bridge was mended he kept on insulting the women workman who were helping him out. They promptly took out his engine, headed home and left him sitting on the field opposite the bridge.

As a hen house, his lies can do no harm. The hens don't take any notice.

Because they're hens.


	76. Episode 24: Heroes

Much thanks to genericuser22 for one of the conversations in this episode, and the previous one, and for helping me in general!

Cue the theme!

...

"Hello Edward!"

"Morning sir! How is Lady Hatt, might I ask?"

"Oh,er, not too bad. Not too bad at all. Listen. there's been a recent influx of traffic into the harbor as of late. I mean, the repairs have taken some time, but even by that token, there's way more there than should be. So I've decided that I'm going to be sending in three engines there to give them a hand."

"Very clever of you, sir." Edward vaguely wondered why the Fat Controller was telling him this. "Er, who sir?"

"Well, one of them is Gordon-"

"Ah."

"Yes, I know. But he's mostly due for freight duty for the next week or so, so if he has to get stuck in, then starting there won't be such a chore."

"No, no, I see what you're aiming at, sir. After his express train as well, of course."

"Naturally."

Silence.

"Er, the other two, sir? Duck and Oliver? I mean, they're really useful, even if you can't shut Oliver up sometimes-"

"Not those two."

"...Thomas and Percy- No." Edward corrected himself. "The branch-line's been far too busy for them to do anything on that scale, and I think that also rules Toby out of it as well. ...James and Henry? But I would have thought-"

"Oh no, I've learnt my lesson about that particular powder keg. No, it's a pair of twins you know quite well-"

"Ah! The Caledonians!" Edward beamed. "Yes, if anyone can keep Gordon in order, it would be those two! Especially if he makes any of those bloody Tugboat Annie jokes again-"

"It's not the Scots."

Edward laughed. "But the only other twins are-"

He stopped.

He began to shake.

"Edward-" said the Fat Controller, aware that perhaps he had made a mistake "-now, listen to me-"

"No..."

"They're the only two engines who have little to no work that would prevent them from-"

"NO."

"Everyone deserves a second chance-"

...

From China, to India, to Belgium, to America, the sound of Edward's scream could be heard echoing .

...

That morning, Bill and Ben were busy at the Quarry. And actually doing stuff for a change instead of accidentally blowing something up, or making the foreman be driven away in a white van filled with lot's of gentle men in white coats to a place known only as 'The Funny Farm'. The trucks were (Mostly) in their correct place, and the twins, though still cheeky and wanting very much to play tricks, were currently gripped by a rather new sensation.

"Listen Bill!" said Ben. "Can you hear something?"

"Aside from someone asking me if I can hear something? What sort of something are you even going on about?"

"Something different."

"Ah. That narrows it down."

"Don't get smart with me, Bill."

"No chance of that ever happening."

"Can't hear anything different."

"EXACTLY!"

"Why didn't you just say that at the beginning instead of wasting our time?"

"What time!? At least that made you think for a few seconds, aye? Am I right? Everything's the same! It looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same- especially you Bill, don't lie- And what we need-" He paused dramatically. "-is a surprise!"

"Surprise what?" asked Bill. "What even counts as a-"

"OI! YOU TWO!" The Foreman strode over, massaging his temples and trying to hide his rapidly increasing grey hair. "I have received a important message from the Fat Bast- I MEAN...Fat Controller. He wants you two to head to the station immediately!"

"That enough of a surprise for you?"

...

"Wonder what we've done wrong?"

"Must be you." remarked Ben. "It's always you. I am merely a bystander who gets forced into things by you after all!"

"You fibber!" Bill was outraged. "I haven't done a thing! Why me?!"

They shut up as they approached the Fat Controller, who was wiping his forehead and trying to make sure that the massive crate he had found didn't give way beneath him and plunge him into a huge pile of fish guts.

"Edward's, er, taking the children on a special trip today." He prayed that Duck's special straitjacket for engines worked all right, and then vaguely wondered how it was that Duck had even got his buffers on one of those. "So I want you to go to the harbor station and look after- LOOK AFTER, not burn down- the trucks there. Can you do that, please?"

"We'll do our best sir!" said the twins as one.

Hatt watched them roll away. "Aw, damn it. I better get the insurance company on the phone."

At the other side of the harbor, Gordon was waiting with a very anxious Edward. "Here we go again." muttered Gordon as the twins approached.

"How many times have you said that by now?" asked Edward, chuckling. It would have been more reassuring had his eye not been twitching severely and his buffers straining to escape the confines of his fabric prison.

"Hell if I know. How many times has the harbor burned down, Edward?" growled Gordon in reply. "Hm? Have you counted?"

"No, not exactly."

"Twice. Twice in the space of a month. I wouldn't count on it not happening thricely."

"Well, that's certainly true!" Edward grinned unsteadily. "And now I leave you to have fun! Tata!"

"EDWARD! YOU GET BACK HERE RIGHT THIS- OHHHH." Gordon suddenly found himself surrounded by the twins, looking at him like two sharks would eye a particularly stupid minnow. He tried to speak severely to them. "You must behave here! You're on the main line now!"

"Why Bill!" gasped Ben. "Ah do declare! Ah thought ah had been invited to the stately quadrille! We thought this was a mighty fine scrapyard!"

"Indeed!" said Bill, affecting the accent of a Southern Belle that would make Scarlet O'Hara blush in embarrassment. "Mah eyes have been opened to the truth! This is a completely different ball game!"

Gordon grew crosser. "Just...make sure the coaches are ready for my evening train! I'm going to get drunk!"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Bill called out, leaving Gordon to puzzle out if the twins had any actual morals as such. He knew that as far he knew they hadn't engaged in hate crimes, but that was because quite frankly they didn't care what gender, sexuality, nationality or religion you were, you were probably at some point going to feel Hurricane Yellow Devil.

...

"This is easy!" they said to each other, using the twin ESP to frighten several of those keeping the barges under control by speaking in unison. It was a well practiced trick. Their foreman would have sympathized with the barge owners, if not for the fact that he and the rest of the quarry workers were throwing a massive party to celebrate having gotten rid of Messers Chaos and Discord.

"We know all about trucks!" They bragged.

Somewhere, Karmay the Karma God opened one of their many eyes and grinned maniacally.

It may surprise you to learn that they didn't really. Though they were the scourge of the engines, to the trucks, the twins were mere amateurs in chaos causing. Oliver had had to learn the hard way. They would as well.

You didn't bet against the trucks unless you were one of the following:

-Edward.  
-Donald and/or Douglas  
-Duck  
-BoCo  
-Suicidal.  
-An idiot.

"No need for that!" said a smooth looking private wagon who's name was obscured, but was very identifiable by his own tooth. "We'll show ye around! No prob! We want to help!"

"Thank you very much!" said Ben, thinking to himself; _Sucker!_

"You're welcome!" said the private wagon, thinking to himself; _Fool!_

They giggled and began their tricks.

...

Edward was enjoying a fine drink at the quay as he watched the sun go down. Duck had headed off a while ago, so he just wanted to see the sunset for a few minutes before heading back. The kids had been very much fun, and had actually seemed to enjoy being shown around his branch-line. They had especially liked the ride on Trevor, and the organized 'Throw Wet Sponges at James' display. James was going to take a lot of convincing to stop sulking.

As evening came, Edward became aware of the fact that there was a loud sound coming from the other side of the harbor. He thought for about a minute, and then his face turned the color of curdled milk that had been out in the sun for so long that any attempts to turn it to butter would have produced a fine explosive. "Ohhhhhhh no. Nononononono." He closed his eyes and decided that whatever was going to happen, this was Hatt's problem.

At last, his better nature won out, and he puffed reluctantly over, straitjacket being removed by Sand and Heaver as he did so.

The yard was in a terrible state. The twins had let the trucks tell them what to do. It showed. There was about fifty grinning trucks, and two miserable tank engines. As the sun vanished, Edward worked overtime to clear the trucks out of the way, while Bill and Ben sorted things out. And Gordon and the passengers waited, growing crosser and crosser and more liable to start a riot.

But even so, by the time that Gordon was able to leave, it was very late indeed.

Edward sidled up. He opened his mouth to scold Bill and Ben, before he stopped and frowned. "Hang on, what's that smell?"

He looked around, and had just enough time to wonder 'Funny, were the fuel tankers always near the lamps' before he was knocked out completely.

...

As Edward was removed to Crovan's Gate to remove the pieces of shrapnel from his face, the Fat Controller practically frog-marched the twins back to the quarry, locked them in there and promptly told the incredibly hungover Foreman and his comrades that if they left the quarry at any time, the Foreman was going to be the first to suffer the death penalty once it was newly reinstated.

It got the message through.

"That's a strange noise." remarked Bill, as the sound of something heavy smacking into the ground echoed around the quarry. "Never heard it before. Maybe it's another one of your bloody surprises, Ben!"

"Don't star-"

"I have." whispered his driver in horror. "It sounds like a rockslide's about to happen."

And as if on cue, the alarm began to ring out. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and limped (running with hangovers was just asking for trouble) for the shelters and safety. "DANGER! CLEAR THE QUARRY! WOMEN, CHILDREN AND FOREMEN FIRST!"

Most of the men scrambled into the trucks, as more and more rocks smashed into the buildings and equipment.

"Thank goodness we're-"

"IT'S THEM!" screamed one emotional workman. "THE TWINS ARE THE CURSE! BURN THE WITCHES!"

"Such gratitude." muttered Bill. They were just pulling out of the quarry when-

"ELP! WAIT FOR ME!"

The foreman had been abandoned by most of his fellow employees, mostly because they suspected correctly that his attempt to create the world's biggest firework for the party had instead resulted in a bazooka hitting a load bearing rock. Reluctantly, Ben waited as the Foreman climbed on, and he hurried away as the rest of the rock tumbled down and crushed the main quarry building and line with no regard.

They got out, just in time. Water towers spilled their loads all over the ground, as rocks crushed the sheds for both workmen and engines alike. The alarm sounded it's last desperate cry, and then was silent.

Everyone was safe. But the damage looked irreparable.

"Well-" said Bill. "He can't blame us for it, can he? He'll understand."

...

Edward arrived at the quarry with no bandages, displaying the large marks the shrapnel had left. His face would heal to a extent that you would never know it had eve been disturbed, thus was the steam engine power, but Edward had refused bandages and had gone straight to the quarry upon hearing of the accident.

He did so completely silently.

It was somehow worse than if he had been ranting and raving.

He calmly burnt a hole in the back of the twin's bunkers as the Fat Controller spoke to them. "Bill and Ben, you still have a lot, A LOT, to learn about trucks. And we need to talk about how you manage to keep blowing things up. But you acted quickly and bravely during a emergency, by running away like cowards, to be ironic. Three cheers for Bill and Ben, our heroes. Hip hip hooray hooray hooray. Now I'm going home to get drunk."

"Thanks sir! It's- It's-" Bill stuttered.

"A really nice surprise!" Ben grinned.

"Yes...well, I've forgiven you, but, er, you may need to wait a little while before he does."

Bill and Ben frowned. Then they craned their heads.

Edward smiled at them sweetly, his eye twitching.

"I'd start running if I was you." remarked the Fat Controller.


	77. Episode 25: The Fruitful Day

Cue the theme!

...

It was a splendid morning on the Island of Sodor. This was code for 'Oh God, Hell is Going to Break Loose' or the OGHiGtBL. Duck had tried to make a sensible word out of the mindless gobbledygook, but had given up rather quickly.

The Island was buzzing with activity. Edward was searching for Trevor, Duck, Gordon and Henry were currently drinking at the nearest bar while they waited for the next trains to be ready for them, and James was...well, he was James.

He was feeling very pleased with himself, a not unusual feeling for James. His red paint gleamed in the sunshine as he sped along.

"I should really write some more songs!" he reflected to himself. "I am clearly missing out! Never mind what that old fuddy-duddy Toby says! Take a look who's coming down the track, make way for ME! Make way for ME! Needs a bit of work!"

He reached Lower Suddery's Junction, just as Percy puffed in with some trucks. James grinned. More engines to be fabulous too! Suddenly his nose wrinkled at the smell. He was surprised, no doubt.

"The hell are you doing here?!" He demanded. "You stink! You should be at the next station by now!"

"Don't you think I know that?! Carlin's already passed out on the floor, fireman's doing double duty!" Percy suddenly looked affronted. "So would you stink if you were having to handle those goddamn beefburgers on legs! Oh, and let's not forget that these trucks have been troublesome all morning!"

"Well that's why they're called Troublesome Trucks. I mean they even applied for the trademark and everything. But that's NO excuse Percy! I, a beautiful splendid red engine, have had my fair share of battles to fight too! But do I make excuses for myself and blame others?!"

"Yes."

"NO! I. DO. NOT. NOTHING STOPS ME AND NOTHING SHOULD STOP YOU!"

"You should be a motivational speaker."

"The Fat Controller relies upon us EXCLUSIVELY to be on time. Now if you'll excuse me, you silly little caterpillar, I'll be on my way."

"Bossy buffers." Percy muttered as James puffed away importantly.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

...

Elsewhere, Edward was waiting at the scrapyard. He looked around, confused. "Funny. Could have sworn Trevor was supposed to be here." He frowned. "Charlie, you heard anything?"

"Not a clue! I asked the foreman about it and he just started crying!"

"He's had a very emotional year, to be fair, what with his brother getting fired for destroying the quarry."

...

"So I said to him, I said "Hey Buddy! I don't know if you know who I am, but I know who you are and-" Are you listening Duck?"

"Hmm?" Duck looked around. "Sorry Gordon. Miles away. I was just curious as to what Henry was doing."

"Oh god, he's not buying more of that recreational stuff again? I swear, I had no idea that there were colors that were so...not right in this world. Or the next one. I'm pretty sure I talked to God when I tried some."

"No, he's not actually doing that. He appears to be...flirting."

Gordon looked at Duck. "Flirting."

"Mmm."

"Henry."

"I know, but he appears to be doing it."

"With a engine."

"Indeed. It would be weird if it was the other way around. But there's probably stories about that."

"What?"

"Look over there. By that really old jukebox."

Gordon did. Henry was definitely there, casually chatting to one of the dock engines who rarely came up to the sheds anymore. There were plenty of them working in the background, most of them here for a few months at most.

"Huh. Well good for him!"

"Indeed! You know, I've always wanted to settle down with someone. One of the major things I'm jealous that humans get to have is all the nice things attached to romance. It's not the Great Western Way of course, but sometimes- Ah, but at least Henry's getting to meet some nice young girl and-"

"Boy."

"Hmm?"

Gordon had gone slack-jawed. "He is flirting...with a male engine."

Duck and Gordon stared for a moment. Duck then looked at the betting pool. The latest bet still being 'When is James going to come out of the closet?'. "Well f**k me, I was way off."

Gordon had not said anything.

"Gordon?"

Still nothing.

"Come on, mate, it's a new world we're living in."

Gordon still remained silent as the bartender, a rather cantankerous diesel, stormed over angrily and began telling Henry exactly what he thought of him and his 'kind'. And as the dock engine slipped away, clearly glad that it was Henry getting the abuse-

"You shut your goddamn mouth." Gordon stormed over. "You leave. My friend. Alone."

Duck promptly watched as the diesel asked Gordon the wrong question about Henry and his alternative lifestyle choices.

And then as Gordon began beating the holy hell out of the bartender.

"Huh. Neato."

Henry puffed over. "Hey Duck."

"Sup Henry."

"..."

"...So, you're-"

"...Yeah."

"...That's cool."

"Yep. You would think so."

"So are you just-"

"Oh, both. You know. Male and female. Gender's not really a big deal for me, no matter how hard I try and make it so." Henry coughed. "I would be greatly obliged if you never mentioned this to anyone ever."

"Course not! It's not my place-"

"ALL OF YOU! BANNED! PERMANENTLY."

Gordon stormed out. "AND THAT IS WHY YOUR PLACE IS NO LONGER FREQUENTED BY THE FASTEST, AND THE BEST, AND THE PULLER OF THE EXPRESS! Henry, COME WITH ME. WE'RE GOING TO THE SIDINGS TO GET DRUNK!"

"Ah, so different from all the usual times we go to the Sidings to get drunk?"

"Yes. BECAUSE FRIENDSHIP IS THE GREATEST ALCOHOL OF ALL."

Duck frowned. "This just got weird."

...

Back at the actual plot, James was at the harbor. It was Market Day, and that meant that all of the farmers had turned out to help gather together their stalls. The harbor yard was full of the sweet smell of fruit and far away lands.

And also of rotting fruit. it had been delivered in big ships, and some of those big ships had not been...er...very well constructed, shall we say? Those farmers were angrily attacking the cargo ships with their pitchforks and their shotguns. The fact that three ships sank that day is, perhaps, a rather big co-incidence. Or so the Fat Controller's official sources said.

James watched as strawberries, melons, oranges and bananas were carefully loaded onto his trucks. And as the third third in so many months began to light up teh docks. He decided that he should really leave, just in case.

He set off for the station on the main line. This was a rather odd choice of words for his driver and fireman to use, considering how many stations there actually WERE on the main line, but they were trying very hard to avoid the riots as well.

...

He whistled loudly as he puffed along the track. James glanced at Edward, who was heading in the opposite direction, and maturely stuck out his tongue. Edward rolled his eyes and continued onwards. _Trevor has to be somewhere._

James, meanwhile, had met Thomas. He grinned. More engines to show off too! Without even greeting Thomas with a "Hello!" he plowed right in "Really reliable! That's me! I'm ready and reputable and rrrrrrrocket red!" He panted loudly, alliteration really took it out of him "Pity same can't be said for Percy the Caterpillar, am I right? Peep peep! Bye bye!"

Thomas blinked. James had barely taken a breath and he was already gone.

"What the hell was that about?!" asked Annie, and Clarabel. As one entity. Thomas sighed, and yearned once more for a cigarette. Or something equally as freudian to smoke.

"That was trouble. For James. Just you wait and see. Karma is a cruel and harsh mistress."

He wasn't wrong.

...

Percy was back at Lower Suddery in the yard, shunting the trucks. He had them in good order, and backed up to allow Duck to pass. The Great Western whistled. Percy had no idea the huge problems he and Gordon had been through trying to find another bar that wasn't the Sidings.

So far, Gordon had managed to get them banned from at least three. This wasn't due to Henry this time, however. No, this was all on Gordon. He had started two bar room brawls that had ended up setting the entire place on fire, and had driven the last bartender to such madness with his incredibly specific orders that after being thrown out, they had later heard that he had headed off to the Other Railway, because apparently "Whatever they have to offer is a cakewalk compared to that...THAT...GORDON."

Duck vaguely wondered if Gordon had missed his calling as a torture technique.

Percy had made up for lost time, but he was concerned to see Stationmaster Norris limp over to his driver. "You will not believe what happened!"

"Another one of those ***** and their ******* raves? I know! I can barely get any ******* sleep!" Carlin groaned, using more asterisks that were really necessary. It was a quirk of his.

"No, even worse. James has had a accident. Imagine."

"Oh for ****'s sake! What's happened now?!"

"His brakes have jammed! We need Percy's help right away, because quite frankly, I'm a bit lazy and I didn't want to have to go all the way over to the signalbox to get a phone signal."

"Ha! And today just got so much better!" bragged Percy, as he started off from the sidings.

...

Edward had searched everywhere for Trevor. So it was only natural that he head to the one place which he had thought too obvious to look.

As he arrived at the Orchard, he became aware of a sudden chill in the air, and he shuddered quickly. It was odd. It had been as warm as any bright summer's day just a moment ago, and now it felt like-

His thoughts stopped as he noticed the orchard barn. It's doors were shut, and the lights were out.

"Odd." he remarked aloud. Charlie and Sidney got off his footplate and headed towards the vicarage. The lights were out there, as well. Edward was left to himself, and as he looked along the orchard, he noticed with some confusion just how silent it was. There were no sounds at all. Not even the sound far off in the distance of the workers making sure that the crops were coming in.

Then he saw the shattered beehives and the rather body-like indent in them, and he realized with a horrified stabbing sensation just why everything was so silent.

...

Percy found James sitting on the line outside one of the farms and looking glum. Well. Glummer. On a scale of glumness, he was probably a six. Maybe a seven. Percy, in a sadistic mood, could not help but laugh. "Got yourself in a jam, eh, James?"

"Shut up."

"What you might call a...sticky situation?"

"Shut. Up."

"How does it feel to be trapped by the fruit of your own hubris?"

"BE! QUIET! IT IS NOT FUNNY WHEN YOUR BRAKES JAM!"

"Not very reliable either."

James let out a growl that would have disturbed Mighty Cthulhu.

"I am surprised at you, James! Nothing should stop us engines!"

"Okay, Bozo the Clown, that's enough. Can you push those trucks?!" Carlin looked tired. He had just started a shouting match with one of the farmers who was threatening personally to gut the Fireman like a pig.

"Of course I can!" whistled Percy, smugly. "There is no time to lose! James has done too much of that already!" James's reply was cut off by the hissing of steam. Percy was coupled up quickly.

"Off we go!" he said cheerfully. "I'll have to go fast to get there on time! No thanks to certain red engines!"

"GO TO HELL!"

"Love you too! THESE BIG ENGINES ARE SO UNRELIABLE!"

James's reply was something that can't be written down in any form, lest it destroy whatever it is you're reading this from. Percy puffed cheerfully onwards, refusing to get annoyed about the fact that he had no way of knowing what was in front of him.

"Careful!" snapped Carlin, but Percy was in a hurry. So he didn't noticed that someone had randomly dropped a bunch of crates on the ground, that the points had failed and he was now being diverted onto the siding where the crates had been dumped.

The trucks did. But thanks to their masochistic tendencies, said nothing, and just prepared for their end.

"LOOK OUT!" Carlin applied the brakes.

But, as per usual, it was too late.

There was the sound of wood splintering as Percy went headfirst into the back of the van, and then a huge amount of very squishy sounds as the contents impacted with Percy's face.

His driver and fireman had jumped clear, and had to watch in horror as squashed fruit landed all over Percy.

"We run?"

"We run." agreed Carlin, and the two promptly booked it over the hedges. As they did so, newly made apple juice squirted out from the box and covered Percy's entire face. Seconds later, the rotten fruit finally exploded and covered Percy's front with something that smelt awful, felt awful and was pretty much in general awful.

Percy would have screamed, but a slice of orange had flown into his throat, and he was currently choking.

The Fat Controller arrived, surrounded by a group of bodyguards with sanitizing agents. "PERCY- Oh god, YOU REEK! You're not to blame for the points failure! But I do want you to know that I am not running a jam factory!"

"What?!" Or at least, Percy tried to say "WHAT?!" but there was still the unfortunate problem that even breathing was bringing more of the foul smelling stuff down his throat. So he just muttered "Yes sir" under his breath and sidled off sadly.

...

That night, the sheds were silent. Gordon, Henry and Duck were silently bemoaning their luck getting into a pub (Seven and counting), Edward was reflecting sadly upon the late Vicar (Having mysteriously been stung to death, he couldn't help but remember the curse that he had spoken about) and Percy and James were feeling very sorry for themselves for established reasons.

At last, Thomas, the one engine who hadn't had a bad day, spoke up. He made sure his voice was very condescending. "You know, there's more than one way to get jammed. We all learned that today."

There was still silence, but one could faintly hear the sound of someone sharpening something.

"What's more-" continued Thomas, oblivious to this "We also learnt that when some engines try and help friends out of a...jam, things go wrong."

"So!?" remarked someone, probably Percy.

"So! That means we learned something today! And that means-"

Everyone chorused. "We're really useful engines after all!"

Thomas had just three seconds to feel smug and enjoy being on the moral high ground before the other six engines proceeded to launch themselves across the sheds and start punching the hell out of him.

Thomas decided that making jam puns was not worth it in future.

...

"What the hell happened to you all!?"

Edward spat out a tooth, while Henry and Gordon had ice applied to their eyes, Duck's missing wheel was put back into place, Percy and James had the fruit they had pelted at each other removed and Thomas was dragged off to see if they could fix him up. "Toby, you don't want to know."


	78. Episode 26: The Christmas Adventure

So this is it! Season 3 is over after this chapter! I'd like to thank all of you for continuing on this ride with me, and I hope that you've, at the very least, got a bit of fun out of this one.

Quick announcement. Following the end of Magic Railroad, I was originally planning on just continuing on from Season 6 onwards, but I've decided that that's going to be a speerate story, so I don't have too many chapters that could put potential readers off. Plus, it'll make a nice neat little package as well.

And with that out of the way, CUE THE THEME!

...

Angelis was waiting in a cold car, angrily trying his best to get the air conditioning to work. "Bloody idiots, locking me in here. What the hell do they think I am? I was in Boys from the Black Stuff, they can't do this to-"

Inside the recording studio, Steve glared down the phone. "What do you mean, there's no Christmas party this year?! Why!? ...No, I understand that flying the entire production crew from Shepperton is a big ask, but- Wait, he has?" Steve pulled out a piece of paper. "Okay, new railway for next time. Merchandising's going to love that...what the hell is a Skarloey?"

...

If some day you should see Thomas the Tank Engine puffing happily down his branch-line, shoot him. Seriously. He will probably do something stupid in the next five minutes and destroy most of your house.

But if you don't have a gun, you may be lucky. For he may be heading to a little village nestled deep in the heart of the Island of Sodor. Or possibly the pancreas. Definitely not the liver.

One December morning (Or possibly July. It was probably December, but with the island and it's weather conditions that had to be either controlled by a weather machine or decided by a multi-sided die, it could have easily been July), Thomas whistled to all of his friends in the village. All two of them. Nah, I'm kidding. For some reason, this village (Currently believing that Edward Heath was still Prime Minister and that the eighteenth season of Porridge was to air soon, buried so deep into the Island as it was) liked Thomas. Mostly because they believed him to be a weapon against the dirty Russkies.

Thomas didn't really have the heart to tell them otherwise.

"It's nearly Christmas!" he bellowed like Brian Blessed with a megaphone "I'll bring you lots of letter and parcels! Postman Pat'll have to get a move on to stop me!"

Postman Pat, sitting quietly atop his millions earned from his own TV series, declined to comment.

...

But a week later, the storms came.

"AGAIN!?" wailed Henry.

"I know. I mean what are the odds?!" fumed Edward, thanking God that the vicar had been buried before the snow had started in such force.

"Gordon, since when was it your liberty to take my berth? Like you have for the past three nights?" James was sulking, as he always was.

"James," Gordon grunted, scowling, "you do realize that we don't _have_ set berths?"

"Yes," he replied, stammering, "but _that_ one gives me the best view of the sunrise."

"Ha!" interjected Percy. "You mean you want to get a look at that nice little-"

"PERCY!" snapped James. "Not. NOW!"

Percy grinned, and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Not fooling anyone here, James." James bounced the shed wall and allowed some of the snow to pour onto Percy's head. That stopped his giggling all right.

...

The next day, the Island was covered in a blanket of white. The snow, like James's head, was thick. The engines found work to be difficult. James in particular was beginning to declare a war against anyone who tried to make him move another set of tankers from the thick snowdrifts that permeated the Island.

Some, like the Scottish Twins, got on with their jobs and bashed away at the snow drifts, leading workmen to hack away at the hard packed ice and snow that covered the rails.

Because of this unfortunate freak incident of nature fighting back, Thomas and Percy had most of the mail from the previous night or so plus the day's load of mail packed inside their mail coaches.

"Bloody Christmas." remarked Thomas, usually in a better mood for the holiday, but currently suffering from the fact that it was so cold that one could reasonably find your fingers have turned to icicles. "Driver says there's plenty of post for the village."

"Which one? There are so many."

"Ulfstead."

"Oh that one! I mean, you hear about towns like that on the news, but damn!"

"Driver says it's something to do with just how nuts they were about the Cold War. Entire town's a fallout shelter in preperation. It's like Doctor Bloody Livingstone if they ever try and convince them "Hey, the USSR gave up." But I kind of like it. Kids'll be loving this. Need a extra truck for it"

"But it's not fair! You're not leaving any post for me."

"Oh BOO HOO, I'm so sorry, Percy, that you get to go home early to a nice warm berth while I have to trek through the cold and snow to deal with all this extra post."

Percy's chance had come. Not to represent Britain at Eurovision, which was a flawed dream, but the other chance.

"Been a change of plan." remarked Thomas's Driver.

"We can go home?"

"No, unfortunately. The Fat One requires us at the big station. Percy, you're on your own for this one."

"Oh no. How...unfortunate." Percy couldn't help but grin.

"Aw...I kinda did want to say Happy Christmas to all my mates down there."

"Don't worry! I'll do it for you!" Percy puffed away, leaving Thomas to contemplate why he opened his mouth and invited such karmic punishments to fall upon him with regularity.

"Well, it's not the same." he sighed, and puffed off to Knapford.

Percy shrugged. By the time he was on his way to Ulfstead, he had made good time when suddenly-

"THE **** IS THAT!?" demanded Carlin. There ahead was a fogman by the line. He waved Percy down.

"Village is cut off by the storm. We need workmen, snowplows and a helicopter. Also, some cocoa'd be nice, I'm freezing my balls off out here and it is NOT a pleasant experience, let me tell you. Trucks in the sidings, go back quickly!"

"Yeesh, demanding type." muttered Carlin as Percy backed up. Percy ignored this, for he knew that he was probably going to have to go to one, very, particular source.

Dryaw Airfield was populated currently by a single helicopter, who grinned as he saw Percy. The little green tank forced a smile on his face. "Harold! How are you doing today, good sir?"

"Watcha want, old boy? You're never this polite, doncha know!? Need to learn how ta lie a little better, wot wot?"

"Mountain villagers need you help!"

"Well why didn't you say so, old chap!? Whizzo! I like a emergency to keep me warm!"

"You have issues, Harold." muttered Percy under his breath as the helicopter took off. "Now, what's next? I'm not getting the fogman cocoa. I'm a engine, not a receptionist."

He heard a familiar whistle. "OI OI!" called Thomas proudly. His snowplow was attached to him, and behind him he pulled the Breakdown Train, carrying onboard a very familiar smiling tractor. "Come on Perce! Follow me!"

"Glory hog." muttered Percy. But he did so, and soon they had arrived at the village. They battled their way through, and when they came to a particularly thick drift, they launched out the attack tractor.

Harold was already there, looking smugly down at the rest of the villagers. He busily began throwing food and water to any people or animals that came his way. A couple of concussions were a interesting Christmas gift, even if that wasn't what Harold intended. Meanwhile, Terrance had already gotten to work and was cutting through the snow like a baker cuts through a fine cake.

"Lovely stuff!" he said as he pushed the snow aside.

"You have issues, Terrance. Can you...actually not smile at any point?"

Terrance stared at Percy for a while until he shut up.

"Nice work Thomas! Nice work Percy!"

"What are we, chopped liver?!" Harold growled.

"You're the best Santa Claus this village has ever had!" the villagers called out

"What's a Santa Claus?" asked Percy.

"...Are...are you serious? We met him in 86! Big man! Jolly! Laughed a lot! Gave presents! Drops presents down chimney's around Christmas time!? THAT SANTA CLAUS?!"

"I wonder if-"

"Not funnels Percy. Percy, focus here, he's called Father Christmas over here, but they're probably drunk off their asses because they can't get out of the village at all. Did...did that fruit van give you a actual concussion?"

"I can't tell. Can you usually smell colors?"

"Oh god alive...Post train still in the siding."

"Oh GREAT BLOOD OF ZEUS!" wailed Percy as he puffed off. The second he was gone, Toby and Henrietta rocked up.

"Hot drinks! Hot chocolate, cups of char, hot dogs, soup, anything for the villagers!"

"Hello there, good samaritan!" Thomas said with delight. "You've been quiet recently."

"Haven't I just? It's been a nightmare trying to keep the Branch Line running with all the chaos going on, isn't it m'dear?" Henrietta made a grunt of acknowledgement. "I'll take over here, Thomas. You run on home and get some rest."

"Merry Christmas!" Thomas peeped to the villagers, and then he turned back to Toby. "And to you too. Thanks for helping out."

"Just m'job. Merry Christmas, Thomsa."

...

That night, all the engines had gone back their sheds, save for Toby. The Villagers had made a plan, and they loaded the entire contents of the arts and craft center into Henrietta.

"I don't like being a art college!"

"I know!" Toby said sympathetically. "But this'll be a nice surprise for the others, won't it?" And he set off into the dark countryside. He had it on good authority that the engines were using the larger than usual shed occasionally used in case Tidmouth was out of action. As he passed the regular sheds, Toby's eyes kept on the look out. At last, he spotted the shed and crept towards it.

The engines were all sleeping as the villagers crept across to the sheds. Toby hadn't a clue what was going on, but he was very sure that it was going to be a big surprise.

...

"BLOODY HELL!" exclaimed Duck.

"How-" questioned Henry.

"WHAT!?" shouted Gordon.

"Almost as pretty as me." remarked James.

"Santa Claus, right Thomas?"

"Don't push it, Percy."

"So miracles do exist." Edward remarked simply.

The sheds had been repainted and decorated, Christmas cards were hung up all over the roof, baubles and tinsel hung from everywhere, even some minature robins danced a mechanical dance around the rafters. Parcels lay under a massive tree, and as the engines whistled in delight, they agreed it was really a happy Christmas after all.

At least until James accidentally set the tree on fire later that night and burnt down the spare sheds.

But for the most part, a happy one.

...

In a rather cold office, somewhere in the vast complex that was the Other Railway, the Fat Director held council with his inner circle. He glanced around the room, surveying each with a critical eye.

The Captain was angrily tapping the desk, clearly wanting to be off and back on the water again, but for what, only he knew. Besides him, Gotch rested his weary head on the table, trying to get some sleep. His journey to the Island had been a long one, and thus he was feeling the after-effects.

The door swung open, and the final member of the group joined them. "Can't believe you dragged me away for this." growled Boomer, his eyes flashing with anger. The Fat Director raised a hand to stay any more remarks, and Boomer subsided with a grumble. The Director stood up, looked around until his eyes were adjusted to the dark, and then nodded at the two guards. They left, shutting the door behind them quietly.

For ten seconds, no one spoke. Then at last, the Fat Director began. "You're probably wondering why I have called you here so suddenly. That is because I believe it is time that you were all let, as it were, onto the secret. What it is I'm doing here. What is it you've...signed for, in a way."

"We know." The Captain snuck out a cigarette, and when he saw the Director had no problem with him smoking, lit it up. "Power. Take over the world."

"Ah, but you don't really know how, do you? For the most part, I have sent Mr Boomer to be our liaison with the ghost known as Marklin, but recently I have charged him with a task of quite a different nature. Searching out the last line of defense and eliminating her as quickly and as quietly as possible. Now, sadly, he hasn't been able to do so yet, but I am aware that this particular...avenue of enquiry was not going to be easy. In all honesty, it should take us years to track her down, and even further to formulate a way of destroying her."

"God alive, you speak like this gal's a world ender!"

"She is." Gotch shut up. The Captain stamped out his cigarette, suddenly deciding the taste wasn't to his liking. "I've been giving ye most of the hauls that me and my fleet have been scourging. Don't see what that has to do with-"

"Captain, you and I searched for the engine for years upon years. I sent you out onto the ocean in the hope that being back on familiar ground would be a tonic. And indeed it has. Indeed, what you've discovered tells me that that Bigg City is indeed dead and buried. Your elimination of the last of the Old Ones has proven to be most useful."

"Old Ones?"

"Long, complicated story. Bottom line and short version is that they're somewhat of the same temperament as yon Sudrians, except older in every way." The Captain glanced around. "Ye mentioned Marklin. Where is the jammy dodger?"

 **"Here."** came the blunt response. The faint outline of a engine could just be seen in the darkness, glittering faintly. **"Job's finished, Mr Boomer. Sir."**

"Excellent." The Fat Director stood up, and nodded in satisfaction. "The Vicar is dead?"

 **"Indeed. Quite a ironic way to go, I think. Stung to death by his own bees. With a little help from yours truly, of course."** Marklin may have made a mocking bow, or it could have been a trick of the light. Either way, he was clearly enjoying himself. **"Gotch preformed his job admirably."**

"Why kill the Vicar?" objected Gotch, who had no qualms about killing the old man, but at the very least considered it wasteful. "I mean, I don't see the point of it, in all reality."

"Because-" explained the Fat Director "-it's required. A long time ago, a curse was set upon the vicar of the Island of Sodor. He took part, along with other magical elements, to banish and restrict a great and powerful demon. Some argue that he was the devil. Others say he was the one demon who Lucifer himself feared. But whatever he is, it is through him we shall take control of this world and drag it to it's knees. The Malevolence, as it is referred, has a number of various components, located in various places. One of these components is our friend Marklin here. A ghost of pure dark energy."

 **"Guilty."** smirked Marklin.

"By killing the vicar, he has not only kept to the rules of the curse, but we have also gained significant power from doing so. Every day, the Malevolence grows stronger and stronger, as it should." The Fat Director steepled his hands. "But it comes to my attention that the true scope of our plans are not yet known to you all." He walked around, gesturing calmly.

"The Captain's expeditions have provided me with enough of the materials of the Old Ones to construct something that will be able to harness the power of the Malevolence in a manner that will not immediately destroy the entire world, and more importantly, will be under our shared control. There are two vessels that contain the essence of the Malevolence, each chosen at the height of great negative emotion. Marklin is one such creature, but the other...the other remains situated somewhere in the world, under my orders. To be guarded until such time that we have constructed the foretold weapon that it shall possess.

This weapon has been foretold to be the tenth diesel upon the Island of Sodor. The tenth diesel to breathe the same air as the scum that populate the Island, and it will be by his hands that we raze that Island to the ground, and there will be nothing anyone can do to stop us!"

There was a knock on the door. A bodyguard wordlessly handled the Director a package. He grinned. "Ah. My agents have successfully managed to capture one of the more high profile steam engines. Stepney'll chase Bluebells no more." He looked to the bodyguard. "Keep him in solitary. See if the Facade's can't get any information out of him."

He turned back to the men. "Well. Captain, scour the seas, make sure that there are no Old Ones still hiding. Boomer, get back to work on the Lady case. Gotch...impressive work adding a dash of poison to those bees. Bio-mechanical engineering is a rare art form. And thank you as well for the kind gifts from your old friends at the USSR."

"The conversion process should go quicker now, boss."

"Excellent. There is a steamroller I simply must introduce you too. A new name, a new job...and a new chance to spy on the Railway."

He paused. "Oh, and Marklin?"

 **"Sir."**

"...Get ready. I think we have another candidate for you to take control of. This time, no one will suspect a thing."

...

Somewhere in a cold car park, Micheal Angelis swore aloud.

"I'm never doing another bloody series of this. MERRY BOOMING CHRISTMAS!"


	79. S4 Episode 1: Granpuff

Hello there! Been a bit of a while, hasn't it? Allow me to quickly respond to a couple of my reviews from the previous chapters that have only now decided to pop up on my radar...yeah, my computer's weird like that.

TealSparkle- Hey! You're back! Ugh, tell me about it, school work is the worst. Still, power through! Yes, I am going to be here a while, and I have already started up my cloning machine to make sure that I don't die before finishing this epic. I imagine it's going to probably over take War and Peace at some point. XD.

lololandlol- Yeah, Bulgy's fate is a little harsh, but I justify it considering how much of a ass he was. And that steamroller's going to be making his debut this season as well, hope you enjoy that!

bigyihsuan- It's definitely an idea, and I think it's one I should probably consider. There are just one or two problems with that, however. Mainly, putting it in it's own seperate story to skip may make things a bit more confusing considering how many plot threads I'm planning on wrapping up. It could be solved with a little tweak at the beginning of Season 6, but still.

So if you guys could let me know what you think about putting Magic Railroad on it's own seperate thing, that would be great.

Also, quick note. Tugs Abridged is making slow progress. It turns out that making fun of it is a lot harder than I thought, considering it's more adult outlook. But I shall preserve!

One quick note. This story is going to be probably a little weaker than the others. Most of that is because it's Thomas telling the story,and, as has been documented, he's a idiot. Really big one. So his story-telling abilities leave much to be desired.

Lastly, I'd like to thank you one more time for sticking along for this crazy little ride of mine. I appreciate it more than I can say.

And now, CUE THE THEME!

...

1994.

"Sir Topham!" Britt Allcroft crossed the platform with some delight to shake the hand of her friend. "Lovely to see you again. Apologies it took a little longer than expected, but at least it's not as bad as the last time!"

"Lovely to see you, Britt." Hatt looked around. "David with you?"

"He's arriving soon, he's bringing Mr Asquith and Mr Angelis with him. Apparently there's still a little heat between the two following the events of Christmas 1992." She grinned. "You know how it is."

"Indeed. Now, step this way, and I can set you up for some transportation."

"Where are we heading?" Britt looked at Hatt with confusion. "I...I admit, it's been a while, so your information has been forgotten, I'm afraid."

"Well, the Skarloey Railway is one of the oldest on the entire Island. i recently bought out some of the lines for the oldest railway in the recorded history, the Mid Sodor Eailway, which went under in 1947. Now...well, I'll explain on the way, but there's a grand adventure being planned, and no mistake. Your camera grew may want to be there, it's going to be historic for the Island."

"Why weren't we told about this before?"

"Two reasons. One, the Skarloey Railway only recently came into my hands. Yes, it was rather sudden. One of the diesels from the Other Railway ran over the Thin Controller, as he was nicknamed, quite on accident. It was tragic and such, and since then, no one but me have been willing to take on the responsibilities. And secondly, the Skarloey engines are a bit shy, for the most part. They're not camera hogs like James, or Henry, or Gordon. They're just hard-working sorts...well, I assume so. I've noticed you split up your camera crew."

"Yes, well, this new railway is terrific and all, but I still feel as though our target audience would like to see how Thomas and company are getting along."

"No shortage of stories there." Hatt suddenly stopped, and turned around, a gleam in his eye. "It's funny you mention that..."

...

Later that night, the snow from December's chilly embrace had refused to melt, and was stubbornly locking itself around the shed doors. The cold wind blew and battered at the doors.

The engines were finding it hard to sleep. Harder than usual, that is. Which was odd, considering that James was working late at the quarry (Much to his dismay), Gordon was still taking out the midnight express, and Thomas had taken a few drinks and was now peacefully on the verge of a coma.

"So, the elections are coming up." remarked Duck to no one in particular.

Everyone glanced. "Don't be daft." muttered Henry. "We had a general election two years ago. Unless it's the Labor-"

"No." Duck clarified. "For the Island's mayor? You remember, once a new mayor is elected, he then throws a dart on a board to see how long he has in office until the next election comes around. I believe that system was placed into effect by Sir Jackson Daniels, the Arse Faced."

"Wasn't he the one who squandered away the Island's fortunes because he made a bet that the Titanic was going to never sink, ever?"

"The very same, Toby."

"Which one's our Mayor, again?" remarked Percy. "I keep forgetting."

"Are you talking mayors, or prime ministers?" muttered Gordon as he clanked in. "John Major-"

"Oh don't start that again!" Toby was aghast. Gordon could not stop railing against the fact that John Major was the most boring man in existence. "If he's boring and not raising too much of a fuss, that means he's doing his job. I'd rather a boring man take control and make sure that no one gets offended, than have a charismatic one ruin the entire state."

At that precise moment, the power went out. For the engines, this was a minor problem.

Outside, the Island began to riot as their television sets turned to blank screens. Wisely, the Mayor and his entourage were hurried rather quickly into one of the many bunkers lying around the Island, where they were forced to listen to the berzerk crowd going coo-coo for coco puffs outside, demanding the return of their precious EastEnders and Question Time.

...

Edward opened one eye lazily. "BoCo."

"Hmm?"

"Island's on fire."

"Huh."

"Bill and Ben are definitely locked in the sheds?"

"Uh huh."

"Then it's not our problem."

...

"What we need-" remarked Toby, as the sky turned red as a result of everything being set on fire "-is a story."

"A mysterious story!" Percy said, with great effect. Outside, the yobs had amassed and began throwing bricks at anything that even looked at them wrong.

"But-" said Duck firmly, as he decided that pointing out that there was a full scale war going on out there would make things worse "-it must have a happy ending!"

"Who put you in charge?" snarled Gordon, but Thomas opened his eyes.

"Driver told me a story once."

"Oh god, not the one about the lass from Crosby again." moaned Henry. "I like my coal where it is, I don't want to have to throw up again."

"He tells me other stories!" Thomas said defensively. "And what else are we going to do? No telly, no books, just the six of us in a airtight series of berths.

Everyone groaned and grumbled for a moment, but eventually settled down to listen.

"Once upon a time-" began Thomas.

"In a galaxy far, far away?"

"Shut up Duck." Thomas continued.

...

There were three little engines who lived in their own little shed on their own little railway.

The brown one, the only tender engines of the group, was called Duke. The green tank engine was called Stuart. And the blue tank engine was known as Falcon. They had lived in this valley for quite some time, and only knew their line. To them, the outside world was...a thing you told around the campfire.

Now Duke was old. Older, if it's possible, even than Edward. He had been named after 'his grace' the Duke of Sodor. At least, that's what he told the other two engines. In reality he was named after Baroness Kyndley's pet dog, who slobbered everywhere and was insane. It was a apt comparison to be made, for he too was proud to the point of insanity about his pedigree. And he often slobbered a bit when he got into a rage.

He was a classist bastard, who liked to keep the little engines in order-

...

"Little biased there, aren't you, Thomas?"

"Gordon, shut up and let me tell the goddamn story. Ahem."

...

Falcon was the more rambunctious of the two, but Stuart was no saint either. While they certainly liked Duke, there was something about him that made him very easy to mock. Perhaps it was the way he occasionally dressed up in royal garb if he felt the situation called for it. Or the times he would ramble on about having met Queen Victoria, and she had secretly desired to run away with him to the circus.

And whenever they did anything wrong (Which was often) such as accidentally smashing their trucks into each other, he would tut and remark "That'd never suit his grace!"

...

"Hey, a little respect would be nice, kay?"

"Toby, THIS IS MY STORY. I MAKE THE RULES."

...

Other engines came and went. But they don't matter, so I won't tell you their names. All you need to know is that Duke outlasted them all. That is one of the great mysteries of the modern Island, for it is rumored that Duke killed most of them and buried them in his shed- OKAY DUCK, I'll stop blaspheming against the all mighty and powerful Duke! Jeez, you're sensitive today.

They used to call him Granpuff, mostly because of his age. And if you're not laughing now, then get used to it because that's what they kept calling him, despite his insistence that they call him Duke or Your Holiness or even Fluffy the Rabbit when he was in a particularly weird mood. They were fond of him, but they grew very tired of having to hear about his grace. Stuart often fell asleep and Falcon would go on a massive rant about how Dukedoms were, in fact, a product of the bourgeois. Falcon was a reader of Karl Marx.

But mostly, they chanted at him, starting the time honored tradition of engines and trucks on this Island accomplishing their means by chanting loudly. They would chant "ENGINES COME AND ENGINES GO, BUT GRANPUFF GOES ON FOREVER!"

By chants, it was a relatively weak one. It didn't even rhyme.

"You, sires, are impertinent scalawags, have at you!" Duke would say, monocle in eye and puffing on a pipe. "Whatever are you young whippersnappers coming to, eh, eh, eh?"

"Never mind, Granpuff, we're only young once."

"Well, not so much in your case." muttered Falcon.

"You'd better mind- Morning Rheneas- unless you want to end up like that rascally rascal Smudger, indeed." Duke would puff on his pipe and wait for the inevitable questions to come about. Which they would. Probably five seconds later.

"Ooooh, Granpuff!" they would say, somewhat camply "Whatever happened?"

And so Duke would tell them the tale-

...

"Hold up."

Thomas glared at Henry. "What?"

"This is like a Russian Doll story! You're telling a story about Duke telling a story, and no doubt the camera crew there are recording it, so the narrator will probably tell the story- IT'S KILLING ME!"

"Yes, and I don't think Duke really acted like that." Duck said thoughtfully. "I mean, there are some old recordings made of him during the 30's, and he sounded more...well...sane, for one thing."

"Hey! Listen! Have you ever read a book!? And then seen the film they made of it?! No, these changes are for the better!" Thomas s eyes were filled with stars. "And someday, when I, Thomas the Tank Engine, shall make it to Hollywood, I shall present my Magnum Opus to the execs and they'll say "Can we put you on the Walk of Fame, Thomas?" and I shall scoff at them, for I deserve-"

"So what was in that coal he took earlier?" muttered Toby to Henry.

"Welsh coal. I was pretty out on it last time I took it."

"And now, BACK TO THE STORY."

...

Duke told them the tale of Smudger.

"Smudger, was a showoff. He was a bloody Yank, and you know you can never trust them! Not as far as you can throw them, anyway! He was loud and rude and boisterous, and often suggested that I was doing crude and inappropriate things with young ladies, the audacious cheek! He rode roughly, like one of them new fangled greasers, and he often came off the rails literally as well as metaphorically! We lost so many good trucks to that silly little sausage!

When I brought the breakdown train one time, I warned him to be careful, but he just laughed at me and called me a old sage.

"Listen, Dukie, who worries about a few little spills? Let me tell ya, when yous in the Bronx, yous learns a few things about roughness! Ya gotta be firm, or someone rides all over ya!"

"We worry here!" I said, with a pithy comeback. But he laughed, that very annoying braying laugh!

Manager grew cross. and said one day that he was going to make him useful at last. Smudger stopped laughing then."

"OOOH GRANPUFF!"gasped Falcon and Stuart "What did he do?!"

Duke would smirk with a cold glint in his eyes "Why, he turned into a generator. Still there behind our shed. He'll never move again." Duke smiled warmly "Just a little warning!"

After that, Falcon and Stuart were silent for several days."

...

"And that is how Christmas was made!" Thomas grinned. He was somewhat surprised to see all five engines staring at him in horror. "What?! Smudger had it coming! Oh what, it was a different time!"

"Please tell me you made that up."

"Maybe..."

...

For many years, the three were very happy. They took passengers on trips, pulled around trucks and even worked with the local blasting company known as . The gunpowder manufacturer paid for the Railway's continued success.

And then hard times fell upon the Island.

It was World War 2, and though the demand for weapons kept them working, there was a unfortunate side-effect. The mines and the hills had been completely stripped of all natural resources and other such valuables, and thus were closed on orders of Churchill, who came to the Island and spent many a day harumphing with Duke over the state of things.

Soon, the Railway was closed too. Many of the workers got new jobs working for the Skarloey Railway, but for the most part, the engines were left in the dark until the final day. A red train named, ironically, Skarloey, came with some more people from the Skarloey Railway.

"We'll take Stuart and Falcon!"

No one wanted Duke. Mostly because they were a little scared he may rip their heads off and drink their blood- Fine, that didn't happen. God, you guys are buzzkills! But they didn't take Duke. Really because they saw him as a relic.

"Cheer up Granpuff!" remarked Stuart. "We'll get a railway of our own, and then you can come and keep us in order! You'll like that!"

Duke laughed...but he didn't really believe it.

No one did, really. And as Stuart and Falcon were signed under the control of the Thin Controller, known simply as Mr Peter Sam, and were given their new names, they left the Mid Sodor Railway for the final time.

Duke's driver and fireman oiled and greased him said their goodbyes, covered him up with a tarpaulin and sheeted him snugly, placed him in the shed and locked the door for the final time. They had work to find.

And Duke was lone.

"Ah well!" he sighed cheerfully. "I shall not be forgotten! I shall prevail! A little nap shall not hurt me!"

Winter torrents washed down the mud and earth of the mountains around him, covering the shed and the rails, wiping out any trace that the Mid Sodor Railway had even existed, and that there had never been a time when trees and bushes hadn't grown around that little clump. You'd never have known a shed was there, let a lone a little dozy engine inside."

...

The winter wind was still buffeting the doors, and silence reigned before Percy spoke up. "THAT'S NOT A HAPPY ENDING AT ALL!"

"Ah." murmured Thomas "There will be. But that'll wait until next time."

In the silence that followed, Toby remarked at last. "Okay, a few things, Thomas. One, Falcon and Stuart weren't actually purchased by the Skarloey railway until a few weeks ago, they were actually sent to a few quarries and so on. Second of all, Churchill never came to this Island, in fact I believe his exact words regarding this was "We shall fight them on the beaches, unless those beaches are Sodor's, in which case, good god damn riddance to them. Thirdly, the entire story of Smudger was proven to be a myth, told to young engines to try and scare the pants off of them, so claiming that it's true is winning you no points here. Fourthly, HOW DARE YOU END IT ON A CLIFFHANGER! Fifthly, you should go into politics considering how much confidence you have when you lie through- Can anyone else smell burning?"

Everyone glanced outside.

"Huh." remarked Henry. "How did we never notice that?"

But no one noticed Thomas's face slowly changing from outrage at Toby picking plot holes in his 'genius' story, to one that Archimedes had probably had when he had discovered volume whilst sitting in the bath.

"Toby! You are right!"

"I am?!" Toby smiled. "Good! I didn't mean to be harsh about your story, but they could sue the-"

"I should go into politics!"

"What?" Toby gasped.

"I would be taking to it like a...forgive the pun, duck to water!"

"Wait..." Duck said with dawning horror.

"I shall become the greatest leader of this Island ever! Churchill shall smile down at me from the heavens."

"Hang on a tick!" Henry yelped, his mind coming to a rather awful conclusion.

"The arts would be a waste of my time, and of the Island's, when I could do so much more-"

"No!" Gordon snapped.

"-SO MUCH GOOD I MAY EVEN BECOME A GOD-"

"Take a breather!" Percy panicked.

"I, THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE-"

"NO!" screamed the other five.

"-SHALL ENTER POLITICS."


	80. Episode 2: Sleeping Beauty

Back to Storytime with Thomas!

CUE THE THEME!

...

It was a beautiful moonlit night on the Island of Sodor. At least, so said most people who enjoyed not going to sleep. The others didn't give a flying hoot whether or not the night was pleasant or just mildly interesting.

The engines had been working hard, the work was done, and the six in Tidmouth were glad to be home, instead of out in the cold and dark, like some other fools that they could mention.

Elsewhere, Oliver cursed all those in nice warm sheds as he angrily pulled the night train along the track.

Thomas had not stopped talking about setting up his own political campaign to run for Mayor. At first, when the other engines had heard of this, they reacted with their normal response to many of the crazy and wacky things Thomas said. They nodded and ignored it. That usually did the trick. It had worked that time Thomas had wanted to join the circus. It had worked for that brief period where Thomas had decided that he should get into the talk show circuit (The resulting bomb, Tankin With Thomas, was now banned in seven different countries and passed around only on bootleg in most of the other ones).

It did not, in fact, work for this one.

Thomas had already insisted that most of the other engines could share in his glory (The Mayor of Sodor had so much to deal with that you needed a full blown cabinet to deal with all the little side jobs) and truth be told, some of the engines were getting swayed.

"Thomas." whispered Percy.

"Oh go on then Percy, you can be my vice-mayor!"

"Er...thanks? But, I was actually going to ask about the end of that story."

Toby, Gordon and Henry shot Percy glares that could have cooked a omelette. Percy immediately realized his mistake and tried to take it back, but Thomas latched onto it like a muscle on a boat. "Oh, about Duke the Lost Engine?!"

"No, the one about the barge and his ballast!" scoffed Henry. "Exactly that!"

James, who had mercifully missed last's night twisted version of Jackanory, spoke up. "But please remind us of the story so far."

"You hate us, don't you James." remarked Toby. James gave a rather smug grin. He had been taking all of the comments about his recent varnishing today, and thus he wanted to get a little payback.

"Well, we could always talk about my political campaign instead-"

"STORY TIME!" interrupted Toby, suddenly a bundle of enthusiasm.

"YAY!" Gordon said, desperately trying to make sure that Thomas could allow them to sleep for ONCE.

"Well-" Thomas started. And here is the rest of his story he told. "So there's this old geezer named Duke, who lived with two young imprudent scallywags named Stuart and Falcon. They teased Duke and called him Granpuff, and he in turn terrified them with how the manager would repeatedly violate engine rights, but they were happy together. Somewhat. But then the recession hit, probably the fault of some American, let's be honest, their line got closed and the young engines went off to do some funny stuff, no doubt. Duke was left alone, he went to sleep, and like the old silly fool that he was-" Thomas heard Toby cracking his cowcatcher, the engine equivalent of cracking his knuckles and hurried on. "-HE WAS VERY RESPECTFUL. But everything around him changed! But Duke was never forgotten!"

"Like you forgetting to be a asshole?" muttered Henry.

...

Edward cracked open a eye. "Hmm. BoCo?"

"Yep."

"Shed's on fire."

"Huh."

"Bill and Ben locked away?"

"Er, yeah- ...Oh god."

"What?"

"Edward, the shed's open."

Both engines had enough time to think about this, before at last coming to the same, well thought out and respectable conclusion.

"SHI-"

...

Back at the sheds, Thomas had continued his story. It was lucky that he had been privy to the drunken ramblings of Angelis, as some of the very events he had described had taken place that very day.

"The years went by, as they are want to do. Until one day, not long ago, visitors came to see the Fat Controller."

...

"So, this mission?" Mitton looked at Allcroft. "It's pretty interesting."

"Camera crew is ready, sssh, here they come!"

"Gentlemen, I understand your concerns." Hatt sat down at his seat. This was a temporary office located somewhere not too far from the little station of Rheneas, named after the little engine currently working his wheels to make sure he was fully repaired outside. "But aren't you aware that most of the terrain that hasn't been reused for the Skarloey railway is a potential risk?"

"We don't care!" cried the Fat Clergyman, Vicar Teddy's replacement in the roll of Island Vicar and owner of Trevor. "We want to find Duke!" He pointed to the portrait on the wall. "And we want to make him happy again!"

"Bit of a hard task." muttered Hatt. "He's probably senile by this point."

"Nonetheless." remarked the Thin Clergyman, a old man much respected by all who knew him, and writer of quite a number of books on trains. "We wish to travel to the old remains of Mid Sodor and find him."

"Mid Sodor, what is this, Lord of the Rings?" Asquith laughed, until the cool glances from the enthusiasts shut him up.

Maps lay everywhere, and everyone in the room, bar Hatt, who made his escape to go and eat another set of cream buns, began pouring over them in great detail to find a place to begin searching. Jem Cole and Farmer Trotter finally managed to retrieve one map and placed it down.

"We follow the old line on this map-" indicated Jem "-we'll travel north of the village and into the mountains."

"What about this place?" Angelis pointed to a section of the line entitled 'Old Station'. The cartographers hated the Island, so they stopped bothering after a time.

"Look!" said one man with a bobble hat. "There's the old station!"

"As indicated by the name." muttered the Thin Clergyman.

"If Duke's anywhere, he's there." declared the Fat Clergyman. They quickly packed up their stuff and hurried downstairs to the nearest train, clambering on-board to head off to the mountains. Skarloey was the engine who took them, and slowly he pulled along the various stations, that once made up the Mid Sodor Railway. The days went by, and the search grew harder and harder as they eliminated area after area.

The rescuers wouldn't give up.

"This is hopeless!" moaned Asquith to Angelis. The latter ignored him. "You're not still bitter about the Christmas thing, are you?"

"Leave him." suggested Mitton, as he brought over a selection of pasties. "He'll talk when he's ready."

Allcroft glanced through the cameras. "We've got some nice footage here. Maybe we should stick with THIS railway for a bit, it'll be interesting to see how different they are from the main one."

"Well they're mostly Welsh." remarked Asquith. "So there's that."

"Let's go this way!" said BobbleHat, randomly pointing in any direction.

"But we've been through there."

"THAT WAY!"

...

But there was still no sign of Duke, and station after station passed them by. There were also a lot of stop for toilet breaks, considering that the pastries had been made out of what appeared to be rubber. This didn't help when they crossed quite possibly the largest viaduct in the world that had the thinnest track ever. Much sobbing and wailing was had by the visitors.

At last, they stopped on one of the large and steep inclines, where some headed down and some headed up. Skarloey was just glad to get a bit of kip for once, not least because the Fat Clergyman was contributing to some of his troubles hauling the train with.

"He's got to be here somewhere!" remarked Cole to Allcroft, who smiled wearily and shrugged. The Fat Clergyman and his friend with the bobble hat wandered aimlessly up to the mountain. The others scrambled over hills and struggled through ditches, all in vain. At last, their search ended when a twin pair of yelps alerted them back to the top of the mountain. They had just enough time to see Bobble Hat sink into the ground (The Fat Clergyman having plummeted down doing the splits already) before he vanished from sight. Scrambling up, they stared in shock.

"We've found him! Our sleeping beauty!"

"Now that would make a good episode title." muttered Mitton to the side.

"Scuse me!" snapped a very grumpy and dusty looking engine. "THAT'S BAD MANNERS! Are you vandals?! Have you come to take my soul!? Driver says that they break and smash things, and also that one stole his heart one time! He's very odd like that! I'm also more a Snow White, if you want my personal and humble opinion, as it is the greatest of all time. Very humble indeed!"

"Bless you, no!"

"But I didn't sneeze!"

"We've dropped in because we couldn't find your door! Sir Handel and Peter- I mean, Stuart and Falcon will be pleased to see you! It was them that put us onto you to begin with!"

Some of the fog seemed to clear from Duke's eyes. "So they did remember me!" he beamed.

...

The rest of the day was spent cleaning up the cobwebs off of Duke, until finally, a truck arrived to take him to Crovan's Gate. They all set off to Duke's new home. He was pulled along by Skarloey and someone who may or may not have been Rheneas. It might have been Duke's mental state getting very confused.

And at last, Duke rested inside the Skarloey Shed, dozing in the sun.

"Here he is!"

"You go first!" laughed Falcon.

"You woke me up!" moaned Duke "Where's me biscuit! I asked for a biscuit! In my young days, you little silly beggars, engines were-"

"Seen and not heard!" laughed Stuart. "We know!"

"We'll all be back to work tomorrow, Granpuff!" Falcon grinned. "We're so glad you're back here! We think we should try and keep you in order!"

"KEEP ME! IN ORDER!? You little sons of guns! Get off with yah!" Duke laughed. "I don't care what your names are!"

The two engines backed away, laughing to themselves and resolving to start their first set of pranks tomorrow. Falcon had a plan involving replacing the flag with the Communist one, just to screw with Duke even further.

"Impudent scallywags." But Duke's eyes twinkled, and for the first time in years he smiled as he dozed in the sun.

Nearly thirty years asleep, and the second he woke up, off he went to the land of nod again.

...

"And that-" concluded Thomas "-is the end of the story! Did you enjoy?"

"Not bad." admitted Henry.

"Yes indeed!" remarked James.

"Liked the happy ending." Toby reluctantly conceded.

Soon they were all fast asleep.

Then Gordon picked upon a question that had been troubling his mind for some time now. "Thomas?"

"Yes?"

"...This took place only a few days before, correct?"

"Indeed. It's only today that Duke was brought home and I got the whole tale, why?"

"Well...what were you going to tell us if Duke was never found? Were you literally just lying through your teeth up until today when you said that there was a happy ending?"

"Well-" started Thomas "-that's not imp-"

"No, hang on!" Toby started. "I think it is! See, now Gordon's said it, I'm curious, how did your original Oscar worthy script end?"

"Yeah, spill the beans, Thomas!" Henry smirked.

"We're not going to stop until you do!" Percy gloated.

"Fine...er...well in my original draft-"

"You mean poorly concieved fanfiction that you had no idea how you were going to end it so you just randomly pulled something out of your smokebox." interrupted James.

"...It originally ended with Duke's fiance returning to find him, at the end of life...and then something about aliens. Pretty sure Bobby Ewing woke up in a shower at some point. There was also a tap-dancing scene with Rheneas, and also Smudger was going to come back from the grave to haunt Duke's sleep, and there was also this one bit where-"

Everyone started laughing.

"Well, if your stories are as bad as that, you'll never make it into politics." Gordon grinned as Thomas spluttered.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" wailed Edward as he rushed through the station, a large crew of firemen waiting in his trucks "FIRE AT VICARSTOWN!"

"WEE WOO WEE WOO WEE WOO!" shouted BoCo as he trailed after him, imitating the siren of the fire trucks.

Everyone stared at each other as they vanished into the night. They decided to get some sleep. They were clearly all very tired and seeing things that didn't exist. That was the only possible explanation for how weirdly this week had turned out.


	81. Episode 3: Bulldog

CUE THE THEME!

...

Edward heaved and hauled the burning wreckage of several unfortunate (Or, depending how you looked at it, lucky) trucks back to the scrap yard. BoCo was still at Wellsworth, giving both Bill and Ben hell about how it was wrong to burn down things. This was the seventh time that Edward could remember having this talk with them about it. That he could remember suggested that he had banged his head against the wall so many times that eventually the memories had faded. Their excuse, that they had seen a nasty wasp and were only making sure it did not cause harm to some poor unsuspecting soul, was not their best. In fact, it was on another planet compared to their best.

It was morning, and the Fat Controller had kindly enough allowed Edward to take a break once he had eliminated the last remains of the trucks, to enjoy the fresh morning breeze and also to relax himself after such a long and tiring night, fighting fires.

As he came to a stop beside the scrapyard, he was interested to see the remains of a old generator being loaded onto a truck by one of those people who Edward recognized, but didn't quite know the name.

Gaz?

Gonzo?

Gotch?

Gotch, that was it, Gotch was loading what looked to be a old, rusting green generator onto the back of his lorry. He glanced around carefully, and then clambered on-board, starting off with a bang.

It may have been Edward's eyes, but for a moment, he almost thought he saw a face on the generator. He shook himself. Too long a night.

He then happened to glance at his driver's newspaper. His eyes boggled. His mouth dropped open. "THOMAS!?"

...

On this morning, Percy was feeling very, very, VERY impatient indeed. As opposed to all the other times when he was a beacon of patience for all to admire. Sarcasm, as you can tell. He was wearing a new coat of paint, and he longed for everyone to see it. He was trying to emulate what made James so successful.

And by successful, I mean annoying, of course.

The other engines were still dozing, like the lazy sods they were.

"Driver should be here by now!" Percy complained "What's he doing!?"

"Sleeping, or on a boozer. Either way, shut up." Gordon muttered, his eyes barely creaking open.

Percy went into full blown panic mode "BUT! BUT I'LL BE LATE! The coaches will be waiitng,the passengers will complain, the Fat Controller will decide he has no more use for me, I'll be sent to the scrapyard and THE DIESELS WILL TAKE OVER THE WORLD! WOE! WOE FOR PERCY!"

"Get a grip." Henry said, reluctantly wide awake and glaring straight at Percy. "Shockingly enough, you are not the center of the universe, you'll survive. All of us here have done far worse than be late for one train."

"Speak for yourself." muttered Toby.

"It's still early." added James. "No one's up this early except for silly little green engines who can't learn to keep their traps shut."

"That's a very small pool of engines." remarked Percy.

"You just want to show off."

"NO I DON'T, MR KETTLE."

"Never mind Percy." Thomas said at last, when the arguments between James and Percy got so loud that it was ruining his contemplation on his favorite subject, namely how awesome it was going to be once he became mayor. "It'll soon be time to do work, you freaky little engine, and then you can go out and be the proud little flagbearer you are, but be careful, you may run into danger and Duke is not here to save you."

"Duke?" Toby rolled his eyes, and muttered this in very scornful tones. "You mean our hero?" A large picture of Duke hung on the shed wall, drawn by someone named Tasha Stone.

"The very same!" Thomas grinned, and Toby turned pale, realizing he had fallen for a typical trap of Thomas's. "Driver told me the story, listen-"

"Was that a threat!?" gasped Percy, as he dissolved into a flashback.

...

Long ago, when Peter Sam was still called Stuart, and Sir Handel Falcon-

...

"HOLD UP!"

Allcroft looked up at Angelis, mildly peeved. "Yes, Micheal?"

"This is, er, wrong? I think? Because have we actually established yet that they're now called Peter Sam and Sir Handel? I don't think we have. We've just been referring to them by their original names for the most part!"

"It's not in your job to care, Micheal." Asquith remarked. Angelis flipped him the bird.

...

-they worked with Duke on his old railway. Also some yellow idiot who definitely won't be important later on. He was Scottish and soon sent to a quarry to work. He won't be coming back. No siree. Would I lie? (Yes, yes I would)

But Falcon still had a lot to learn. Like how to count past a hundred, and also how to keep his trap shut in delicate situations. It was debatable to this day whether or not he learnt the last one at all. The Manager came to see him.

"Falcon! I'm pleased with your work so far! Now you must learn a difficult part of the line-" The Manager didn't mention that he was giving this job to Falcon because out of all three of the regular engines, he would probably be the one easiest to replace should things go wrong "-that we call...the Mountain Road!"

"Why sir?"

"Well, we call it the Mountain Road because it's a road...on the mountain. Do keep up, Falcon."

"Thank you sir!" Falcon said, delighted. He had yet to begin reading Marx and Lenin, so he was still in what they would probably refer to, in Russian of course, the docile sheep phase.

"So tomorrow, when you have a new coat of paint and you sign several documents that claim you were aware of the risks and that we can't be held responsible for any crashes, Duke will explain everything before you go on it. This'll probably take a good three hours, so you'll have to get up right and early if we're to get the passengers ready in time."

"But-! The manager left, and Falcon was left to stew. "Pah! That old fusspot! Who wants to live forever anyway!?"

"We do!" shouted his driver and fireman, alarmed that Falcon might deliberately throw himself off the mountain just to spite Duke. This was not a unreasonable assumption to make, given what you are about to see.

...

The next day came. As next days often did. Duke was now reaching one of the last sections of his 'tour guide' spiel. He had already taught Falcon that mountains existed, what the tallest mountain in the world was, what the shortest was (A molehill located a few feet from their shed) that engines usually didn't climb mountains unless they were from something known only as Culdee Fell and that pancakes tasted great with syrup on them. Finally, he approached the actual point he had been called in to discuss.

"Listen, this mountain road is difficult. I shall lead!"

"No way, oldie! How can I learn the route if you're lumbering ahead and blocking the view!"

"How will you learn when you're dead?"

"Are you threatening me?"

"Suit yourself. Never mind the view though, look at the track."

And from there his mind went to his happy place. What said happy place is has never been discovered. A dissection of Duke's brain has yet to take place, mostly because that would be somewhat annoying for him, having only just been rediscovered.

Eventually, they started off with a small train filled with sightseers. Falcon led the way as they puffed out from their sheds and the surrounding area, into newer and stranger pastures. He had to ignore Duke repeatedly muttering "Look at the track, never mind the view, cockles and oysters, cockles and oysters." and so maturely responded with "Fuss pot, fuss pot! Fuddy duddy fuddy duddy!"

This mature and witty discourse temporarily ceased as they reached the tunnel. Their speed had grown slower and slower with each section of track, under the driver's agreement that none of them wanted to die any time soon, contrary to what Falcon was thinking.

"Don't dawdle!" snapped Falcon.

"No hurry. No hurry." said Duke, as he stared in wonderment at the butterfly resting on his buffer. As they finally got to the tunnel, after moving at a pace that a snail could overtake with a mild jog, Falcon realized suddenly that he and tunnels didn't get along. It would have been nice to learn this before he entered the curved blackness, which he couldn't see barely anything.

"I want to get out! I want to get out!"

"Same here." muttered his fireman.

As they exited the tunnel, it happened. One moment, everything seemed relatively normal and sane, and the next-

Well.

As Falcon's fireman clung desperately to the cab, and his driver tried in vain not to begin screaming hysterically as he clawed at the rails, Falcon suddenly realized that he very much wanted to live forever, as he hung dangerously over the edge of the mountainous cliff. Duke, meanwhile, held on with all his strength. It has long since been implied by legend that the mountain was aware that throwing Duke off the cliff itself would have resulted somehow in the destruction of said mountain, and that he was too stubborn to take it lying down.

"Eh, what what, what's going on there, Falcon? Hanging around, eh, indeed?"

"DUKE. DO. NOT. LET. GO."

"Stop shaking then, old boy! Can't hold you if you shake, doncha know?"

Falcon tried to stop shaking, but it was rather hard considering that his driver and fireman were running about in his cab howling "WHAT DO WE DO?! WHAT DO WE DO!?".

And then things, if possible, got worse.

Somehow.

As they linked Duke and Falcon together, and placed blocks down in front of Duke so that his wheels didn't slip, the driver glanced at Duke's tank. "Oh hell- WATER! Duke needs some water, quickly!"

With little hope in mind, his driver was prepared to pull his trousers down and, er, provide some water of his own, but luckily they had come a cropper right next to a convenient cottage. Soon, all the passengers were assisting, handing down jugs, buckets, kettles, saucepans and occasionally bathtubs until Duke's tank was nicely filled up.

And then, with a great deal of effort and strength, he was able to pull Falcon back onto the rails. Then they started off once more, Duke doing most of the work, as Falcon appeared to have gone into a catatonic state.

At last, they managed to make it to the nearest station without anyone dying, which was a small miracle in and of itself. The Manager was waiting nervously at the top station, and the fact that both engines appeared to be, for the most part, still intact, cheered him no end.

Many passengers vomited up their lunches. But they also praised Duke for his work that day. "Your Duke is a hero! He stood firm like a bulldog, and wouldn't let go! A really smelly and senile bulldog, but a bulldog nonetheless!"

Falcon was grateful too, having come out of his mental breakdown. "Thank you for saving me, Duke, don't know why you bothered after I was so rude."

"Any time, old mucker, and you had just had a new coat of paint! Bad for morale if you'd ruined it by falling down the mountain, don'tcha know?!"

...

"-And that's how Christmas was made."

"Shut up, Thomas." James muttered. At that moment, a wide-eyed Edward hurried up, dragging a series of limping trucks behind him. "Where's the fire, Edward?"

"You're hysterical, James. Thomas, I have urgent matters I need to clarify with you!"

"Sure, what's the problem?"

"Well, see, it's about the newspaper, they're, er, they've gotten hold of a rather stupid story that could cause you some potential embarrassment over the coming days. I knew at once that it wasn't true, but I wish to check with you so that I can denounce this character assassination personally!"

"Certainly, what is this rumor?"

"Honestly, if it wasn't so blatant that they're reaching for stupid stories about you, I'd 'd got the idea that you had some bloody hare-brained scheme to set up a political party and run for Mayor!"

Thomas laughed. Edward laughed. They laughed together. "Haha- Edward, I am!"

Edward stared.

In the back of his mind, the various cogs that ran together to make sure that his mind remained in tip top condition to deal with the inanity of life, stopped momentarily. His own personal cleaning crew hurried out and began to search for faults in the system. At last, after what felt like hours but was only three minutes, they got them working again, and words began to flow to Edward's mouth once more.

"HOW- WHAT- BUT-"

"Awesome, right?!"

"I tried to tell him." muttered Toby. "But would he listen? Nooooo."

Edward's brain had become specially equipped over the years with nearly every witty comeback line that he thought a good engine would need to use whilst working on the Island of Sodor. He had remarks for hurricanes, flash-floods, trucks going insane, the Fat Controller going insane, James situations, Gordon situations, Henry situations, Bill and Ben burning down anything, a sudden uprising of electrical trains, a sudden uprising of tractors and the fact that they were going to be the only thing bar the cockroach that would survive a nuclear winter.

Thomas running in a political campaign had no such comeback.

"Thomas." he said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'd rethink this. This is idiotic. If this fails, you'll be made a laughing stock. Not only that, but you'll drag the rest of your cabinet with you-" Edward nodded to the shocked expression on Gordon's face. "Yes, Minster for Travel Gordon, they listed all of you. Minister of Environmental Concerns Henry, Minister of the Treasury James, Assistant Mayor Percy...please, just...just think on this. You can't run this island and do your work at the same time. Matter of fact, we can't even do our own work half of the time. Just...don't. Don't do this."

He paused. "By the way, why are you all out here?"

"Er, for work?"

"It's a bank holiday."

Everyone glared at Percy.

Not Thomas though. He had a plan. Drop out of the race? He had just started. Tomorrow was the day that all parties announced that they were running. He had until mid-day tomorrow to make a splash.

He intended to.


	82. Episode 4: You Can't Win

CUE THE THEME!

...

Duke is the hero of all the engines. This is a story about him.

What do you guys mean, "NOT AGAIN!"? Yeah, I know that that this is our fourth story in a row with the same damn scenery and the same damn characters, but apparently we had to make up this twenty six episode season SOMEHOW.

Good news is that Thomas isn't narrating this one. I think.

No he's doing...other things.

"For god's sake, James, how much are you going to put on me?!"

"Hold still, you silly little blue puffball, and it'll go easier!"

Yeah. Let's leave it there.

...

It happened long ago when- Oh come on...fine. When Peter Sam was called Stuart and Sir Handel, Falcon. This would really be effective if only people actually knew who either Sir Handel or Peter Sam were, but no. We can't do things simple, can we?

Many people came to see the mountains and the lakes. Falcon didn't really get that, considering that they could just as easily go to Wales and get exactly the same thing for a far cheaper price and less work to be put upon the shoulders of engines like he. Stuart would then point out that they didn't have shoulders to speak of, and both young engines would begin bickering away, while Duke tried to enjoy his biscuit in peace.

But mostly, these people came to see Duke. Not that the other two engines were jealous. No siree. They'd be the first to tell you that they didn't mind that Duke got most of the attention and love and care despite the fact that on some occasions his mind could be as well organized and put together as a cabinet made by someone who had no concept of carpentry. And they definitely weren't sounding bitter as they said this.

Duke would take them along the mountains and across the lake over many of the same parts of the line that now belong to the Skarloey Railway. Because we needed to reuse the sets somehow. He would always pull his train, even when he didn't feel well, which recently was quite a bit. "I must not disappoint my friends!" He would say, and then puffed on determinedly. His friends would repay his kindness by having coke-fueled orgies in his carriages. They were traumatized for a great deal, the carriages and would never speak of the grave transgression of hospitality .

Now, every morning, Duke had his little routine. He would wake up, have his many wrinkle-reducing creams that he had from rather un-trust-worthy surfaces applied to his face, wonder why his face was burning, rage at Stuart and Falcon about their hygiene and how it was thanks to engines like them that the empire was falling, and then finally, he would take his passengers on a quick little run. Usually, this meant travelling up the old Mountain line, across Hawin Doorey and up to what is now known as the Skarloey lake, named after the time that the engine known as Skarloey got extremely drunk and ended up face down in the waters.

Duke stopped anywhere they wanted, but mostly at the very large picnic areas, where families could eat food in peace, and those who had the orgies could go somewhere a bit more private, and also somewhere where good taste wasn't required.

"Peep peep!" Duke would whistle. "Please be ready when I come back for you, I say! Otherwise you may miss your boat to the mainland, and that would never do, indeed!"

No one had the heart to tell him that they had been coming this way for a year now, and had never seen the mainland. Duke and faces were things that went together as well as peanut butter and murder.

...

One day, Duke didn't feel well. Well, correction, he felt less well even by his standards. As he waited by the station of Cros-ny-Cuirin, he was glad of a rest as he attempted to regain some of his lost steam.

And then, to make his day even better, Stuart wandered over aimlessly and decided that now would be a good time to be what we call today a troll. Duke was not in a good mood even by his own standards, as his driver and fireman had just finished clearing his tubes. Painful indeed. "Hello, Granpuff! You, er, short on puff?"

"Nothing of the sort! Routine maintenance, tis all! This is what REAL men do! We don't whine and cry when Falcon doesn't tell you a bed time story!" Duke was somewhat disappointed to see that the barb, based around last night's argument, seemed to sail over the head of Stuart completely.

"Tell you what!" cheekily went on Stuart. "You're getting old! Really old! Older than the dinosaurs! And older than Queen Victoria!"

"PREPOSTEROUS!"

"We must take care of you in case you break down!"

"Nonsense, you silly little fozzling gibface, that'll be the day!" Duke snorted as he stormed off. Stuart had no idea what he had just been called, which was just as well. Look up Victorian slang some day, that stuff is nasty.

...

But Duke couldn't stay cross for long, as he crossed back over the Hawin Doorey with the last group of hikers and picnickers on their way back home. It was a lovely evening, even if he was constantly reminded by how old he was by the looming remains of Sodor Castle. "Couldn't be better, couldn't be better!" he chanted with joy. His passengers could have disagreed, but felt they needed to give this one to Duke. They didn't imagine he'd last longer.

As he passed the lake, he began to climb. He didn't mind, it was rather fun for him and it made him look like a real hero. "I've plenty of steam!" he bragged to no one in particular. "We'll be up in a couple of huffs, and one or two puffs!"

"Pride cometh before a fall." muttered Duke's fireman.

Soon enough, Duke's puffs changed to wheezes, despite never having smoked in his life. He felt as though he was about to burst. His valves were leaking thick, black smoke, never a good sign for a steam engine. "It's not so easy." he acknowledged. "It's not so easy! But I! Shall! Manage!"

He made it to the station now known as Skarloey Station before coming to a painful stop just beside a water tower. His driver examined him carefully, and as the anxious passengers milled around, the Refreshment Lady began serving snacks. They ate them glumly. It looked like they would be here for a while.

But his guard turned back, a neutral expression on his face. "He's going to take you to the harbor, but he may be just a little late. So two engines are coming to help, you'll still catch your boat."

The passengers sighed in relief. These were visitors from the mainland, thankfully, and so were somewhat anxious.

Duke groaned audibly as Falcon and Stuart hurried up. Stuart buffered up behind the guard's van, and Falcon ran round to the front and was coupled up to Duke, grinning like a loon. "Ah well, Bulldog! Looks like you need to be put out to pastures! Never mind Granpuff! What a shame! Broken down! You really should take care in your old age!"

"Peep peep pip! This is the day!" Stuart chanted as he was coupled up.

Duke wondered if he could reach around and strangle Stuart, before the three of them stared off roughly.

"Are you ready!?"

"Yes I am!"

And away they went.

...

When they reached the station known now as 'Rheneas', the cavalcade split up. Falcon took the remaining passengers of Duke's to the boat, where they would get incredibly drunk, crash into the Fulton Ferry and get arrested for lewd behavior. All in all, a successful evening. Meanwhile, Stuart took hold of Falcon's train with Duke coupled up behind him, this time.

"Fancy me rescuing Granpuff! This is the day, this is the day!" He gloated. Duke began to burn holes in Stuart's back with his glare. The little green engine would not stop as they started "Poor old engine, poor old engine."

What he didn't know, and what his driver and fireman had been keeping very quiet about, was the fact that Duke still had plenty of steam left in him, and his valves sounded worse than they were. A lot like Thomas' probable legacy, really.

As they reached the mountain track, Duke and his driver waited. Until...

"NOW!"

And at that moment, Duke let out a roar and a puff of pure strength as he forced Stuart onward, puffing as if he was pushing the whole train in front of him, plus a main gauge engine as well. And the noise echoed across the valley, so much so that it has been argued that it still does so to this day.

They reached the platform at Crovan's Gate, where a certain star-billing tank engine and two coaches waited. Somehow, during the recreation, he had snuck in. That cheeky little son of a gun. Everyone cheered.

A young child asked his father "Daddy, what happened, they don't usually need two engines!"

"Ah." said his father wisely as he puffed on a pipe. "Stuart broke down and Duke had to help him! Sounds like they had a hard joke as well."

"FIDDLESTICKS!" screamed Stuart, and vanished in a cloud of steam. He didn't actually say "Fiddlesticks" but he said something far worse.

Duke rolled up besides him. "Poor old engine! It's not good Stuart. You can't win!"

"WHHHHHHYYYYY?" wailed Stuart.

...

Back in the present day, everyone was sitting anxiously at home or at one of the bigger stations, where monitors had been provided. The humans watched their screens with anticipation.

Edward puffed up alongside BoCo at Knapford. "Have they announced the candidates yet?"

"You're just in time! Any last minute candidates'll be turning up now!"

"So, who have we got?"

"Well, we've got the Sodor Democratic Party-"

"To be expected."

"-the Tidmouth Labor Council-"

"I can always use some TLC, all right."

"-uh, there's also the Drunken Sailor Party, which I think is mostly going to get through because their main leaders are drunk as skunks-"

Edward nodded. "Yep. But there are two new guys I don't recognize."

"Oh them? They're both new parties!"

Edward whistled. New parties in the political sense on Sodor was a rarity, mostly because the island tended to be governed by old white men who were surrounded themselves with old white men. "Who are they?"

"Well, you see that handsome fellow with the grey beard and the thinning hair? That's Christopher Bedella. He was a figure skater a while back, I think he represented us during the Olympics. And he's the head of what he calls the Equality Democratic Party. His entire speech was how he hoped to bring diversity and equality to the island."

"Well!" Edward smiled. "Isn't that what we all want? Female drivers, men of color in power, less persecution for the homosexuals, I know who Henry'll be voting for. And who is that gentleman over there?"

"Ah." BoCo sounded a little tense. "That, my dear Edward, is John Drampf." Edward started laughing. "Yes I know, almost as stupid as his hair. I mean look at it! It looks like he's sown a mop to his head and just taken away the handle! But he's been gathering a lot of influence amongst the populace for his...interesting views."

"Interesting?"

"Well, he and his party, Sudrian's First, have been talking up a great deal about dealing with the threat of radicals in the community." At Edward's blank face, BoCo clarified. "You know, immigrants. Those who were not naturally born here. You know, foreign people."

"Ah." Edward frowned. "So, what, he's saying we should be reducing people coming in?"

"Not just that. He's held a great deal of protests among areas of Tidmouth and Suddery that have a great percentage of Muslim people. That, and he's been driving up a storm about some of those who work down by the docks."

"Bloody hell, have he and Bulgy met-"

But this conversation was rudely interrupted by the arrival of...well...of a beat boxing wielding tank engine. Thomas practically bounced onto the stage, as the crowd went wild, the other leaders of the party stared in shock, amusement and, in the case of Drampf, sudden realization. The tank engine was making James look practically subtle, sequins, amethysts, emeralds and rubies glowed around his paintwork, boiler, dome, funnel and cab. If anyone shined a light on him, he probably would have resembled a disco ball. His face was beaming to the brim with smugness.

Edward's mouth hung open in shock. BoCo blinked several times, as both noticed Gordon, Henry, James, Percy, Donald, Douglas, Duck and Toby (The latter both looking very, very uncomfortable) standing behind him only a few feet away.

"Those SONS OF BITCHES!" Edward howled. Everyone turned to look at him, as he turned beet red.

"SODOR ISLAND MAKE SOME NOISE!" Thomas bellowed into the microphone, and the crowd responded mildly. "THAT'S RIGHT! I AM HERE!" He paused dramatically. "TO THROW MY HAT INTO THE RING!"

Silence.

"The hat! INTO! THE RING!"

Nothing. Thomas turned around and shot Percy with a glare. Percy gave a quiet gasp and Carlin hurriedly threw a very large hat down. "YEAH!" bellowed Thomas, and Edward was pretty sure by this point that he had taken some serious drugs in order to do this. "This, is my party! My party speaks for the right of the average engine, the average Joe, the man on the street-"

"What the hell is he going on about?!" BoCo muttered loudly to Edward.

"If I knew that, I would have the secret to life and the universe!"

"Er, Thomas, could you sign here?" weakly muttered the announcer. Thomas grinned, and had his driver get out and write down the words ''Engines for Equality Party' upon the form. "And, er, I'll need a last name."

Thomas paused, and then muttered something to his driver, who rolled his eyes, but wrote down at the bottom of the page, where it was required that a signature was needed: Thomas D Tancangine.

Edward slowly closed his eyes, and had a vivid vision of the island going up in flames and screams. Thomas sitting in Tidmouth Shed, playing the fiddle (Or trying to), while Gordon and Percy continued to argue whether or not tender engines shunting was really that big of a deal, James applying his many, many coats of fabulous paint even as the fire began to consume him and Henry trying in vain to put Toby out, while the tram engine resigned himself to his fate of burning to death with Henrietta.

...

That night, at the sheds, Edward stormed in grumpily. The celebrating Engines for Equality Party (To be referred to from here on as the 'Thomas Campaign' for that was what the media had already called it) went silent. Edward stopped, and grimly glared at Thomas.

"Okay. So, you went against my very specific instructions not to go near this bloody rat race of a political event. Okay. So what I assume is going to happen is that this is going to turn into a bloody sideshow for all involved. People are going to get so caught up in the spectacle and razz-ma-tazz that you're showing, no small thanks to you, I imagine, James, that they're going to forget that your policies may not be that good." Thomas opened his mouth. "Let me finish. I never get involved in politics as a matter of personal pride. I vote occasionally if I see someone that I think is not worthy of the position, but for the most part, I leave that sort of stuff to those who know how the mind of certain humans work. In this case, however, I believe that there would be a disagreeable outcome regardless of whether or not you win or lose, without someone making sure that you don't go fully over the top."

Thomas frowned. "So what you're saying is?"

"If you don't have one, and even if you do, I am putting myself forward as your spin doctor, as your script editor, as the yin to your very, very yang-ness." Edward grit his teeth. "So let's start talking what the hell you want to achieve with this."

"HOORAY!"

Edward rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised at you, Toby. What made you want to go along with this?"

"Benefits for coaches. Plus, I didn't really have a choice in the matter. Gordon said he would pay some of the trucks to beat me up."

Edward shot a glare at Gordon, who nervously laughed. "Well there'll be none of that. If we have to run this race, we're going to do it the best way we can. Now-" Edward settled into his shed. "Let's chat."

...


	83. Episode 5: Four Little Engines

CUE THE THEME!

...

 _"So, what's the situation like down there, Stan?"_

 _"Well, Nigel, it seems like the entire Island is in shock at the moment. Er, regarding the mayoral race, we have little to no information on how the candidates themselves have reacted to this, we can confirm that Drampf did, in fact, throw a television out of his hotel room last night in reaction to the events, but aside from that most of the candidates are keeping pretty quiet regarding Thomas the Tank Engine. Now, what we have managed to get is a greater idea of what the consensus of the public's reaction. Er, at least thirty percent say that they feel somewhat confident in the ability of Thomas to balance both workload and the pressures of the office, a good forty percent declared that these would lead to the end times, and the other thirty percent began laughing hysterically as soon as we mentioned the name. Interesting to note, Nigel, is that the majority of the nay-sayers are those who have worked for the North Western Railway, currently or not."_

 _"Now, the one thing that many people have been asking is: Is this a calculated move to get Sir Topham Hatt and his railway back into the limelight? After all, recently it has been noted that the third season of the hit TV show, Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends, didn't score as highly as the first two seasons. Stan, have you had any chance to meet Sir Topham Hatt yet?"_

 _"Again, no, Nigel. From what I heard as soon as he was informed of the news, Sir Topham has locked himself in his retreat and several of his bodyguards have been keen to make sure that no one disturbs him. We assume that at some point in the coming hours, he shall be issuing a statement of sorts. But what I can confirm, more definitely, is that Edward the Blue Engine is currently undergoing repairs, and will be updating us from his Crovan's Gate refitting on what the future holds."_

 _"Thank you, Stan! That's all for now, but we will be back tomorrow at the same time on Sodor Broadcasting Television. This has been Stan and Nigel's Trainspotters, and we wish you a good night!"_

...

If you should visit a place that has a lake in the woods, and a beautiful waterfall...then you may be in any number of places because these are not mutually exclusive things and are, in fact, relatively common.

But, for the sake argument, we will say that you may also find two small engines called Skarloey and Rheneas. Skarloey is the one with the bulky backside and the constant slurring of words, while Rheneas is the thinner one who really doesn't factor into the story at all until episode fourteen. Don't believe me? This is all actually out of order, when you see Rheneas on screen, you're actually seeing his stunt double. We couldn't get much film of him before he had to go and have a operation. Perhaps it was to remove his blandness via incredibly careful surgery. Who knows?

The engines know everybody, and everybody knows them. Mostly because the Fat Controller has made them the stars of his new TV series. Funny that. But there are also two more engines, Sir Handel and Peter Sam. Yes, we've finally got to the point where we can call them by their new names. For the most part, they were on a probationary period, and so were not expecting to live here long. Their real names had been Stuart (Peter Sam, the green one with a vacant expression) and Falcon (The blue one who occasionally tries smiling) but they preferred their new ones. Not least because they were egotistical at heart and enjoyed being named after the former Thin Controller and the previous owner of the railway, who had both died somehow.

...

Edward sighed, fatigue clear to even those hard of hearing. He had been getting odd looks all day from many of the passengers that he had seen. He didn't blame them, knowing that he was attached to quite possibly the single most stupid candidate for the Island's Mayor in quite some time was something he had yet to wrap his head around.

He had already begun to regret associating himself with the campaign when his questions about what policies Thomas was thinking of pursing got him a blank look in return. It made him yearn for the days of World War 2, where carrying guns on his buffer had been something mandated by the government, so that he could shoot Thomas in the face. No jury would be able to convict him.

He whistled half-heartedly as Duck rushed past with a train, aware more than ever that he, Duck and Toby (Who had sarcastically referred to the three of them as the Think Talk of the new party) were going to have to whip Thomas into shape before any kind of debate could even be considered. He tuned in just in time to see the Fat Controller order him to the Works to be mended, and started off from Callan station. Oliver and Douglas nodded to him, and Edward nodded back. He was aware that the three of Duck's colleagues from the Little Western had also taken up roles of a sort in the party.

This could only mean good things. If Edward needed to force the party to a close and withdraw, he'd have more support with Duck's crew on his side. Why he had agreed to take this interview later on was a question that Edward couldn't honestly answer. It had been decided in a fit of madness, and now Edward had to reap what he had sown.

He was shocked from his consideration by the sight of a familiar figure by Crovan's Gate. _Skarloey!? What's he doing here?! Shouldn't he be out and about?_

Skarloey seemed pleased to see Edward. He had been denied plenty of alcohol since he had been docked in the shed, and thus was now constantly flipping back and forth between his natural Welsh accent and a more refined one gained via elocution lessons. "Edward, boyo! How has it been, old friend?"

"Any reason why you're here, you old rogue?"

"Sent for a 'rest'." Skarloey rolled his eyes. "No doubt it's an excuse for them to put me out to pasture. I mean, they've got Duke here now. Don't have any real need for me, do they? Got a much better curiosity to gawp at, now."

"I'm sure that's not the case." Edward said, trying to be comforting. He whistled at Thomas, who paused and whistled back. In his whistle, Edward could detect the faint hints of a desire to meet. He gestured with his head to the Works Shed, and Thomas quickly gave a flash of recognition. "If that was the case, why didn't they just haul you off for scrap already?"

"Don't ask me, laddie." Skarloey was maudlin. "Put me in this blimin shed, didn't they? Said so I could see everything and not be lonely. Rather rash choice, I must say." He groaned. "And here we go, twenty years of voice coaching and my voice goes down the bloody drain!"

"It happens." Edward shrugged, or rather, the engine equivalent of a shrug. "Where is your brother?"

"He's going to be mended. Don't ever tell him this, lad, but I miss him. I wish I could get mended, pull the lasses around, BUT NO. Such is life. Bleeding inconvinient for the Fat Sod to be do it, I suppose."

"True." Edward grinned. "So I suppose it would make your day worse if I said he sent me to be mended?"

"He never! THAT-" But then, a group of workmen hurried up, having only just now noticed Edward.

"We're going to take you to the works now, Edward. Come along."

"Sorry Skar. Got to dash. Your railway is a lovely line. And hey, look at me. I'm probably just as old as you, and I'm still kicking. No reason for you to lay down and let the bastards grind you down."

"Oh it is, it is, bye bye Eddie. You've cheered me up, you have."

"I'll Eddie you, you little-" Edward smiled as he puffed off. And so Skarloey settled back and dreamed of lovely large female engines with big wheels serving him drinks on a yacht, somewhere.

...

In the countryside, Sir Handle was having a miserable time. Not helped was the fact that Terrance the Bloody Tractor was there, smiling and trying to throw him off his game.

The years hadn't been kind to Handel. They had knocked him about and bullied him, and of course, had saddled him with a engine who routinely took leaps and bounds into cloud-cuckoo-land from time to time. That, and he had been forced to abandon his rather romanticized ideals of Bolshevism since the Cold War had rather put a damper on the affair. And try telling the angry guys in the pub that he was a Marxist, not a Communist. Handel had got many a bruise while he was there.

So it was possible that he had been a little rougher with the coaches in the brief time that he had managed to work on the railway. Never really got a view of any of the other engines, just was forced to sleep in whatever shed was available. He had tried to be kinder to them this afternoon, but was well aware of the fact that they didn't trust him. Not, it must be said, without good reason. It shall be shown in the coming stories that Sir Handel was about as likable as sandpaper to the unmentionables at this point in time.

But even so, there was no course to be awkward and rude at the moment. It's possible that this precise moment was the one that made Sir Handel give up on being a decent engine for the next few weeks. Thanks coaches.

Worse was to come. A flock of sheep had burst through the fence while the farmer and Terrance had been focused on the cows. Sir Handel panicked and braked as hard as he could. Now, this in itself was a rather responsible attitude to have, more so than one would have expected from Sir Handel.

The coaches didn't see it like that. "Ee's bumped us! Let's pay him out!" They surged into Sir Handel and ran him right off the rails. He was somewhat baffled, as the sheep calmly began eating their grass right next to him.

This was not a good day to be Sir Handel. He had to limp sadly back to the shed.

Skarloey caught a quick glanced as he hurried in, but went back to staring mournfully out of the shed, as Percy rushed by with a train of trucks. He could vaguely here the conversation between Edward and Thomas.

"So, our platforms are?"

"Engine and coach equality, equality for gender pay, equality in the work place, more rights for drivers and firemen, and...and..."

"Becoming more-"

"More environmentally friendly!"

"Good, Well, we got there in the end. I've got Trainspotters to do a interview later tonight, so I'll make sure that I mention most of those stuff, and I'll big you up."

"You're a pal, Edward!"

"Yes, yes, you better get to work."

Sir Handel's driver looked judgmentally over Sir Handel's damage "No more work for you today. Don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, eh? I hear you. Still, there are a bunch of visitors coming, so how are we going to pull their train without a engine? Peter Sam's at the quarry, so he's out of it all together-"

"Can I do it sir?!"

The driver looked skeptically at Skarloey. "You? Can you even do it?"

"Go on sir!" called Edward from the Works. "He's got fight in him yet!"

"I'll try." said the old engine.

Yes, yes, I know. Less of the old. I know.

...

The coaches looked positively smug as they waited by the platform. They frowned as they saw Skarloey hurry up as fast as he could. His fireman had already taken the wise precaution of having a bucket of alcopops to the side, just in case. "I'm ashamed at you!" Skarloey growled, as Duck and Thomas passed each other. "You might have hurt your bloody passengers, you bleeding mares!"

"Sorry Skarloey." they muttered rebelliously, in fake sorrow.

"No, you're not." Skarloey growled to himself. "Right. Onwards!" As the guard blew his whistle, they started off and their journey began. Skarloey remembered all the little gates and stiles where they had to stop, like Glennock Station, where it was literally a quick minute break to get some booze in his system, and off they were again. The sun shone, the rails were dry, those at the picnic area weren't being totally rude, it was a relatively good day.

"This is lovely!" sang Skarloey. He had a bad singing voice, so he stopped.

They puffed over the viaduct, and soon they reached a area where the line grew steep. He recognized it as a bad bit of line that he usually tried to avoid. But time was against them, so they pressed on. He felt short of steam, which was never a good sign.

"Take your time!" said his driver, who didn't seem to be aware that he was in fact working on a railway. "It'll be better downhill."

"Can I quote you on that?"

It wasn't. His springs were weak, and the rail joints jarred his wheels. It was liked being poked in the feet by large, sharp pikes. It was excruciating. And at last, with a horrible judder, a spring gave way, and he toppled over onto one side, his wheels still moving as best as he could. "Feel...all...crooked!" he winced.

"Need a bloody bus now." muttered the driver. The fireman had already gone a quick search, but reported back no one but a drunk farmer in his hut.

"No, I'll get them there or burst!" Skarloey said with determination. It was likely to be the latter, he added in his head. Ah well, there were worse ways to die. Rusting up in a shed, for instance. At least maybe they'd name this stretch of line something memorable like 'Skarloey's Folly'.

...

At Crovan's Gate, James was waiting impatiently and quietly cursing whatever God had made him the last one to have to get this last train. He frowned as he heard a most dreadful sound. Clanging and grinding and screeching along the rails came the wreck of an engine formerly known as Skarloey. Every inch was agony to the little red engine, but he forced himself onwards, even as his crooked body shook and heaved with the exertion. Battered, weary, but unbeaten, he steamed in. The passengers hurried out and onto James's train.

"Doing it." muttered Skarloey. "Doing it." He blinked. "Done it."

James looked at him with a new respect in his eyes, and then without a word, but with a very respectful whistle, set off for the docks.

To say everyone was pleased was a understatement. He was still worried. "Well...that's me done. Permanently, I'd say. Old engines can't pull trains like the young ones can."

"Well, if they're mended, they can." grinned his driver. "And that's what's going to happen to you, Old Faithful. You deserve it."

"FINALLY!"

...

The Fat Controller paced back and forth antsily. He had managed to get Alice and himself into his secure house/fortress/nuclear bunker (He had nuclear bunkers all over the place. Throw a switch and Knapford Station would be prepared for the end of the world. Hatt was a alarmist like this) and thus had made sure that every guard he had were making sure that no one entered without his say so.

The phone rang, and he stared at the number. It wasn't a journalist. It was one he was familiar with, however. Slowly, he picked it up. "Hello? ...OH, it's you, Perkins! Yes? Yes I can hear you. Edward's fine? Wonderful! He can come back to work tomorrow! What was that? ...What do you mean, we have to give Skarloey a overhaul? Shi- Right, hold up, I'll buy Handel and Peter Sam, they can help out on the railway until Drunkloey and Rheblandus come back! Right, thanks. Love to the wife. Ta-ta."

He put the phone down and growled to himself. At that moment, his wife happened to switch onto a new edition of Nigel and Stan's Trainspotters, and he gestured for quiet.

"And hello again, and welcome to Trainspotters, where today, we devote a special half-hour to the latest in the most interesting mayoral election to date! The latest edition of 'Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends' has just aired, and the star of said show is still the subject of much speculation, wouldn't you say so, Nigel?"

"Indeed Stan! Thomas the Tank Engine has yet to make anything ore than vague statements about his campaign, however, we were able to snag a feed with his campaign manager, Edward the Blue Engine! We go now to the Crovan's Gate works to hear from him in person!"

The screen behind them flickered, and at last, Edward's face appeared. He smiled warmly. "Hello Stan! Hello Nigel!"

"Good evening, Edward!" said Stan. "First of all, how are you? Nothing too serious, I hope?"

...

"Good heavens no!" Edward laughed. "No, it's just that they want to check my firebox and side-rods, they've been a little rough lately. But, I am perfectly fine and happy to answer any questions you may have." He grinned, warmly. At least, he hoped it was. He was feeling rather drowsy, the sun was setting near Crovan's Gate, and it cast a warm and beautiful hue on the area. He hoped this interview wouldn't take too long.

"So, I wanted to ask you first of all, I understand that you were somewhat shocked at the discovery of your friend's decision to run for mayor?"

"Shocked is a polite way of putting it, Nigel! I was outraged! Baffled! Bamboozled! And many other things. But then I actually talked to him and I-" A little lie here, he thought, won't hurt anyone. "-I was convinced of his good intentions. For all the flash and the significant amount of bragging, I believe there are proposals of some substance there."

"Such as? Thomas himself has yet to announce the platforms on which he stands upon!"

Here you go, Edward, he thought. Let's give this spin-doctering a whirl.

"Ah well, you see, that is for a very good reason indeed. Thomas, as much as he brags, is ultimately too humble a person for him to announce his goals straight away, for fear of perhaps, er, you know, upstaging the other campaigners. He believes that he is in for the fight of his life with this, and so, he needed time to confirm with many of the more experienced of us whether or not his goals are noble or even worth going into office for. I can confirm that yes, they are."

And. Go.

"His main goal is to reduce the unemployment rate drastically via-" He frowned as he recalled Thomas's exact words, and then realized that he was clearly going to have to rephrase them in a way that didn't make Thomas sound like a tool. So he quickly spouted a couple of things about how Thomas was planning to import a lot more engines into the island to increase the number of jobs, laying down rails, building new stations, introducing equal pay for all workers.

The questions continued on and on. Edward answered most of them quickly, thinking over the answers carefully, and with a warm smile throughout, always emphasizing Thomas's ideals. He listed his desire to increase pensions for older workers who were getting on in their years (Percy's idea), he noted that he planned to put a end to a few decades worth of environmental destruction (Henry and Toby), the removal of any discriminatory laws that had been left behind since the last mayor had overhauled the system (Duck, Douglas) and so on and so forth. He briefly discussed how Thomas had the full support of all the engines and coaches for improving their own rights, but stressed that their main goal was equality for all.

It was a lie, of course. Thomas had thought of nothing but the idea of power, and with power, fame. He didn't really want to be mayor. He wanted the idealized image of one, cutting ribbons, flirting with women, getting impeached, anything to have the spotlight on him. As much as Edward reluctantly considered Thomas like a son to him, he could be a right prat sometimes.

It occurred to him, as he discussed a solution for how he was going to be reducing unemployment that had been suggested by James, that he was actually taking this more seriously than any of the other engines on the campaign.

It was now approaching the end of the show, and Edward was confident that at the very least, he had left a relatively good impression with the viewers and the hosts.

"Final question, Edward, if I may beg your pardon?"

"Of course, Nigel!"

"Come election day, if Thomas the Tank Engine does win...are we going to have a scandal on our hands? Can you be certain and honest with us, that there are no skeletons in his closet?"

Edward opened his mouth to answer and-

...

 _The smell of rust and the sound of screaming filled his nose and ears respectively, the splatter of grease and the rough sound of the hacksaw sawing into the red engine's face beside him oh dear god why wasn't it stopping, stop him, someone STOP HIM-_

...

It had been a second. A very, very quick second. But it had shaken Edward to his core.

"No. I can promise you that. And if there is such a scandal, which I am confident there will not be, you can come down and film James eating his sparkly hat."

"Thank you, Edward, you have been very informative." The link between the studio was cut, and with that, Edward started off for home.

He hadn't had those flashbacks for...well, years now. They'd stopped long before the TV show had started. Why, of all times, had they picked now to come back? The others musn't know, he reasoned. They wouldn't get it, they would make fun of it and mock him for it.

No, concentrate on this stupid little mayor thing first. Then worry about your strange sort of shell shock later.


	84. Episode 6: Bad Day for Sir Handel

CUE THE THEME!

...

"How's the prisoner?"

One of the guards accepted the mug of tea, took a sip and winced. Other Railway tea was not pleasant in the slightest, but you gained somewhat of a taste for it by the time of your fourth year working at the Other Railway. Eventually, if you stayed there long enough, you'd perhaps even be able to drink it without any reaction at all. Not that you ever did stay there that long. "Well, he's not reacting. He seems to have gone back to sleep again."

"I don't get why the Director didn't want us to...you know, at least give him a little bit of a shakedown. He's just left him there."

"You haven't been here that long. The entirety of 93, he went into this almost coma like sleep. Couldn't wake him up for anything. Honestly, if his fire wasn't constantly lit and you couldn't hear him breathing very softly, you'd assume he was dead. He woke up a couple of months back, and since then we've been told to keep him here and do nothing else."

The two watched the engine wearily look around the siding he was on, before turning his eyes down to the tracks.

"Er...has he said anything?"

"Asked one of the guards if they could get him some bluebells. Don't know if they did. None of the diesels have gone anywhere near him. I think they've been warned off."

"Isn't that a bit morbid? Leaving him in a area where all of these scrap wagons and rotting corpses of engines are hanging around?"

"You haven't worked here long, have you?"

And then the matters went on to more private ones, and soon they forgot about Stepney the Bluebell Engine, who patiently waited and hoped against all hopes that one day, soon, someone would come back for him, like they did the last time.

...

You may recall, in the previous episode, we had a quick chat about Skarloey and Rheneas, and how they were basically very old and needed fixing up. My somewhat flippant attitude can be attributed to the fact that I've basically got to tell you the same little bit of backstory all over again because the episodes were aired out of order. So, without further ado, let's get the latest plot dump out of the way, before we move on to bigger and better things.

Skarloey and the bland milksop known as Rheneas usually managed to co-ordinate a lot of their work so that when the cameras were rolling, they were able to create rather iconic and interesting looking footage. They work on the railway that weaves around the lakes and the mountainside, with coaches that are usually filled with visitors, which inspires the engines for some reason because apparently none of the other engines on the Island have coaches filled with people and do their best come rain or shine. Apparently. They will never let their passengers down, but they are old and, like old people, tire more easily. Or something, I haven't slept in a long time.

So basically, before Rheneas got sent off to get his personality looked at in detail, their drivers came with good news. "There's more than enough work on this railway for both of you. And us. We're not getting any younger and we really need more time to kip- I mean, something to help you out more! Manager's been in contact with Hatt, and two more engines are on their way to help us run the line."

Both were pleased. But what no one could know was that by the end of the month, both engines would need repairs urgently, and thus both new engines were to be permanently bought by the Fat Controller for service upon the Skarloey Railway.

...

"Morning Percy! Edward was good last night!"

"Yeah, Thomas. Almost sounded like we knew what we were doing!"

"Ha ha ha! You're hysterical, Percy!"

"Not yet, but give me time."

When Sir Handel and Peter Sam arrived at their new home, they found that there was much still to learn and understand. Well, Sir Handel found that, Peter Sam merely cooed over how lovely the yard looked in a way that indicated that he had yet to touch down fully on this planet.

"What a awfully small shed!" Sir Handel groused. He was still bitter at how the coaches had treated him, and had decided that from this point on, he was going to treat everything Skarloey related with complete and utter disdain. "This won't do at all! I know my rights! We're...well, I, at least, am much too smart for this old shack!" He harrumphed loudly, as he was prone to do.

"I think it's homely! And nice!" trilled Peter Sam cheerfully.

"Huh. You would. Weirdo." Sir Handel glanced over to the other shed, where Skarloey was waiting, having gotten well and truly plastered the night before to celebrate his eventual rehaul. "What's that rubbish!? One with the face like a truck hit it!"

"I do believe, boyo, that your mother looked like a truck had hit her!" slurred Skarloey.

"Sssssh!" hissed Peter Sam. "That's Skarloey! He's famous!"

"For what? Being useless!?" Sir Handel snarled with viciousness as Percy moonwalked across the tracks for no apparent reason.

"He brought Duke home, don't you remember, silly billy?!" Peter Sam grinned and turned back, whispering conspiratorially to Skarloey even though Sir Handel was still literally right next to him. "Sorry Mr Loey-"

"Seriously, kid?"

"-Sir Handel's upset now, but he's quite nice really!"

Skarloey looked from Peter Sam, to Sir Handel, then Peter Sam, then Sir Handel, before finally settling his gaze on Peter Sam. "Can I quote you on that? Are you sure?"

"Oh yes!"

Skarloey felt deeply sorry for Peter Sam. Not sorry enough to say anything, but he had the feeling that Peter Sam had lied to himself for so long now he actually believed a great deal of the things that he had told himself.

The drivers and firemen headed on over, clad in Skarloey Grey Uniforms, and began getting the engines ready. "Now Sir Handel, I shall get you ready for work!"

"Oh will you!?" snapped Sir Handel, rudely. His driver was used to this, and so ignored him. "I'm tired! Let Peter Sam go, he loves it! Look at his dumb little face, he's so HAPPY to be here!" Peter Sam didn't hear this, for a rather pretty butterfly drifted into view and took most of his attention.

"No, you're going out and doing work. It's why we bought you."

In retrospect, his driver would later admit to himself privately that he could have chosen a better point in time to finally make a big stand on his principles. As Sir Handel clanked away, Skarloey was left with the sensation that maybe, just maybe, getting out of the sheds and into the works for a bit wasn't such a bad idea after all. Peter Sam, meanwhile, stared longingly at the butterfly floating high above the rails.

...

Sir Handel clanked and fussed away to the coach yard, where he was coupled up to a set of coaches. He didn't like the look of them at all. At the moment, Sir Handel was still in the midst of his 'Being a Giant Tosser' phase of life. "Whatever next!? These here aren't coaches, they're cattle trucks!"

"Oooh!" wailed the coaches, some of whom smiled smugly at each other as if to say 'See, we were right to bump him' "What a horrid engine!"

"I don't get any better! Come on!" Sir Handel started off roughly. "It's not what I'm used to!"

And so, as he puffed over to the station, he fumed and ranted internally, while his driver and fireman wondered if they could get a less stressful job defusing mines. And just as he rolled up, he became aware of Gordon's arrival. As did everyone else when the big blue berk bellowed "LOOK AT ME, PRIDE OF THE LINE HERE!" and rolled in, whistling triumphantly. As a prank, someone had swapped his whistle for that of Oliver's, so the effect was slightly ruined.

"Hello, who are you?" Sir Handel, never one to use social niceties except in extreme situations, bluntly asked.

Gordon gave a appraising look at Handel. "Gordon. Fastest engine alive. May have heard of me. Who, little engine, are you?"

"Sir Handel! You're an express engine, aren't you!? So am I, though you wouldn't think it to see me pulling such miserable looking cattle trucks! Do you have some- Oh, I see you do. Very swanky. Alright for some, I suppose. We must have a chat, but sorry, can't stop, we must keep time, you know?"

As Sir Handel puffed away, Gordon stared after him, speechless and stunned into silence.

"What?" he squeaked. "What just happened?" He repeated these four words for the rest of the day, having been driven into a existential crisis over discovering a smaller version of himself.

...

Clouds of steam filled the air as Sir Handel puffed along the line. Both driver and fireman coughed and spluttered and reached for their gas masks, as Sir Handel began rocking so severely that they thought for a moment they would follow in their grandfather's footsteps and be hurled off the mountain. As they reached the top station, he was still fuming magnificently.

And then his driver spoke the words that he'd come to regret every night in his nice, warm, padded cell at Sodor Asylum. "We'll leave the coaches here and fetch some trucks the quarry?"

"TRUCKS!" screeched Sir Handel.

"Did I stutter?"

Sir Handel handled this very maturely. By acting like a spoiled child "I WON'T! SO THERE!" He stormed off, and promptly fell off the rails in what was later deemed to be the stupidest crash ever on Sodor by a large margin, which says quite a lot about his attitude at the time. He sort of went wonky halfway down the line and fell off the rails.

You come up with a better description.

"Told you!" said Sir Handel smugly.

"No. No you didn't."

...

As the driver was taken away to a nice and secure unit of the Sodor Asylum, Peter Sam arrived with the miniature breakdown train. Sir Handel now felt rather silly. For good reason. To make matters worse, things didn't get better when a very tired and snippy Sir Topham Hatt stumbled out of the brakevan and glared at Handel with such cold fury that for a moment he almost looked less like a fat director of the railway and more like the living personification of vengeance. His message to Sir Handel was bleak and blunt.

"Your shed. I shall talk to you, later."

Then he and the fireman departed upon Peter Sam, leaving Sir Handel to be lifted back onto the rails, feeling a cold sweat take hold of his brow.

"Come on." said the Auxilary Driver. "Let's get you back on the rails. And then I'm going to the pub and crawl under a table."

...

By the time that they had reached the shed, Handel didn't care if it looked shack like or if was a Buddhist temple. He was going to go sleep in there and damn anyone else. Both Peter Sam and Skarloey were watching with interest as he sidled in.

The Fat Controller stepped out of the shadows and growled at Handel. "You're a very naughty engine!"

"It wasn't me, sir! It was Falcon!" This was a classic excuse ever since he had been given a new name, but the Fat Controller didn't seem to be biting.

"I hope I can trust you to behave when you next come out of this shed, three weeks from now!" He stormed off, following by his bodyguards, leaving Sir Handel to brood quietly. And after that, I'm sure Sir Handel will, aren't you?

Why am I even asking you? You never answer. CALL ME!


	85. Episode 7: The Refreshment Lady

So I've officially got the 100th review on the story, a mention on the Thomas Fanfic Recs page on TV Tropes (To SteelKomodo, thank you so much, one of my lifelong goals that I thought would never happen has been achieved!) and, thanks to a very helpful update from bigyihsuan I've apparently the longest Thomas story that isn't a crossover on this website.

WOW.

HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?

You guys rock! I could not do it without you guys and your kindness! This is all for you!

Oh, and for the record, the Refreshment's Lady's, er, quirk as it is? That's a reference to the American narration where, in all his wisdom, George Carlin gave her a really weird accent. It was too good not to pass up.

CUE THE THEME!,

...

"Is Gordon okay?"

"Gordon has been like that since he met Sir Handel."

Skarloey frowned. "Dare I ask why?"

"Well, he hasn't said that much these past few days, aside from "Burble burble" and occasionally whistling maniacally, but from what I can gather, Sir Handel freaked him out by not letting him get a word in, and doing it all in a very...Gordon-esque way."

"So, Gordon was out-Gordoned?"

"Terrifying, I know." Edward laughed. "I've tried cheering him up a bit. I think I'll try stoking his ego next, that usually works when he goes into this kind of state. It's either a complete shutdown or depression, there's no nice in between area."

"So...politics, eh?"

"Don't start, Skarloey. Don't you start. The first debate is coming up soon, and I'm still trying to coach Thomas through it."

"That must be hard, Edward, bach."

"Like pulling teeth from a fully awake crocodile. It's weird too, because I actually thought we'd found a way to fix it as well."

...

A DAY AGO.

"Okay, Thomas, I'll make you a deal, m'kay?" Toby made a rather awkward gesture over to the end of the yards. "Do you see that generator over there?"

"Yes." Thomas said, not liking where this was going at all.

"Well, it's currently hooked up to your buffers. So, you give us a incorrect answer and-" Toby shuddered. "Look, this wasn't my idea. Duck said that Edward trusted him to do things right."

"This is Duck's idea?!"

Duck shrugged. "One way or another. Now, Thomas, if a question about economics comes up, what are we going to do?"

"I dunno."

"Wrong answer." Duck rolled forward and pressed a switch. Nothing happened. Duck frowned once more and hit the switch. Again, nothing happened at all. Angrily, Duck slammed the switch so hard, it broke off and hit Toby in the face.

Something happened that time.

Unfortunately, it was the rest of Sodor's power going out.

...

"And that's why we're now being accused of starting another set of riots." Edward sighed. "You can't win, can you?"

"Ah well, see, he'll probably improve."

"He better bloody well have. I'm going to talk him through this next one until he's sprouting out useless facts from the funnel. Take care of yourself, all right? We want you fighting fight, soon enough."

As Edward puffed away, Skarloey sighed, and turned his attention back to his other problem. Peter Sam.

Sir Handel had been naughty, so the Fat Controller made him stay in the shed for a while. Oh, this wasn't do to with the incident with him coming off the rails, this was a entirely seperate incident all together which shall not be told here. It involved a ice lolly, a rave song and a prize portrait of Sir Topham Hatt's father, affectionately nicknamed Toppers by his chums, a bunch of Bertie Wooster types.

Handel didn't see himself coming out of the shed for another year or so, maybe two tops. So Peter Sam's workload increased somewhat. He didn't mind. As he had to do Sir Handel's work as well as his own, he had twice as many trucks, and many would be the day when engines did double takes at the sight of Peter Sam pushing one lot of trucks at the same time as pulling another lot to different locations.

Jokes about calling him Peter Sampson had ensured, as well as rumors about just who his Delilah was going to be. Soon, Peter Sam was the most eligible bachelor on the island. Mostly because he was seen as a silent, brooding type who rarely spoke a word to any young lasses and a few lads who fancied having a try. Peter Sam didn't even know how to spell brooding, he rarely spoke a word because he was in his own little world, where he constantly went on Enid Blyton style adventures with a group of pixies and talking toadstools.

No one aside from Peter Sam has been to this place in his mind. Perhaps we are all the worse for it.

He was very excited, and the fireman found him very hard to handle. He would then make lame jokes about Sir Handel and handling, which would help Sir Handel's mood a lot. A part of the last two sentences is a fib, can you tell which one? Winner gets...well, they don't get anything. Maybe they'll get a button if they're lucky.

"Anyone would think he wanted to work!" Sir Handel would grunt. He would be given very odd looks for this. Mostly because a engine saying that was a little like a fish saying "Anyone would think we needed water to survive, the way we stay in it!" it was...well, it rather went without saying.

"All respectable engines do!" said Skarloey.

"YOU BLOODY BOURGEOISIE!" snarled Sir Handel.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"Peter Sam, keep calm and you'll do well, so you will!" Skarloey groaned aloud as he eased his aching joints. "Maybe soon I'll actually get that overhaul I keep getting promised."

Peter Sam was in such a state that he couldn't listen. He hadn't listened, matter of fact. He had blacked out the second he had stopped moving for a moment. He had been drinking a lot of caffeine.

...

He collected his coaches, all of whom liked him a great deal more than Sir Handel (This was no real deal though. They liked a rabid dog who foamed at the mouth more than Sir Handel, because at the very least, the rabid dog could be thrown bodily out of the coach if they got too bad) and headed off towards Crovan's Gate to get his next set of passengers.

Somehow, the faster he wanted to go by the Skarloey lake, the slower the journey became. Or maybe that was just because his driver had yet to recover his glasses for his near-sightedness, and was thus progressing at a snail's pace.

He whistled to Thomas, who was running through the long list of things he had to answer at the debate that night, and received a whistle in return as he pulled into Crovan's Gate. He fussed to the platform, as Henry waited impatiently by the side.

Henry had been briefed by Edward that it was likely that, should he encounter Peter Sam, he was not to do a Gordon and let him railroad him (Pun not intended). Not that Edward expected Peter Sam would be that forceful in personality anyway, but considering that Gordon still was struggling to comprehend that another being such as himself existed in such a small form, it wouldn't hurt Henry to be informed. For kicks, Henry's driver had placed a Gordon mask on his face. it looked odd, to say the least, to see what appeared to be a green Gordon there.

"You're late." he remarked to Peter Sam. "Won't do, youngster. I can't be kept waiting! I have important things to do! Chakras to open! Debates to avoid! Cassettes to listen to! If you're late tonight, I'll go off and leave your passengers behind!"

"Yeah?! Well your face smells!"

Henry shook his Gordon mask off. "Ah hell, what do they put in these things? Smells like a abattoir. Point still stands, young un!" And he snorted away. Secretly Peter Sam was a little worried. Even in Cloud-Cuckooland, the idea of making his passengers late was...a not good thing. Not for long though, did he dwell upon this. The guard blew his whistle, and waved his green flag. Peter Sam set off, singing a little song happily.

It wasn't a very good song, but it shall be put here so that you can all shake your heads and sigh over it.

"I'm Peter Sam, I'm running this line  
I'm Peter Sam, I'm running this ine!"

He had yet to get past the chorus. It needed work. A lot of work.

Also, he passed Rheneas along the way. Either Rheneas or his stunt double, that is. Probably his stunt double, causing a great deal of continuity problems. We'll fire him after this series, because this is just getting ridiculous at this point.

"What a laugh this all is!" Peter Sam said to his imaginary friend, Periwinkle the Fairy of the Woods. He trundled along, content to enjoy his mental adventures with the Famous Five, drinking lashes of imaginary ginger beer...it was a good life. The coaches were enjoying themselves too, they were growing fond to Peter Sam, even if he did seem to be every crayon short of a full box.

...

At last, they made it to Lakeside, a little port that was generally the point where most visitors headed off down the mountain towards Knapford Harbor or Brendam Docks. There was a small cafe not too far away, named Neptune Refreshments, named after the God of the Sea because of the prices for good food that only gods could afford. The Refreshment Lady who worked there was...quirky. She often put on a Italian accent to sound more culinary inclined, frequently insisted on leading a rousing chorus of 'My Old Man's a Dustbin' to the bemused passengers, and had a large magnet with which to drag back anyone who even so much as tried to walk past her shop without getting something.

Every hour they had to wait a hour by there. Peter Sam had struck up a conversation with a old steamer by the name of Lakesider III, who looked wistful on occasions. He had apparently once been a hard worker at the Bigg City Port, but times had been tough, and he had been forced to...well, be upgraded. Removing his face, his glasses and all other outwards signs that he was anything other than a normal steamer, only the engines knew he talked now.

There was a story behind that. Perhaps another day.

The driver, fireman and guard went off to buy tea and cakes from Mrs Refreshment, as they usually did, and so left Peter Sam alone to doze happily in the sunset.

At last, the waiting was over, and Peter Sam's mind instantly went back to Henry's threat earlier. Panicking, he was even more impatient than usual. He sizzled with it, so much so that actual sausages were cooked that day.

"Peep! Hurry up please, darlings!" _How bally awful,_ he thought, _it would be to miss Henry's train! That silly smellyhead will think me a fool!_

Most of them got in rather quickly. You didn't argue with a talking steam engine unless you really wanted a death wish. The guard, finished stuffing his face with food, had his flag and whistle ready. The Refreshment Lady had shut up shop, and was heading onto towards the train to get a ride to her house. Then it happened.

The guard said that it was Peter Sam's fault because he was too impatient. He was still eating his sandwiches at the time, so taking things he said with a pinch of salt was a wise idea. Peter Sam argued that he was sure he had heard a whistle. As we have established, Peter Sam and reality do not mix well.

Anyway, he started onwards past the Lakeside Junction.

"OI! STOP!" The Refreshment Lady coughed in embarrassment and reasserted her Italian accent with such thickness that she gave Bella Lasanga from Fireman Sam a run for her money.

"STOP STOP STOP!" wailed the coaches. "You've left Mrs Refreshment behind!"

"LA LA LA CAN'T HEAR YOU!" belted out Peter Sam, who stopped anyway, just in case. "Bother! We are sure to miss Henry now!"

"And whose fault is that?" muttered the driver.

"Yours." said the fireman. "You're the driver."

"Stop the logic, it gives me a headache."

The Refreshment Lady climbed aboard, and they started again. Peter Sam didn't sing any more, mostly because he had forgotten most of the lyrics. All two of them. He hurried along as fast as he could and as fast as his driver would let him.

He arrived just in time to see Henry waiting there, quietly grinning to himself and looking ready to go. "HOORAY! I've done it! Suck it, Jolly Green Giant!" He felt very relieved.

"Not bad, kiddo." Henry grinned despite himself. "Keep it up long enough, you might actually make me sweat." He smiled loftily, as...oh hell, the continuity's great with this one. Er, the Yellow Engine, who was definitely not Duncan, puffed by in the background as the Refreshment Lady summoned up all her false Italian rage. Phew, saved it.

"WHAT-A DO YOU-A BELIEVE-A YOU WERE DOING BY LEAVING ME-A BEHIND!? MAMMA MIA!"

Peter Sam felt great shame for being chastised by a fake Italian seller of food. That's almost certainly a sentence no one has ever written before. "Sorry, Miss Fresh Prince Lady! But Henry said he might leave without us!"

He was baffled when she burst out laughing. "Oi, what a dumb- I mean, MEATBALLS AND-A PASTA! You-a silly engine! Henry canna not leave, he was-a teasing you! He's-a full of it! He's a guaranteed-a connection!" And she chortled off to her mini.

"WELL!" said Peter Sam, indignantly. "HENRY!"

It was too late. Henry had hurried out of the station laughing himself silly.

Peter Sam decided that reality was too mean, and so retreated back to the Faraway Woods, where a tea party with teddy bears was taking place. He preferred his world. It was better than the real one.

...

That night, as everyone watched the (pun intended) train-wreck of the debate, a shadowy figure snuck aboard the steamer known formerly as OJ. He routed around in the cupboards, clawed through the wardrobe, before at last, finding what he was looking for wedged between a copy of 'The Island of Sodor: Its People, History and Railways' and 'MoD on SoDor: What Really Happened?'. A rather worn, but still in rather good condition none the less, small brown jotter. No title. No distinguishing marks. But he knew it was what he was looking for.

He looked around him. "Sorry, OJ. Maybe one day you'll sail again."

And he hurried over, back to Duck and his driver. The fireman climbed aboard, waved the jotter in excitement, and Duck set off to the Little Western's shed, where they could pour over their latest find in complete silence.


	86. Episode 8: Trucks

Another little note regarding a new character this time! I'm going to be referring to Rusty without specific pronouns, mostly because the original plan was for Rusty to be androgynous, which I think is far more interesting, and that brief kerfuffle a few years back when the narration referred to the diesel as a female. So, that's the quick little summary.

CUE THE THEME!,

...

Duck's driver and fireman poured over the jotter with a great amount of detail. Every little note was coped and pasted into a official looking document, which made Duck feel very relieved that he didn't have hands to wear out doing this boring work. He kept himself occupied by turning over the information in his head, but still, one thought persisted in his mind.

We haven't found her yet. And we should have, by now.

His mission had been his first priority when he had arrived on the Island. He hadn't expected the inhabitants to infect him with their...madness? Unique personalities? Special brand of arrogance mixed in with just the right amount of vindictiveness? Whatever it was, it had got into his systems, and it had slowly corrupted him into focusing on other, less than important things.

No more, he decided. He was going to get things moving again if it killed him.

With a loud crash, a truck left lying in the middle of the line near Tidmouth was sent hurtling through the air as a very angry Henry steamed through. He was followed by a matching Toby and Edward, a somewhat bemused James, Gordon who was only just now coming out of his state of shock, and Thomas the Tank Engine, who looked indignant and sheepish at the same time.

"So how'd it go?" Duck asked casually, as his driver and fireman hid their work in his cab. "Where's Percy?"

"Percy's currently looking into how easy it is for engines to emigrate to far off lands!" Edward snapped. "Oh, and how did it go? Would you like me to tell you, Duck? Are you sure you wouldn't like to watch the Trainspotters footage?! THEY'RE DEVOTING A ENTIRE PROGRAM TO THIS ONE DEBATE!"

"I still don't see what went wrong." Thomas said, stuffily.

"Oh DON'T you!?" Toby turned around on the turntable rather roughly. "Well, I suppose starting off with the first question is as good as any place to start!"

"What was the question?"

"What do you believe is the single most positive attribute that you can bring to the people of Sodor?"

"I see." Duck sighed. "And I suppose he said "Himself" as per usual."

"Not exactly. He said he was rich, and could probably give them quite a lot if they were wiling to give him their votes. And winked at the voters. I'm pretty sure that half of them walked out right there and then."

"It was a bit of banter!" Thomas sulked. "They took it entirely the wrong way!"

"Suggesting BRIBERY can usually lead to that mistake!" exploded Henry.

"I thought it was great, Thomas!" James said, honestly.

"You see! Maybe James is more in touch with the fine and wonderful people of Sodor than any of you FUDDY DUDDIES!"

"OH, REALLY?!" Toby exploded with rage. "That would explain, of course, why everybody started howling with laughter, when James did his little routine?"

"Routine?"

"Duck, in describing this to you, I am aware that it'll sound so utterly ridiculous. But none the less, I could not make this up if I tried. That Refreshment Lady ended up turning in briefly before she headed off,, and she asked each candidate how confidently they felt they represented the youth of today. Drampf gave this long speech a tad on the rambling side that described how the youth of today were 'angry' and 'confused' and 'out of jobs' and how he was going to change all that. The TLC party and SDP one just sort of gave the vague answers they usually do. Bedella had this lovely speech about how a lot of the values he had grown up with needed to be passed on to the young uns, with a bit more...well, what's the word...new spin on them, that's it."

"And the Drunken Sailors?"

"Well I'm pretty sure their representative was doing his Flowerpot Men impersonation." Edward rolled his eyes. "So it comes to Thomas's turn. At first, it takes him five minutes just to get his microphone working, and then he decided to show how touch he and the rest of us were with the cool kids."

"God, don't tell me."

"Then, James swans forward, and right there, I think the other five of us were considering just letting the smelters melt us down right there and then. His driver then plugs in something and James lights up like a bloody Christmas Tree. And then he starts rapping." Edward let the mental image sink in for a moment. Duck shuddered, Henry looked as though he was going to be sick and Toby had his eyes shut, trying to block out the awful memory. "I'm pretty sure that there were at least several minorities insulted by his use of the slang words. I believe that some of his words were: Wicked, radical, hizzy, nizzy, biz, up in my grill and juicy."

"It was art!" James beamed proudly. "I thought i danced very well!"

"I've never felt more humiliated in my life!" Gordon muttered at last. "It was like being able to physically see the air leave your lungs, not least because his dance looked like he was about to seduce many of them."

"You never know, there are some people who are into that."

"Of course, all the Christmas tree lights eventually exploded due to how many he'd shoved into adapters, and now the town hall is on fire and we have to pay out of our own pocket." Edward snarled. "The SDP and TLC have already withdrawn because they fear that they don't want their parties associated with such a embarrassment, Drampf's got more supporters than ever and I'm pretty sure that the Vice-Mayor urinated on me at some point in the affair. And if I hear another word about that BLOODY mayoral race for the rest of the night, PAH!"

And for the rest of the night, he addressed his remarks solely to Toby, Henry and Duck, while Thomas sulked in the corner, and James tried desperately to get the smell of burning Christmas lights out of his paintwork.

But Gordon didn't do anything but think. He thought long and hard about a great deal of things, but many of them, as was per usual, eventually ended up coming back to himself.

The reason he was so shocked, he reasoned, was not because he had been taken aback by the way Sir Handel had acted. Well, that was true in part, but people assumed it was sort of a wake up call for himself, that he had seen the error of his ways and was going to become a modest and humble sort of engine. Of course, he already was one (In his mind, at least) but what had actually surprised him was that, for the first time in his many years on the Island, he had found someone who had gotten the important things in life. Pride, the express, smart coaches, power, speed, the need to impress.

And so he made a decision.

Sir Handel was going to be his apprentice.

...

It was the next day, and as the little engines got to work, and as Sir Handel began returning to his usual jobs, their work was constantly interrupted by a all too familiar sound, of whirring and very over the top Britishness that many would have thought only existed on Allo Allo. The lakes and mountains, as has been previously discussed, have many visitors who apparently come from places where lakes and mountains were to them what the leprechaun or the vampire is to you or me. This means they can get rather stupid, and so, Harold the Helicopter flies above the sky making sure no one is in trouble.

Duke had already had a coronary at this 'strange beastie' that shouted at him repeatedly in a aggessively British way. Sir Handel had cheekily asked him if he'd looked in a mirror, and had gained himself a black eye for saying so.

The Fat Controller had stepped things up with regards to his governing of the Narrow Gauge Railway. While finding a permanent replacement was turning out to be a real struggle, he had been able to assign a number of sub delegates to act as managers, while he handled the buying of new engines to help even more in the running of the railway, as with Skarloey finally having been sent off to the works, and with both Handel's and Sam's faults lain bare, he needed someone to keep the peace. This someone was on their way now.

"All present and correct, chappies! Return to base!" Harold remarked, and headed off towards the mountain base established by a group of well meaning emergency teams. And then he noticed something a little different.

There was a little diesel crossing the cliffside line. A orange diesel, with faint hints of black paint that had yet to be fully painted over, and a smallish, square face, as per most of the diesels. The chap looked friendly enough. He hovered down. "Good day, old chap! I'm Harold, you seem to be new around here! Who are you?"

"I'm Rusty." said the diesel, sedately. Now that Harold listened, it was clear that the chap in question wasn't a chap at all. Or was she...he?

"Er, don't mind me asking, but I want to get it right. Are you a chap or a lady?"

"Neither. And both. But mostly, I'm just Rusty."

"Ah." Harold didn't pretend to understand these new definitions that were going on in the world, so he merely nodded, or gave the impression of a nod. "Don't recall seeing you here before, old chap...er, old mucker. What brings you here?"

Harold's manner, as it had so often before with other engines, rubbed Rusty the wrong way. "Fat Controller sent me to help the others." This was no time for a chat with a helicopter, especially with one that was infamous even on the mainland for his attitude.

"Well done! Cheers, good luck and keep up the good work!" And off he buzzed.

"Patriarchal cheeky chopper." muttered Rusty rebelliously. They set off on the line once more.

"Not now!" encouraged the driver. "We'll soon be at the top station! ...I wonder if that insanity thing is catching. Do they give good money when you're off in a asylum somewhere?"

...

Both Peter Sam and Sir Handel were glad to see Rusty, but all the same, Sir Handel was still in a bad temper over the whole affair of the past few weeks, and so was taking out his anger on the trucks, as most engines would do. But most engines wouldn't go so far as to deliberately piss the trucks off by hitting them even after they had been brought into line.

Sir Handel was not most engines. The trucks hated him, and so began to plot together on how to play tricks on him.

Gordon watched with amusement as Handel went to town on the trucks. He liked this kid, even if he was probably somewhat older than Gordon himself. He had guts, and pride, and confidence. He gave a whistle as Handel grumpily shunted some coaches into position.

"Nice work." He said approvingly. "Sir Handel, right? The express engine?"

"Indeed! And you're Gordon."

"Indeed. I was quite impressed by your actions the other day. Rather a bold stand, I thought." Handel puffed with pride, and Gordon saw his chance. "You know, interesting thing is, I believe that you deserve a lot more than just working with trucks. Nasty, vulgar little things, always said so." Handel seemed to be listening, so Gordon put forward his idea. "No one understands our feelings, do they? They assume that they're all namby-pamby wimps who'll fold like a house of cards in a earthquake. Now, if you were ill, you couldn't shut trucks, could you? You'd be pampered like a king, like you deserve."

"Good idea!" Sir Handel enthused. "Fireman's still on holiday visiting my old driver, so the relief don't know me too well! I'll try it!"

"Good man. I'll be back along this way in a few hours, and we'll talk a little more. I have the feeling that this is the start of a beautiful friendship!"

...

"Oooooooh, I don't feel well! Oooooooooh heck!" wailed Sir Handel. He was laying it on thick, not quite as thick as James would have, but thick none the less. But, because of the naivety of the relief fireman and driver, and because there was little time, he was sent back to the sheds, and his trucks were coupled up behind Peter Sam's coaches. Rusty promised to follow with the rest, and so the two engines set off.

Rusty had formed a quick and natural bond with Peter Sam, helped enormously by the fact that he was a utter sweetheart when he wasn't off in doolally land, so the chance to work together pleased them both. Peter Sam didn't mind the extra work, and so reached Skarloey station in good time. He left his coaches at the station and ran round to push his trucks up to the old Mid Sodor Railway Slate Quarry, which had been bought and transformed by the Fat Controller into another part of the Skarloey line.

After a rather awkward confrontation between Peter Sam and a rather obtuse and rude steamroller, he made it up to see that Rusty had apparently taken a back path, and was dropping off the last batch of trucks. They smiled at him. "See you in a moment, Peter Sam! Careful, these trucks are rather tricky!"

"I can handle it!" said Peter Sam with confidence, and his driver immediately groaned. You never said those words on the Island of Sodor unless you were suicidal or stupid. Possibly both.

Rusty smiled, and went on their way. As one of the workman took a leak near the edge of the rails, the empty trucks were hitched up to a long steel rope at the bottom of the slope. The loaded trucks at the top of the incline were hitched to another, and by their weight, in theory the heavy trucks would slide down the slope, pulling the empty ones up to be loaded up properly. In theory, even back in the day it had been considered a occasionally dangerous way to transport materials, not helped by the fact that the workmen often were drunk as skunks or were bored out of their skulls half the time.

Peter Sam dutifully waited at the bottom of the slope, his driver and fireman parking just underneath one of the drainpipes, and both of them got out to have a quick chat with the foreman. Peter Sam went back into his little world, where he was currently having a tea party with Mr Rabbit and Mr Snowman. He never bumped trucks badly, unless they misbehaved, which made him a surprisingly popular engine amongst the nutty trucks.

But the loaded trucks at the top couldn't see him properly. They thought he was Sir Handel. Honestly, even from far away, it raises the question of whether or not the trucks were actually colorblind, because they really didn't look that much alike.

The lead truck saw his chance for trickery had arrived. "FASTER! FASTER!" They yelled, maniacally laughing to themselves as they did so.

"NO! NO!" wailed the empty trucks, who had been surprised to discover how nice Peter Sam was compared to the other engines they had had. "It's Peter Sam! We can use him! He's too nice!"

But, as always, it was too late. The rope decided at that particular moment to snap off their couplings, and the loaded trucks took their chance as it came, hurtling down the hill as fast as they could. "HURRAH HURRAH!" They laughed.

Peter Sam snapped out of his dream just in time to see the trucks racing down at lightning speed. He shut his eyes and prayed that when the end came, it came quickly. The driver covered his eyes, and the fireman started to run towards the train.

The lead truck had just enough time to recognize his mistake, utter the immortal words "OH SH-" and regret a lot of his life choices before-

...

The sound of smashing and screaming and chaos echoed across the station and around the countryside. Rusty, who had been working off in the corner of the quarry, reversed backwards onto the turntable as fast as they could, just in time to see one truck launch into the air and smash down upon the drainpipe, defying all the laws of physics known to man and engine alike.

Peter Sam opened his eyes. Or tried to, as the slate had managed to shatter just enough so that the sharps were almost digging into his eyeball. Water, cold and freezing, gushed onto his head, forcing him to shut his eyes just to stop it from stinging his eyes even more. He shivered automatically, as the fireman tried in desperation to start removing some of the remains of the trucks, which had pierced his boiler and dome.

"Peep...peep." wailed Peter Sam quietly. Rusty rounded the corner quickly, and did a double take at the image in front of them.

"Oh...my! Bust my buffers!" They hurriedly called, in case Peter Sam couldn't hear "Never mind, Peter Sam! We'll get you out! Things can't get worse!"

It then began to rain. Peter Sam's screams could be heard echoing around the island.

Eventually, they helped Peter Sam to the nearest depot, not too far from the engine sheds, and tried to get as much of the painful stuff out of his boiler and off his buffers. Peter Sam looked as though he had been through the wars. His funnel was cracked and seemed to be on the verge of shattering apart into a million different pieces, and his boiler was dented and filled with small and tiny holes that workmen were filling as best they could with whatever they could find.

"Ank oo Rusty." he said out of the side of his mouth, and sidled off sadly home.

Rusty hesitated for a moment, then followed behind him subtly. They wanted to make sure he got home safe.

...

Sir Handel, contrary to popular opinion, wasn't a complete and total asshole. The second Peter Sam backed down, rocking and coughing painfully, he started forward. "Oh my god! What happened?! Where does it hurt!? Peter Sam!? Stuart! Talk to me buddy!"

And later, as the workmen continued their surgery on him, Sir Handel coughed. "I am so sorry about your accident!" He gushed, feeling the first hints of something he had only heard of in fairytales called a conscience pricking at him. "I always get back as far as I can, the trucks don't like me very much!"

Peter Sam's mouth was so numb from all the medication that had been given to him that it was rather hard to make out what he was saying, but this Sir Handel heard clearly. "Y idn't oo arn me?"

"I didn't think." he stammered, closing his mouth.

A very larger than usual shadow was suddenly cast over his buffers, and Sir Handel jerked backwards as Sir Topham Hatt appeared to materialize out of the wall like a ghost. In reality, there was a convenient door that allowed him to scare the crap out of his engines.

"You never do, you little bastard. You can start thinking now when you do Peter Sam's work as well as your own. That'll learn ya to play sick!"

Sir Handel did start thinking, about Gordon. And what exactly he was going to tell him tomorrow.

...

When the wreckage was cleared away, Rusty started off along the line. They reached round the side of the mountain, making their final little trip before they were to start heading off back to the mainland for the night. Then, with a whirring, Rusty looked up to see Harold the Helicopter glancing down, grinning friendly.

"Splendid to see you again!" Harold said, with no small amount of genuineness. "I heard your friend got into a accident! Is he okay?"

"Er, yes, thank you. Well, he will be."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help!" Harold sounded so genuinely upset that he had missed the chance to help someone in need that Rusty suddenly felt a lot nicer disposed towards him. "I, er, just came around to tell you that, and...well, it's my evening look about. Don't want to miss anyone else."

"Nice job!" Rusty encouraged. "Well done! Keep up the good work-" They suddenly paused as the driver whispered something to them. A grin slowly broke over their face. "Turns out, Harold, we might be seeing a lot of each other now! They've just recalled me. Apparently I'm staying here!"

"Congratulations!" Harold declared. And the little diesel purred on happily to their new home.

...

"Mr Edward? Could I talk to you for a moment?"

Edward glanced back, trying not to curse. He put on his relaxed smile, and nodded, as Bedella climbed into his cab. "Where do you want me to drop you off?"

"Just by Tidmouth, I think." The ride continued in silence for a good few minutes or so before Bedella finally spoke up. "That was a good interview you did there. Nigel and Stan were very impressed, I think."

Edward had gone on Trainspotters once again to try and make something out of the disaster that had occurred the previous night, mostly because Thomas and the others had point blank refused to drop out of the race completely. He was left to salvage the situation again, as per usual, and had even admitted on air to Bedella that Thomas's youth had gotten the better of him once again. It was a fine balance between appeasing the critics and trying to keep Thomas looking like a viable candidate, one that teetered and tottered more than a Jenga set.

"Ah, thank you, Christopher. I...I must admit to feeling a certain sense of shame that we're even still standing." Edward groaned. "Oh shit, you have to watch yourself so damn much, don't you? Can I pay you to- Oh no I'm just making this worse!"

"There is no tape recorder on me!" laughed Bedella. "I won't tell a soul, Edward. I swear on my father's grave."

"Phew." Edward looked ahead, wryly smirking. "Thomas'll probably call this fraternizing with the enemy, but I don't care. I'd much rather you take over than that prat, Drampf."

"Means a lot."

"You don't have to lie."

"I am not! Despite what everyone says, your opinion carries a great deal of weight on the island."

"Tell that to the others." Edward paused, memories flying in. "They'll never know, you see. What it's like to go to war, what it's like to fear for your life, what it's like to have...to have things go on in front of you that you can't stop. They just see me as this old idiot who comes in to ruin all their fun, but I just want them to be safe. Do you get that?"

"My youngest is just like that. Always so impatient, so fussy."

"Funny. You could be describing Thomas." Edward smiled, a genuine nostalgic smile. "Thomas always wanted to go out and see the world. And I understand it. But I don't think his calling is for mayor."

"No. Perhaps not. But I swear, Edward, even if you don't win, things are going to change for the better. I assume most of the ideas about engine equality were your own?" Christopher smirked. "Somehow, you can just tell. Well, do you mind if I nick them at some point?"

"Not like we'll be using them that much." He came to a stop by the station. "Night Christopher. See you in the morning." And he puffed off back to the sheds. Maybe things would pick up a little bit. You never knew-

-He entered just in time to see part of Tidmouth Sheds collapse in on itself. He stared, open-mouthed, as James and Thomas began directing the camera crew to film this.

Or perhaps not.


	87. Episode 9: Home At Last

CUE THE THEME!,

...

Duck was patiently waiting at Tidmouth Hault for the signal to change when he saw Edward bustle up. Usually, Edward at least put on the appearance of a smile, but this time he was muttering and cursing under his breath, his features set deep in a frown. Duck whistled, and, half-heartedly, Edward whistled back. "Morning Edward! You look glum!"

"Too bloody right I am!" Edward let out a sad little groan. "So, did you hear about what happened last night?"

"Something about Thomas trying to demolish part of Tidmouth Sheds or something, right?"

"Right." Edward looked for all the world like he wanted to have a cigarette between his teeth at that moment. "Guess why. Just guess."

"...I don't have a clue."

"Neither did I, until Thomas told me that apparently the part of the sheds he was removing was blocking Drampf's view from his bedroom window!" If Edward had hands at that moment, he would have thrown them up into the air. "You can't make this up if you tried! If you tried to put this in some trashy paperback they sell at the airport, no one would believe a single word of it! Because now, here's the real fun part, Thomas is trying to tell me that we're going to make a coalition with Drampf!" The blue engine closed his eyes and shuddered. "This is going to kill me."

Duck was sympathetic. "I assume you're not a fan."

"No, I'm not. Drampf's policies go against everything that I believe in. The only reason he has supporters in the first place, is because the god damn Daily Mail keeps playing him up to be a savior of the innocent and the honest and the efficient and all that other stuff! He's not! But he and Thomas do have one thing in common, and that's that they're turning this into a goddamn circus! And I refuse categorically to be the ringmaster!"

"Well if you need to quit, then quit. But just think, Edward, of what'll happen if you do. Toby's a wise enough engine, but he can't reel in Thomas like you can." Duck smiled. "It'll die down. It's a passing fad."

"I sure as hell hope so, Duck." Edward paused, and then groaned. "Oh, look at me, acting so rude. How are you?"

"Okay, I think. I've had a couple of rough days, you know. Fat Controller even told me that I could take the night off from harbor duty tonight if I feel like it. I agreed, of course, not passing up the chance to get a free rest. But yeah, I'm getting better."

"Good. Keep up the good work, you're one of the few sensible ones here." Edward stared off, and then stopped. "Oh, and this slipped my mind. Percy told me to tell you that he saw a couple of tank engines looking for you. He recongized them from his days before he came to Sodor. I forget what their names were-"

"Not Jinty and Pug?!"

"That's the ones! Friends of yours!"

"In a manner of speaking. Thanks Edward."

Edward whistled somewhat more cheerfully, and headed off. Duck's smile dropped as soon as he was out of sight, and he sighed loudly. Jinty and Pug were well known in the circles he ran in. When they came around to see you, something big was going to go down.

Grimly, he set off for the quarry. He hoped this day would go fast.

...

"Bloody hell, could they get a chilier flatbed?! I feel like I'm a sitting target! Is this what JFK felt like?! If my death end up getting stuck on some goddamn reel of film, I'm blaming you all, boyos!"

Skarloey had been to the works to be mended. After he was gone, most of the workers would need to go to Barbados to get their heads mended as well. Skarloey had been grumpy a lot of the time, mostly because of the medicine that they had given him that took him right out of it. It had been hard work, but at last, he had been overhauled and given a fresh new lease on life.

Most hoped he didn't immediately ruin the lease by falling into the lake again.

Despite his complaints, however, the little engine felt much better. Rusty had arrived quite early, nervous, as they were going to be meeting the famous engine for the first time. Rusty needn't have worried, Skarloey took a instant liking to the diesel, especially as they were kind enough to assist him in disembarking from the flatbed.

"He seems a kind sort of engine, I suppose." he muttered to himself, when Rusty couldn't here him. "Or...they? Young un's and their terms, these days".

When he was off his truck, Skarloey talked to Rusty a little more. "So, you're new here? What is it that you do, exactly?"

"Mend the line. Do odd jobs. Occasionally drag Sir Handel into doing actual work."

"Oh you poor thing."

"I know. I think I deserve a pay rise." Rusty smiled. "But enough about me, I hear that everyone's looking forward to seeing you again! Some engines have been up to tell me to wish you well! Edward, Henry, Toby-"

"Ah, how kind!" Skarloey was genuinely touched. "I bet Peter Sam didn't even register I was gone!"

Rusty's smile became a bit more forced at that. Peter Sam, still in a rather shaken up mood, had made the diesel promise that he wouldn't ruin Skarloey's euphoric mood with news of the accident. If anything, Peter Sam reasoned, he should be the one to tell him about it. "Come on then!"

"Youngster, slow down!"

As they exited the Rheneas area, crossing over the waterfall bridge, Skarloey vaguely wondered if anyone would really know if he broke the 'No Alcohol for 10 Days' rule that they had in the place at the works. It was a strict rule that wasn't really enforced in the other works, and he regretted not going to Crovan's Gate, where they tended to look the other way when confronted by how the engine chose to live their life.

...

Peter Sam was feeling depressed. His face was so depressing that it made Eeyore the Donkey look positively chipper by comparison. He was still getting over his accident, which appeared to have knocked the ability to retreat back into that fantasy world of his where everything was super duper, and as a cruel prank, some workmen had left his funnel on wonky. He wanted to get back to work as soon as he could, not least because Sir Handel was always on the verge of ranting about Gordon and what a ass he was, which grew very tiring.

The Fat Controller arrived to make his daily checkup. Whenever a engine was injured as severely as Peter Sam was, he made it a personal goal of his to check in at least once per day. That, and the running of his larger engines was rapidly becoming out of control. He preferred to spend time here, where things were less complicated. Although come to that, the yellow prat had been causing a lot of chaos recently. He smiled at Peter Sam. "How are you feeling?"

"Can't I go back to work, sir?"

"Another day's rest will do you goo- Oh, for god's sake, can't we do something about his funnel!?"

"What's wrong with my funnel sir?!"

"Errrrrr...nothing." Hatt quickly changed topics. "Besides, I have a surprise for you!"

"Is it a time machine that means that I can go back in time and stop Sir Handel from making me go to work and thereby preventing this horrible situation from ever happening?"

"Scale down your expectations a tad. Wait and see."

The surprise turned out to be Skarloey. Peter Sam being Peter Sam, he quickly forgot his earlier remark and greeted him with genuine warmth. Skarloey was surprised, and humbled somewhat. Not too much, but a little. "OH!" said Peter Sam, as Rusty tooted goodbye and headed off to work "I am glad you've come home! How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know, not too bad." Skarloey instantly began searching for the nearest bottle of tequila. He grinned as they lit his fire, and fizzled happily in the sun. "I feel all excited! Just like a young engine! Feels good to be out of that stuffy place, let me tell you. Stuffy like Rheneas!" He laughed at his own joke, and Peter Sam laughed too, a little nervously. "Now, tell me the news. You've had a accident?"

"...Yeah." And Peter Sam quickly outlined the details. Skarloey felt immediately guilty. "Things aren't that bad. They'll get better, I just...need some time to think things through. I see you've met Rusty."

Skarloey knew a deliberate change in topic when he saw one, so played along. "They're a nice sort, aren't they? I like that diesel a lot."

"So do I. It's a pity that Duncan doesn't."

Skarloey sat up. "Who is Duncan?"

"Well, if you'd heard the Fat Controller right now, you'd have known him. The Yellow Prat, as he's called. He came as a spare engine after the accident, cause Sir Handel and Duke can't handle the workload alone, and Rusty is often off doing the oddjobs."

"Is he useful?" Skarloey came from that old background of judging one's character firstly by how well they did their job and then finally moving on to their actual personality.

Peter Sam considered for a moment. "He keeps busy, and I'm sure he means well, but he always comes across as bouncy and rude. He's singing and swaying and swearing all the time down the line, like a headbanger on coke. That's what his driver calls it. Rock and Roll."

"I understand." said Skarloey gravely. No doubt the arrival of such a Iron Maiden type meant that the next engine they got would be a rapper of some kind. He shuddered. There were some things that should never ever be. At that moment, his driver and fireman headed over, having reluctantly been dragged away from their holiday to get back to work.

"Duncan's done it again!"

"Oh no!" wailed Peter Sam "He hasn't been part of another bank robbery?!"

"No, not that, he's stuck in a tunnel. Come on old boy, let's get him out."

"Less of the old!" snapped Skarloey. "Besides, I literally just got back!" As his driver gave a critical glare to him, he let out a very reluctant sigh. "Fine. I suppose I can do it. If I have to."

Despite his words, Skarloey was secretly a tad pleased that he got to stretch his wheels after so long. He wondered if there were any changes to the line since he had entered the workshop. He whistled goodbye to Peter Sam (who had turned glum once again, not helped by the fact that a group of workmen had placed flowers in his wobbly funnel as a joke) and set off towards the tunnel.

They found a guard's van, and some workmen who had nothing better to do than throw rocks at a caricature of Sir Topham Hatt, and they set off. As they passed Crovan's Gate, Skarloey was touched to hear a chorus of whistles from the other side of the platform. Admittedly, most of the whistles weren't for him, but he liked to pretend they were.

 _How nice and smooth the rails are,_ he thought as he crossed over the Skarloey mountain, taking great care to make sure that he didn't accidentally trip and tumble into the lake once again. He was rather glad that the Thin Controller had banned ecstasy after that little fiasco. _Mended all the little bumps! I've got to hand it to that little diesel, Rusty's made quite a difference. Thundering Eisteddfod's, I better stop with this praise or Rusty'll get a big head._

Quite soon they reached the tunnel and found Duncan. Well, to be more exact, they found his brakevan poking out of a tunnel, and a rather harried guard holding a red flag in one hand and a large bottle of something delicious looking in the other. While his driver headed into the tunnel to check all was well, the fireman wisely took the bottle and gave Skarloey a sip or two. Or three. Or four. Okay, maybe they downed the entire bottle in one swig, and had to fetch another for the irate guard.

Skarloey's driver arrived to see Duncan's roof scraping the top of the tunnel, with a great deal of the stone work having collapsed onto Duncan and the track. He was stuck fast. Duncan had a face like someone who had drunk an entire tree's worth of lemon juice, and had the color to match it. Unsurprisingly, he was very cross, and made his feelings known.

"I'm a plain speaking engine-" He began, and the driver noted with weariness that of course Duncan was going to be Scottish, why wouldn't he be? "-I speak as I find! Tunnels should be tunnels and nay rrrrrrabbitholes!" He rolled his r's rather painfully on the last word. "This rrrailway is nay good at all!"

"Don't be a little shit." snapped his driver, who was nursing a migraine that felt as though it would cave in his entire head at once if he let it. "This is a perfectly fine tunnel for those who don't rock and roll like Mick Jagger!"

"Tha's your opinion, and ye are entitled to it. Even if it is a wee bit completely and utterly wrong!" Duncan snapped back.

It took a while for the rocks to be set aside and removed from causing any damage, and to set Duncan free again. The Fat Controller had learnt long ago that trapping engines in tunnels only made things worse, and so everyone had to throw away their original idea of just leaving the silly Scot there to rot and had to do actual work. So, reluctantly, they quickly got to work and managed to construct a temporary means of supporting the roof of the tunnel.

At last, Skarloey was able to push Duncan and his coaches safely through...relatively.

"OH! MIND MAH HEAD, YE LITTLE WEASEL!"

"Oh, boyo, you do have a mouth on you, don't you? I suppose you worked at a quarry."

"An what the hell is that ta ye!?"

The guard's van and the trucks for the workmen were left on the siding so that those who were propping up the tunnel could continue on with the work to make it safe again, and because none of them wanted to go anywhere near Duncan again in the immediate future. Duncan refused to move on principle, and with the passengers on the verge of killing him, Skarloey reluctantly buffered up and began to push him along.

Duncan grumbled the entire way, but Skarloey paid no attention. Mostly because the booze had left him somewhat woozy, and he was looking forward to crashing to sleep once they got back to the sheds.

...

And when they got back to the sheds, where Peter Sam had wisely shut the door, and where Skarloey proceeded to spend the next few hours sleeping off the massive hangover he had somehow managed to accumulate over the course of his trip back (Not helped by the fact that he had downed five more bottles every time they had stopped at a station), the Fat Controller confronted Duncan.

"Listen to me! There is nothing wrong with that tunnel, and if there is, it's that it was naive enough to think that you could be trusted inside it! You got stuck because you tried to rock and roll! Tunnels are not dance floors, and you are certainly no John Travolta Pop Star wannabe!"

"But, listen here, ye stupid fat man-"

Hatt had had a long day. So he decided to address his remarks to Duncan's funnel, just to prove he wasn't screwing around.

"Oh, and by the way, Duncan? It's Sir. You can call me whatever the hell you want behind my back, but to my face? It's sir. And if any of this happens again, I shall find ways to cut you down to size. In other words, ahem, your career is on the line."

Duncan's expression displayed outright HORROR. "No sir!"

"Need. I. Say. More?"

Duncan thought the Fat Controller had said enough, and said not a peep, and neither rocked nor rolled for the rest of the night.

...

That night, as Percy and Oliver dealt with the trucks, who were getting rowdier and rowdier for some reason, Duck puffed along Bluff's Clove to the little station of Haultraught. Everyone had gone home, even the stationmaster and the porters, which meant it was perfect for his purposes that night.

As the moon was briefly eclipsed by clouds, Duck was aware of the relative peace and quiet of the area. Save for the waves crashing on the rocks, and the faint sound of work in the distance, it was almost as if the world had frozen.

Then, he suddenly became aware of the two figures on the opposite side of the platform. Both of them were tank engines, one a LMS 3F class, the other, a Kitson 0F. The former resembled Thomas in a way, save for the fact that her paintwork was completely black all over, with a face that looked like it could laugh easily...though never really meaning it. The latter was squat, and his face was sullen.

Jinty and Pug, respectively.

"Well-" remarked Duck after a ten second pause, as the three crews headed over to the office for a chat "-this ever fails, you could make a hell of a living as magicians."

"Cut the crap, Montague." snapped Pug. "What the hell have you been doing recently?"

"My job, Pug. I know it's a foreign concept to you, but-"

"Enough." Jinty didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Pug simmered down, he had been on the verge of leaping the platform and ramming his buffers directly into Duck's nose. Duck did the engine equivalent of a shrug, and turned his attention to the inky blackness ahead of him. "We didn't come here to squabble. We came to deliver information to you, Duck."

"Information? Of what kind?"

Jinty looked him square in the eye. "Have you heard the stories about the Ministry of Defense Engine?"

"Vaguely. It was documented in a book, wasn't it? I never got round to reading it, but my fireman noticed it when he stole the jotter from OJ."

"Well, the Ministry was on Sodor, for the most part, to make sure that any and all munitions were to be stored away from the prying eyes of the general public, and to make sure that in the case of a attack by the Nazi's, the Island was well defended. They brought their own engine over there. We don't know much about him, save for his appearance was somewhat beetle-like, and the nickname stuck with him throughout his time on the Island. However, when the MoD left, Beetle went AWOL and escaped somehow. Never seen again, and the Ministry would like that embarrassment covered up."

"Okay, so where do I fit in with me?"

"About a week ago, we recieved garbled transmissions from a phone box a few miles out of the Anopha Quarry. We were able, to a extent, make out the voice of the caller, and we were able to track it to another phone box located somewhere in the Other Railway." Jinty nodded. "They're showing your crew photographs now, but the man phoning here? Does the name Drampf mean anything to you?"

Duck frowned. "He's running for Sodor Mayor in the campa-" He paused. "Shit."

"Exactly." Jinty looked grim "That's not all. Aside from the fact that the Fat Director's influence is clearly planning to be spread over to the Island, Drampf served during the war and shortly after it as a engine driver. And can you take a wild stab at who his engine was?"

"...So, to clarify, you're here to warn me about the fact that a xenophobic politician has ties with a dictatorial controller of a railway that wants to end the world as we know it and is currently in cahoots with a Colonel Kurtz style diesel-"

"Electric engine."

"-electric engine called Beetle to do...what, exactly?"

"Kill everyone, of course." snarled Pug. "We could have handled it ourselves, but Truro wanted to make sure that you knew what was going down on your patch, so you could 'advise us' on how to do our jobs."

"I detect a hint of bitterness there." Duck sighed and rolled his eyes. "One of the engines is trying to run for Mayor himself. I'll get the others to dissuade him from allying with Drampf. And I'll go and talk to this...Beetle. And see what I can get out of him."

The crews exited the building, and Pug stormed off angrily. Jinty paused for a while though. "How are you?" she asked, and Duck could have been biased, but this concern seemed genuine.

"Well...I think. You?"

"Not bad."

"...Can't believe you still are with that oaf." Duck rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I mean, I still can't believe you're still his partner after so many years."

"Yes, well." Jinty sighed. "We don't always get what we want, do we?" She paused. "We'll...We'll be sticking around until the business is concluded. We'll see each other again. Goodnight Duck."

"Goodnight Jinty."

Soon, Duck was on his own, just himself and the tranquil peace.

He savored it.

He didn't see much of it in his future.


	88. Episode 10: Rock'n'Roll

Hey guys, couple of quick things I'd like to bring up. First of all, I would just like to briefly promote my 'Tales from Abridgement' series that I'll be doing, it's basically a series of fun (hopefully) little original stories that take place in between series's, and where I'll be putting in place a trial run for characters yet to be introduced. Hopefully you like that.

Secondly, as you may remember, when I did Season 3, I took a brief break after the thirteenth episode, or the halfway mark, to focus on other stuff for a bit. I'll be doing that again, either with the actual thirteenth episode or with Gallant Old Engine, which is the fourteenth and would round things off nicely, in a way.

Following on from that, during that time, fingers crossed you'll see the release of the second episode of TUGS Abridged, a project that I clearly needed more time to plan for and not just do it on a whim.

Finally, I just want to quickly answer one of the reviews, a thanks to MK Inst for reviewing it and giving me such lovely feedback. I'm glad that someone noticed the 'Beetle' reference, I figured that I needed some sort of conflict considering that I might be winding down the political sub-plot a bit, and the Ministry of Defense engine provides a nice segue into the Duck storyline as well!

The styles are very different, I'm happy you picked up on that! And don't worry, going back and re-reading some of my old chapters are a bit painful for me, too. There's definitely a great deal more difference between them, not just with narrators, with the way the music is created, the look of the sets, the brighter colors, and the lighter stories as well. I hope you enjoy both abridging and my own crummy plot! XD.

CUE THE THEME!,

...

The engines came home that night to witness a screaming match.

Thomas and Edward stood there, opposite sides of the turntable, glaring at each other. Thomas was clearly gearing himself up for another daytime television intro, where he was probably going to chatted up by cheerful presenters and he'd say a couple of lines to make the audience laugh. No one was laughing at the moment.

"Look, I don't understand how this is so hard for you! Just drop Drampf as your ally, and start backing Bedella! I don't know if you've noticed, Thomas, but our approval ratings are dropping hour by hour! Not helped, it must be noted, by the fact that our budget just recently came back-"

"We have a budget?!" Percy gasped. Everyone shot a glare at him.

"-And we've currently spent more than 45% of it on funding ridiculous TV advertisements that would probably border on slander if it wasn't for the fact that the only people we could sell it to was the Adult channels! We need to cut our losses, and admit that we can't do this."

"See, that's the problem with you, Edward!" Thomas puffed back and forth in his berth "In the old days, you would have been the one who encouraged me to go out there and do some good! There's a legitimate chance that I could win this and-"

"Don't give me that claptrap, Thomas! It's not about helping enginekind, or improving relations between humans and engines. Oh no, it's just you trying to take back the spotlight again!"

"At least I've HAD the spotlight! Don't tell me you haven't loved the fact that you've been getting some actual attention for once! I mean, aside from being the blue one who isn't the star or the really arrogant one who still manages to get all of the girls, which is obviously something that you've never experienced."

There was dead silence for two minutes.

"Right." Edward hissed. "That's it. I quit. You're on your own from here on out, you little shit. For the record, if any of you want to find me, don't. But if you insist on doing so, I'll either be at Wellsworth or at the Sidings." He stormed off. Backwards.

Everyone glared at Thomas. Save for James, who glared at himself in the mirror's reflection, and Gordon, who looked at Edward's retreating face with concern.

"Oh please! It'll last a day. Two tops. As if he'd abandon us."

...

A week, a scandal involving a innocuous attempt to get free paintwork cleaning that ended up racking hundreds of pounds that was owed to a escort company and an accidental fire at Haultraugh later, Thomas began to realize that maybe he had been a little hasty towards Edward.

...

Skarloey the little engine-

"OI! None of that, boyo!"

-God, engines today, eh? Anyway, he enjoys all the sights and sounds along his line and knows them very well. He knows the sound of the cuckoo that awakens many of the people who live in Upper Rheneas, and the sound of the honking horn of Mr Drampf, who regularly calls the Refreshment Lady in front of him a variety of slurs that would make Stormfront itself feel embarrassed. He knows the lake...very well, as has been discussed before, and the way that the viaduct's line still feels shaky even after all these years.

However, he did notice something a little different, as he passed alongside Cros-ny-Cruin and noticed that there seemed to be actual activity going on, and again as he passed Neptune Refreshments, and saw that no one was trying to kill each other to get out of the way of the Refreshment Lady's cooking. Though Angelis and Asquith were still fighting somewhat.

On this particular morning, not long after his return, he found himself enjoying himself more than ever before, revisiting all the old sights as he went about his business. Along the way, he met Rusty, who was busy doing a little bit of work along the track. Well, the workmen were doing that, Rusty's main contribution was annoying them by remarking at intervals "You missed that bit there. Ooh, and that bit" which made the workmen very cross.

"OI! SHOVE OFF!"

Very cross may be a understatement.

"Don't mind them." Skarloey remarked, as his fireman shared sandwich with Rusty's crew. "They're quarry workers by trade, and we all know what happens in a quarry, don't we?"

"You get idiots like Duncan." Rusty rolled their eyes. "Yes, I know."

"You know-" Skarloey continued, to get both of their minds off the workmen and their rudeness "-if I couldn't see these familiar sights and places, see, I'd think I was on a different railway. And then I come along and find out that I've got to pull the same bunch of rowdy and sarcastic passengers who say that this is a bad railway at the drop of a hat, and then I realize that no. Still the same one. But my point is, bach, you've done wonders with these rails!"

"Oh stop it." Rusty grinned despite an attempt not to. Skarloey was the only one who actually talked to the diesel at the moment, what with Sir Handel and Duncan being Sir Handel and Duncan, and Peter Sam still desperately trying not to heave every time he rolled forward a inch. "I'm glad you're pleased though. Manager said that we should mend the track so well that Skarloey'll have no idea where he is. I think the idea was that they were hoping you'd crash into the new lake and give them a excuse to finally name it after something."

"Ha! Fat chance of that!"

"And so we did, and you didn't, if you get my meaning!"

Both headed off, with Skarloey reminding himself once again of how much he liked working with Rusty.

As they rounded the bend to Crovan's Gate, Rusty continued. "There's still one bad bit that's being a pain in the arse to smooth over. Just before the first station at Cros-ny-Cruin."

"Oh crikey, not 'Atlas's Fall'?!"

"Why is it called that?"

"Oh, far as I know, some Mid-Sodor Engine called Atlas had a accident there this one time. It's not really as bad as it sounds, but it's a nightmare trying to get the breakdown train over there, let me tell you."

"Don't I know it. An engine might come off there."

"Duncan?"

"Duncan. Especially if he insists on doing that ridiculous rock and roll stuff he keeps going on about."

"Look at him right now."

As if by magic or by the power of convenience, Duncan rolled in, bouncing up and down the line like he was attached to a bungee cord. He looked bad tempered, as per usual, and sneered contemptuously at whoever looked at him.

"Shouldn't like to be his passengers." Rusty remarked quietly. Duncan heard the sound of conversation and like any paranoid and rude idiot, assumed it was about him and immediately fronted up to the diesel.

"Whut about me?!" He demanded. "Ah'm a plain speakin engine and ah believe in plain speaking! Whut's all this about me?!" His Scottish accent had grown very erratic over the course of the week since his incident in the tunnel. Rusty quickly outlined the details that Skarloey had just heard about the bad stretch of line, and warned Duncan to be careful. Duncan looked at him critically for a minute, and then laughed coarsely. "Huh! Ah know mah way aboot! Ah don't need smelly diesels to tell me whut ta do!" And he rocked off, muttering under his breath that Rusty should head back to where someone actually wanted busy bodies like him.

Rusty was hurt.

"Never mind." Skarloey tried to soothe the troubled waters. "You tried. Come on bach, let's go get a nice drink or two. Edward's sure to have some stupid stories we can lose ourselves in for a hour."

...

"What's going on, Oliver?"

The Great Western engine looked around in sheer panic at Percy. "It's the trucks! They're not listening to a word I'm saying, and they're refusing to do anything that I tell them to! And they've started singing!"

 _"Oliver's no use at all!_  
 _Thinks he's very clever!_  
 _Says that he can manage us!_  
 _That's the best joke ever!"_

"You'd swear the trucks only know one song." Percy remarked to himself. He looked at the trucks. "Shut up!" They ignored him, of course, and he turned to Oliver grimly. "Look, this is probably just a brief thing. Just show that you're not affected by it, and you'll do fine."

"They've been acting like this all week! Only reason I haven't told you before is because you never come down the line recently, and Edward's refusing to come and take the empties to and from Tidmouth Hault."

"Yes, well, we'll handle the Edward situation. Meanwhile, you keep on working on mastering your fear, or whatever." Percy jumped as James rushed past with a group of coaches towards Crovan's Gate.

...

Meanwhile, Duncan had tried to get to the bar himself, only to be shang-haied by the Fat Controller and ordered back to do work. He grumbled loudly, banging about the yard as he collected his coaches, before clattering away, muttering words that should never pass the mouth of engines or humans, towards the station.

James, having just arrived but putting on a act like he had been made to wait for ages, glared at the little yellow engine. "You're late!" He snapped.

"AH KNOW!" growled Duncan, rolling his eyes. "Och, but there's this smelly little arse of a diesel! Rusty's trying ta teach me how to stay on the rails, and then goes off leaving me ta find mah own coaches! The nerve! As if ah haven't been working like a horse furr years!"

James was sympathetic, seeing in this engine the same potential that Gordon had saw in Sir Handel. "You poor engine. We had a issue with shunting once! Silly little fools that did it didn't want to any more! We put a stop to that!" It never hurt to bend the truth a little, James thought, and the fact that he himself had had to put this train together would only diminish the amount of respect Duncan felt towards him "Oh, and diesels! Don't get me started on them! One of them idled up in our yard, and started telling us what to do! I soon sent him packing, of course, you've got to be firm with them, or they'll never learn!"

Duncan was filled with admiration. Duke, muttering about how in his day tank engines weren't seen much and heard even less, clattered by, but even his dismissive attitude failed to dampen Duncan's newfound respect for James. He didn't know, of course, that James was boasting and a complete liar into the package. As this was his first time meeting him, he can be excused somewhat.

As Duncan left the station, BoCo idled up, glaring at James. The latter immediately went into damage recovery mode on his attitude, and was only forgiven once the diesel had chased him across the island for the next two hours or so.

"Send Rusty packin! Send Rusty packin!" cackled Duncan as he clanked and rolled along the track. Sir Handel whistled in appreciation of this, and this made Duncan reach a level of smug confidence that had been unknown to man or engine before.

He climbed the hill, known as Alfred's Lament due to a rather awkward scene where Atlas's brother began singing Atlas's favorite hymn to mourn his brother only to discover that he was, at worst, badly bruised, with a furious nature.

"Well done boy!" said his driver, like a man who owned a rabid dog tempting said dog with treats "Keep it up!"

"Suck on tha, Rusty!" Duncan shouted triumphantly. Soon they were near the first station, and so confident was Duncan that he immediately began to sway side from side once again. "Nothing's happened, nothing's happened, silly old diesel, clever me!"

It will not surprise you in the slightest what happened next.

"Steady boy!"

Too late. With a wrenching sound, the rail seemed to split in two, and Duncan rocked over the side of the track, hitting the wall hard and knocking him out of his cheerful mood and into one of realization.

"BY THE BAGPIPES OF MACTOUT! Ah'm off!"

And he was. For the blind people out there.

...

"Sorry, Skarloey. Edward's gone off the radar for a wee bit. Odd that. Enjoy yer drinks, by the way." Douglas puffed off, leaving both Rusty and Skarloey to ponder life and all that it had to offer.

And then the news came via a very out of puff guard. "I warned him!" proclaimed Rusty triumphantly, as Duck rushed past carrying the consignment of milk for the schools. "I told him! But would he listen? Would he heck?! All he did was call me names, the little racist!" The little diesel was righteously enraged, and refused to move, on principle.

Skarloey, for all his faults (A tendency to drown himself in liquor and constantly struggling to tell his brother apart from cardboard being just some of many) was a engine who didn't like the idea of leaving a engine behind. "I'm ashamed of you, Rusty." He said, intoning deeply with his grave Welsh voice that he only used on special occasions, such as the time when Rheneas had stolen the last cream cake. "Think of the passengers! What'll they do?"

"Oh, my, you're right." Rusty felt embarrassed for the momentary slip into vindictiveness and Sir Handel-like behavior. "We must help them...I suppose Duncan as well."

"Atta bo- Atta gi-...Atta diesel? Close enough." Rusty roared into life, and Skarloey watched them rush off into action. He took a long sip of his cocktail and spat it out. Ah, of course, he reflected grimly. Douglas was no cocktail maker, and instead had clearly used soap in the product.

When Rusty arrived, the passengers gathered around him, murmuring as they watched Duncan wail and complain. He wasn't rocking and rolling now. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call irony. "Oh dear! Everrrryone will know how silly ah am!"

"Bit late for that, they already do!" Rusty called, and Duncan's day got worse. The passengers had to get out and help, and while they weren't pleased about that (As they expounded at length about to Sir Topham) they did their best, and at last, Duncan was jiggled back onto the track.

After that, aside from a incident where Duncan hit a deer on the way back to the sheds, he was extra careful all day. At last, evening came, and he hurried back to meet Rusty.

"Er...thanks." He started awkwardly. Start as you mean to go on, as they say. "Rrrrusty, thanks for helping me! Ah'm sorry ah was rude ta ye!"

"It's fine, Duncan." Rusty said, politely. "But you're buying me drinks for the next few years."

Duncan grit his teeth. Even a plain speaking engine saw that speaking plainly now would be hazardous to his health. "Ah wish all diesels were like ye! Let's be friends." He figured having a chum who knew how to work the line was good form.

"Suits me." said Rusty casually. "Bad bit of line's getting repaired tomorrow, now do move, because that's where Peter Sam is sleeping."

Duncan grit his teeth, and headed off in search of a warmer place to sleep. As he did so, the first specks of snow began to appear. The Island's infamous weather had decided to kick in once again.

...

Elsewhere, Duck had delivered his milk tankers, and was now looking to head on home to catch a bit of kip before convincing Edward to come home. Wherever he was.

However, his route home was rudely interrupted by the distant sound of humming as he approached the turn off point to the Anopha Quarry. It was the humming of something- or someone, Duck mentally added in his head- that required a great deal of power to run. Remembering the information passed onto him by Jinty and Pug, Duck hesitated for a moment, and then quickly backed down the track.

He found a nice line of trucks just near one of the rock cliffs, and waited.

Drampf was there, his hair looking wild and disheveled. He strode back and forth muttering things that Duck couldn't exactly hear, but didn't sound complimentary towards any minorities. At last, he spoke up "-AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF, YOU TELL ME IT'S GOING TO TAKE ANOTHER THREE WEEKS!"

"Calm yourself, Mr Drampf." The voice was that of a refined English persuasion. It sounded as though it had been rehearsed a number of times before a mirror, as it contained only the most Renounced of Renounced Pronunciation "You are doing far better than that silly little blue tanker can ever hope to achieve."

"Aye! But Bedella is still ahead in the polls! I don't get it, it's almost like insulting and suggesting that we need to get certain people out of the country is costing me votes!"

"I shall pass no comment, save that the political drama serves as a perfect distraction for us to carry out the real plan."

Duck couldn't see, but he was pretty sure that the humming was coming from the strange voice's person. And then suddenly, he spotted him. The Beetle.

He was small, squat, with a face that looked perpetually bored. For an engine who had fallen off the radar so long ago, he looked in amazingly good shape, mustache neatly clipped, teeth whitened and his paintwork, that of dark beige with hazard signs painted around his buffers, looked as though it hadn't faded in the slightest. Whoever this fellow is, Duck reasoned, he has been kept in largely good shape.

"That's as maybe, but it's still embarrassing! You don't have to deal with the pain of it! The humiliation of having to spend your time with lesser beings who come onto this island and feed off it like parasites!"

"No, I just had to spend my time stealing enough electricity to live, and occasionally going completely insane whilst trying to actually find said electricity." Beetle muttered.

"Oh, shut it, Beetle!"

it happened in a instant. One moment the former Ministry of Defense engine was sitting there, doing little. The next, he had somehow managed to bring Drampf to his knees, his buffers crackling with blue electricity and his face contorted in a horrible snarl. "My name, you toad, is Davidson! Don't you DARE call me that name again, Drampf! You sniveling little coward! While you were out there, running away and crying to mother while the real men did all the fighting, I was doing actual work! I was carrying dangerous work that no man alive could ever dream about, work that would have been vital to ending the threat of war permanently! But no, the Ministry didn't like my findings, of course they didn't! I was just the lackey, the muscle, the hired hands, their little BEETLE!" The blue electricity crackled, and for a horrid moment, Duck was torn between the safety of his hiding place, or his natural need to stop Drampf from dying.

"P-P-Please!"

"A little shock to the system ought to cure you of your manners, little man!"

 **"As amusing as that may be, Davidson, I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to put that idiot down."**

Duck shuddered instinctively, as the cold air got even colder. The faint and shadowy figure of a very familiar German Federal Railways 80 class 0-6-0 tank engine rolled forward, close to Beetle, or Davidson, or whatever he called himself.

"...As you wish, chum. But remember this, Drampf, you do anything like that again-"

"I WONT'!" gibbered Drampf, and hurried off before you could say "Lickity split" three times fast.

 **"Now then-"** Marklin smiled. A truly chilling sight **"-let's talk shop, shall we? Let's talk about how it is that you're going to kill Thomas the Tank Engine."**

TO. BE. CONTINUED.


	89. Episode 11: Special Funnel

CUE THE THEME!,

...

Duck closed his mouth, and violently shuddered in a attempt to stop himself from exhaling outwards and giving away his position. He glanced forward, trying desperately to keep what passed for his ears open, all the while trying to stop and calm his brain down.

"Kill Thomas?" Davidson looked puzzled "Well, that is a turn up for the books, isn't it? Seems bally odd, don'cha think? We had a different plan, as I recall."

 **"Ah yes, but sadly, taking out your former employees, while no doubt something that can and will happen at a later stage of the operation, is a pretty big ask even for the Fat Director. No, by doing this, we're taking out one of our biggest problems pretty quickly."**

"This Thomas fellow...popular?"

 **"To a extent. Children across the world love him. Everyone here hates him. For the moment, at least. But, if we don't act soon, then he will regain their sympathy and adoration, and killing him then would only make him a martyr. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's a martyr."** Marklin grimaced, or perhaps not, it was difficult to tell.

"Very well then. How to do it, though? You have a idea?"

 **"Perhaps. But that can be discussed another time, when perhaps I have a more...solid feel of the situation, as it were. You see, I have a new host being prepped as we speak. A host for my spirit. A way back onto this Island permanently, if all goes to plan."**

"Indeed. I...don't quite understand all of this, but I assume that is a good thing?"

 **"A very good thing! It means a schedule, again, it means getting to breath and walk and drink and oil along. It means, Davidson, that I can be properly in control for once. Now, I fear I must leave you here. Try not to murder Drampf...not yet, anyway."**

Davidson laughed. "Night."

And as Marklin vanished, Duck decided to take his leave.

He had a lot to warn Jinty and Pug about.

...

"I see." Jinty's eyebrows were knitted together. "Useful information to be sure, and it can't be helped, but I do wish we could have gotten a bit more information from them." She shook herself. "No matter. Myself and Pug can probably take care of Davidson, while you can protect-"

"I think we should tell them!"

Duck immediately regretted his words the second he saw Pug smirk triumphantly. "Oh?" asked the tank engine, with such fake sincerity it made Duck's blood boil just to hear it. "Why's that? Has Montague gotten a little attached?"

It was the work of a moment to back himself up, cross over the points and rush straight at Pug. The latter's smile dropped fast, and he let out a shocked yelp as Duck slammed him against the wall. "ARE YOU CRAZ-"

"I want you to shut up, and listen for once in your goddamn life!" Duck had lost any pretence at calm or civility in his tone now, there was only raw anger left to tinge his words with a sharp edge. "I know you've been reading my reports, checking over them, acting on my explanations, but trust me something, Pug, living it's a far worse experience! You probably got a big old laugh at them, am I right? I have faced down a vengeful ghost that is intent on wreaking havoc upon this island, I have saved people I don't even know from a crash that could have killed them, I have been scratched, clawed, pushed, shunted, punched, slashed and been made to listen to the biggest speeches made by the biggest blowhards I've ever met! You're damn right I'm involved, you goddamn prat, and if these engines are in danger, then it's our job to protect them! But then, I don't suppose you'd know much about doing your job, do you, Pug?! No, you get a nice and cozy life, you get to travel the world, you get to have updates regularly about what you're going to be doing, you get to have a CHOICE IN THE MATTER!"

"Duck." Jinty said quietly. "Enough."

Duck glanced back, and his face shifted back to it's usual laid back looking style. He didn't let go though. "You want to come onto my turf, and make questions about my judgement, Agent Pug? You better be damn sure that you're not talking out of your arse before you do."

Finally, he let go, leaving Pug to slowly pull himself free from the wall. Duck glanced at Jinty, casually. "Okay then. Ignore what I said. We'll keep them in the dark. It was a fool's question anyway. I'll keep Thomas safe, as long as you keep Jabberjaw over there out of my way."

And with that, he stormed back off to Tidmouth Hault.

...

It wasn't just Duck who was having a rough day. Next morning, Peter Sam had to get up nice and early, and take a brief little train across the now snow covered landscape.

It sounds easy. But it wasn't.

First of all, because Island of Sodor snow had recently taken a turn for the nightmarish. It clung to the tracks bitterly, not even gravel or sand was that much use to it. Ice formed over the sleepers, soaking them and making it hard to move across, considering how weak they felt. The train itself wasn't helping matters, it contained a variety of heavy tankers and canisters to warm up the various people.

The landscape, in particular, was worse than usual. Being on a mountain with winds that certainly felt gale force will make you feel that way. Every inch or so, Peter Sam, his driver and fireman thanked their lucky stars that they were still living.

Of course, things would be better if it wasn't the fact that Peter Sam was still physically a wreck. His wheels slipped a good deal more than they used to, his dome still felt as though it was on the wrong way, and his funnel...it hadn't been write since the accident with the trucks. It wobbled, it swung from side to side, and the air crept in underneath it and through Peter Sam's many pipes and tubes and boiler, all the way through his internal systems. It was uncomfortable. His mind had never been the same either. He wasn't the carefree individual that he had been when he had arrived at the railway. He didn't walk amongst Cloud-Cuckooland any more, not matter how much he wanted to.

Not that the other engines were sympathetic at all.

He expected it of Sir Handel and Duncan. They were...well, to put it bluntly, they were prats. He was a little hurt that Sir Handel seemed to have forgotten that the main reason he was like this was because of his arrogant behavior. He had no way of knowing, of course, that Gordon had got under Handel's smokebox and started convincing him of how to act again. He was also less surprised that Duke was doing it, because he believed that the old engine was merely trying to show tough love. It wasn't appreciated, but it was understood.

No, Skarloey was the big shocker (Rusty just sort of ignored it all, which Peter Sam could handle, really) as he seemed to be rather blunt and to the point about how much it was getting on his wick.

As he arrived back at the sheds, with everyone else gathered around a warm fire that the work man had set up (plus Rheneas's stunt double, who came in from the cold because he was lonely) he couldn't help but remark about how much pain he was in.

"My funnel feels wobbly!" He said, dramatically. "I wish manager would hurry up with a new one! He says it will be something special!"

"You're something special!" cackled Sir Handel, who was very drunk, by the way.

"You and your special funnel!" laughed the other engines. They were fond of Peter Sam, but expressed this in the Sudrian way of insulting the tar out of him. His special funnel had become a running gag amongst them all.

...

But the weather changed that week, and it was no laughing matter. The winds had grown worse, so much that snow vanished and returned within blinking time. The rain returned too, in the form of melted snow that turned tiny streams into raging torrents that threatened to knock out all communication on the Skarloey Railway. Being so heavily bridge based, this was a problem, and it became rather a big fear that the line would be washed away.

All this time, Duck kept a close eye on Thomas as he promoted his scheme to help steady the Skarloey Railway. That is, sending Rusty to do the work that the little diesel was already going to do.

They worked hard, carrying the workmen to places all around the Island and making sure that it was fixed up nice and good, even though every trip, the diesel ran the risk of getting tossed off into the fast moving waters below. Rusty expected and received little thanks for this, and aside from one severe tongue lashing that they had given to Sir Handel after one too many nights spent fixing up leaky bridges, mostly grinned and bore it.

Most of the work involved removing the branches and the leaves that could block up the river, and could cause problems for a engine when using the lines. For the most part, this was what kept the occupied, save for one grey, overcast day when Rusty was resting in their own special siding. The driver brought bad news, as often he did. "There's been a washout not too far from the tunnel-"

"Duncan's had another accident?"

"HARDY HA!" called the Scottish engine, with great sarcasm.

"No, seriously now. Trackbed's been completely swept away, it's literally a tightrope between the two sides of the bridge. All trains have been halted until we can fix it up as best as we can. We'd best get on it, Rusty."

"Righty-ho!" Rusty started up, and after a quick glance to the other engines with just a hint of envy, headed off, leaving Peter Sam as the only engine still awake. His funnel was giving him gip.

Through the fog and rain, Rusty rode up past Lake Skarloey to the bridge, and began the long and boring process of ferrying back workmen and trucks of all shapes and sizes that is so boring that we won't cover it here, but move on to more interesting actions. The only important thing to note was that the weather had changed by the time that the operation, which took longer than expected, to a gentler breeze that was never the less frostier and colder with a bright and warm winter sun shining down upon the railway.

...

At last, the workmen finished (With only five near-drowning experiences, an improvement from last time) and they left the bridge alone. The first one to cross it happened to be Peter Sam, on a day where the other engines were lucky enough to get yet another day off. Peter Sam wondered if he had somehow offended the Fat Controller, his mind was still in a rather grim place, and his anxiety was playing up something fierce.

Rusty gave him a weary smile, which he tried to return. Tried being the key word.

"I'm worried about Peter Sam." admitted Rusty, to his driver as they arrived at the bar. "He's looking rough, these days."

"Hmm, doesn't help that the bloody trains can't deliver the goods though. I mean, he's been promised that funnel how many times now?" Rusty's driver tapped the side of his nose. "Let me look into it."

Meanwhile, Peter Sam was feeling a great deal better, as he took the mended piece of track carefully with his morning train. He reached the tunnel, and shuddered. It was short and curved, and add to that it was hard to see in, it was not the best place for Peter Sam to be in with his mental state being the way it was. However, all concerns had been brushed under the carpet.

It will not surprise you to learn that he was heading for trouble. The second the last bit of light was blocked by the brake van, Peter Sam began to panic, and breathed very heavily as he tried in vain to see the light at the end.

"There's something hanging from the roof!" shouted his driver, which are six words no one should ever be excited to hear in their life, unless it has something to do with a new chandelier.

There was a rather loud cracking sound, and an even louder crunching one.

The pain was so intense that in that moment, Peter Sam was struck dumb. He came out looking a very different engine than he had going in. Funneless. The passengers, always looking for a good time, cackled at this. Peter Sam said nothing once again.

"Here's what hit you, Peter Sam!" The guard said, producing a large icicle that had fallen off the roof of the tunnel. Peter Sam said nothing once more. The pain hadn't really registered yet, so until the point at which it did, he was completely mute. Eventually, they had to start up again, and with every puff, Peter Sam could tell a complete difference from the way he was moving. He felt incredibly numb, but even he was aware that this was not going to work even for as short a trip as to the next station.

The journey was very difficult, not least because the cold air made him feel like actual icicles were growing in his boiler. A not pleasant sensation indeed.

Peter Sam had the distinct feeling that he looked a right prawn to the rest of the world. He was past caring at this point.

Or so he though, when a sudden braking caused him to jerk to a halt. He glanced back at his cab, to see the fireman striding along the line to where a old drain pipe was lying besides the track.

Peter Sam was not the cleverest engine. Nowhere near it. But he knew how to put two and two together.

"We'll use that instead of your funnel! It'll help control the smoke."

Peter Sam's face told the crew exactly what he thought of that idea, but both fireman and driver enlisted the aid of the guard's rope to create a makeshift funnel for the very annoyed green engine. He finished the journey with it wired up.

He puffed into the shed area still in a state of complete shock. The engines took one look and...you know what, I'm going to let you guess. Do you think they:

A: Gasped in horror and asked if Peter Sam was okay  
B: Gave him sympathy and treated him kindly  
C: Mocked the hell out of him.

You have been paying a good bit of attention to the story if you picked C.

Yes, both Sir Handel and Duncan laughed outright when they saw him, and Duke had to stifle chuckles. Skarloey was asleep by that point, so he therefore missed Sir Handel's little ditty.

"Peter Sam said again and again  
His new funnel would put us to shame  
Went into a tunnel  
Lost his own funnel  
Now his famous new funnel's a drain!"

Everyone seemed to find that very amusing, despite Sir Handel's writing skills to be average at best. It certainly won't be winning him the position of Poet Laureate any time soon.

At last, everyone grew silent and waited for Peter Sam to react. Rusty hurried up, shocked to see such a blank expression on the face of the green engine.

Peter Sam, having just stood there and taken it for the most part, looked around. He didn't seem to have registered anything since his arrival, so numb did he feel. But now he had the sense that everyone expected something of him.

So he opened his mouth-

-and then the pain kicked in.

The screams were so loud that somewhere in China, Yong Bao, the famous engine, began to experience a bit of bleeding from the ear.

...

Once they had gotten Peter Sam to stop screaming in agony, and once he had stopped crying hysterically from all the stuff he had gone through, and once the somewhat embarrassed and guilty feeling engines were sent to a separate shed, which took about three days in total, he was lucky enough to finally get his new funnel. The Fat Controller himself came to present it, having had a quiet week or so otherwise (What with Duck sticking to Thomas like a hawk) and having nothing else to do.

Peter Sam stared in horror at it, presented in a rather lackluster fashion on a single box. "BLOODY HELL!" He shouted "Someone's squashed it! Sir, you haven't sat on it, have you?"

Sir Topham would have gladly lept forward and strangled Peter Sam at that jibe, but he was aware that the doctors had suggested that both accidents had left the little green engine in a state of mental tension, so he merely chuckled. He looked up at where Peter Sam's original funnel had been placed by a rather cruel prankster, and winced. "Don't worry, Peter Sam, this is a Giesl Injector. It's...well, it's something special indeed. You'll see. Rusty'll help you get used to it."

...

A WEEK LATER.

Sir Handel turned to Skarloey. "You know, they said something about bringing me in to get my wheels checked over."

"Really, boyo? Interesting. I always think-"

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-" Peter Sam flew along the line. One second he was there, the next he was somewhere else. His special funnel had new pipes that made puffing much easier. As he showed off quite frequently, especially around Sir Handel and Duncan. In his head, he was off to a tea party with Mr Fox and Mr Badger, he was already making apologies for being away so long. He hadn't felt this happy for a long time.

Sir Handel stared after him. "How-" He wheezed. "How does he even...I don't bloody believe it."

"I know."

"I can't understand it. He just seems to stroll on by! He makes work look so easy!"

"I KNOW! Stop rubbing it in."

They don't mock him now. Duncan tried once, but Peter Sam smiled cheerfully and told Duncan that if he continued on like that then he'd get the drainpipe right up his arse. This shut Duncan up pretty quick, and no mistake. They all wish they had one like it. Even the stunt double.

...


	90. Episode 12: Steam Roller

Before we get into the chapter, I'd just like to quickly discuss a few things real quick, as previously mentioned, we have my hiatus coming up soon, which means hopefully I shall get Tugs Abridged at least updated somewhat, and I shall be starting said hiatus after the next chapter, so Passengers and Polish is going to be the last one for about...a week? Two? It depends how much I miss doing this.

Also, time to address some reviews, some late ones, admittedly, because for whatever reason I always seem to be late to noticing them. To Teal Sparkle, nice to see you back again, and yes, stuff is heating up on Sodor! It should be, I mean, it's only taken me this long to have an actual threat to the engines before Magic Railroad.

Aaroncottrell97, it's nice to see you comment! You're right in that it is a diesel that's in the TV series, but which one? You'll have to wait a little longer for that, I'm afraid.

Also,...this chapter has something that might come out of nowhere, but all will be explained next chapter.

CUE THE THEME!,

...

"Where the hell is, Gordon?"

The big engine paused mid sip, then slowly trained his eye supon Thomas. "Who?"

"You know who! Oh, if I have to spell it out, Edward! Where is he? He should have been back by now! I admit, it's unlike him to go off in a sulk like this, but surely he would have seen sense about his views now!" It was notable that Thomas sounded far less confident than he had a few days earlier when he had asked Gordon this in the sheds.

"He did this from time to time." Gordon remarked, thoughtfully making eye contact with Percy, to indicate that he'd like another. "Not since he was put back in the sheds, mind. But back following the war, we were pretty used to the fact that he'd need to, no pun intended, blow off some steam." He frowned. "Not as long as this though."

"He'll be fine." Henry quickly assuaged the sudden burst of worry in the engines. "Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver are with him, and those two are the finest crew members ever assembled.

"Oh thanks a ******* bunch!" Carlin grunted, as he packed in another load of boxes for Henry's delivery to the Trainspotter's Studio.

"Don't be like that, Carlin. Be careful, you might bump into your, er-" And here Percy grinned from metaphorical ear to metaphorical ear "-tribute."

This caused a great deal of snickering amongst the engines, and Carlin flipped Percy off as he stormed off to get the next batch of boxes. It would have been his bloody luck, he thought grimly, to have that remembered.

...

1993.

It was a long standing tradition of the Fat Controller's railway to name new engines, vehicles or even coaches after long lasting and hard working members of staff. Carlin qualified for the former, and had at least a 45% on the railway board who were pretty sure that he somehow was a hard working fellow, so of course, he had been delighted to get the news that he would be key to the ceremony.

Everyone had worn their best suits as they arrived at Crovan's Gate. Thomas was scratching a pair of cufflinks that James had thoughtfully gotten him for Christmas to be placed on his buffers, and Edward tried his best not to wince in sympathy as both Douglas and Gordon struggled with the Christmas lights that were draped across their boilers, another gift from James.

"How long does this last?" hissed Donald to James. The latter shrugged. "Well I wish they'd move it along a weesht!"

"Sssh! Here he comes!" Percy hissed.

Carlin, wearing a bright blue suit, stepped onto the platform nervously. He was keenly aware that swearing as he usually did would not be looked upon kindly, and he was rather enjoying the fact that he had managed to get something named after him a great deal faster than the other drivers. The Fat Controller stood besides him, concluding a rather long and trailing speech regarding Carlin's history.

"And so, it gives me great pleasure to hand this over to Mr Carlin, who will be unveiling the latest addition to making Sodor a safer and happier place, named in his honor! Take it away!"

Carlin grinned, stepped forward, took a bow and tugged hard on the rope. He grinned...and then wondered why no one was clapping.

He turned.

He looked.

And he understood.

"MOTHERF*****!" he shouted loudly.

...

"So what is the deal with Charlie and Sidney?" Percy turned one of the tankards on, pouring what looked like beer towards Gordon. "I mean, we all have our own preferred crews, but I'm pretty sure that they've been the only ones who have stuck by their engine since I've been here."

"You know, now that you mention it, that is weird." Oliver seemed to consider this. "I mean, my crew's stayed together permanently, but that has more to do with the circumstances-"

"We know, Oliver." came the response from every engine present. Duck smirked, even as he did make sure that whatever it was Thomas was drinking wasn't contaminated in any way...not that he could think of a way that one could poison a steam engine. His eyes fell upon a picture at the bar.

"So, what's that? Always meant to ask."

"Oh that!" Henry smirked as he moved forward, to a rather stylized picture of six engines in a shed. "Now that brings back memories, you remember, Gordon?"

"Do I indeed!?" Gordon smiled, fondly, at the picture. "That's us. The 'Class of 44' as they used to call us."

"Don't recognize many of them." Thomas noted. "I think I can see Edward down the bottom. And I can definitely see you and Henry, but the other three...no, I don't think I met them."

"Well the two big blue engines there that's...er, let me see...that's right, silly of me to forget, 98462, right there next to me, and next to Henry, we have 87546. As I recall, they were special engines brought on for a time during the war to provide extra assistance for the bigger engines. Yes, I recall they were a unpleasant batch, even by engines from the Mainland and their standards."

"They were quite rude to me." Henry appeared miffed. "And they had no respect for nature at all! It was disgusting, I was very glad that the Fat Controller sent them away, there was no work getting done in the yard at all. It was like a Mexican standoff."

"And the big red fellow?"

"Him? Oh, that's...yes, am I right in saying that's the Flying Thistle?"

"Larks, yes, you are!" Gordon smiled, fondly this time. "Thistle was an all right engine. A bit of a showoff, kind of like James, but far more loyal. I recall that he was a distant cousin of myself and Scotsman. I can't-" A shadow passed over his face "-can't quite recall what happened to him."

"Six engines? That was it?"

"Oh, no, no! No, there were a few more than that. There was...Eagle, I believe? He was the same model as James. A bit more spiteful, you know. Always was clashing with Edward over something or other. And there was Albert, who worked the Furness Branch Line. He was all right. Polite. Could get a little cocky but, dependable in a crisis. Finally, there was 8783. He was pretty silent, and we always assumed that he was the one doing a lot of the military service around about that time. Wasn't, of course. Turned out that they had their own engine for that."

Both engines sighed wistfully. Duck vaguely wondered if Davidson was the engine they had mentioned. He made a mental note to check that out. And then jumped as Carlin dropped a box and started swearing up a storm. This was the cue for the engines to get back to work, but not before Henry pulled Gordon to one side and muttered something under his breath.

"We search tonight."

...

Elsewhere, the Skarloey engines awaited the return of Sir Handel, who had been in for a brief overhaul to try and shut him up and stop him whining for a little bit. A futile effort, but one they felt was worth trying, even if just for a little.

Sir Handel was very proud of his big and sturdy wheels, bigger than any narrow gauge wheels on any of the other engines. They had broad tires, and were rather useful for gripping hold of the track, which had been insisted on by the Fat Controller who refused to have a repeat of Sir Handel's accident on his very first day working on the railway. Despite this, they were unusual, in their size. And while Handel could take a little snickering from Thomas (Who had no reason to laugh, considering how he had looked in recent months) the other engines he had to share sheds with were another matter entirely.

On this day, he was getting some good natured ribbing from the other engines (And Rheneas's stunt double) who were looking for something to do while the drivers and fireman got them ready for work.

"Look at yon steamroller wheels!" Duncan cackled.

"Hey, watch out, you might flatten someone!" called out Skarloey, who was drunk, and therefore terrible with coming up with insulting nicknames. Duke scoffed and muttered something about how the kids of today always had to have a new fashion.

"Stow it! Be quiet!" Sir Handel said, being a fine recipient of being unable to take what he doled out on many a occasion "You're all jealous that you clearly aren't as favored much by the manager any more!"

"Take no notice of them!" said Peter Sam, who was in a forgiving mood for the moment. "They all teased me about my special funnel, until they found out how useful it is!"

"You hear that?!" crowed SIr Handel, and Peter Sam immediately realized he had made a terrible mistake, and so retreated back into his mental forest where he was having a picnic with Rupert Bear and the Famous Five. "My wheels are special like whatsit's funnel over here! I can go faster than any of you!"

"ATTA BOY!" shouted Gordon from across the tracks.

"To be fair though-" noted Duke "-it's not like that's much of a thing to be proud of, is it? You're slightly faster than two old engines, a stunt double, someone who currently resides permanently in the cuckoo clock and...whatever the hell that custard engine is down the front."

"Custard engine!?" raved Duncan. "I'll-"

Skarloey hushed Duncan. He had a idea to make Sir Handel see sense and, at the very least, calm down a little before he got his high horse all the way up Mount Everest. "I quite agree, Sir Handel, and I think that with your new wheels, boyo, you're just the engine to tackle the problem that is George!"

"Who is George?" asked Sir Handel, baffled.

"Steam roller, right across the road. Listen."

It is a well documented fact (by which the Daily Mail had declared it was, and so no one need bother doing any actual bloody research) that out of all the kinds of vehicles to travel in in the world, the steamroller is by far the most hated. It is useful for one job, and doesn't even really do that very well. So it can be understandable that Carlin took offence of his name being plastered over a rude, arrogant, bigoted steam-roller who made Bulgy look like Desmond Tutu.

He was making rude remarks about the engines, as per usual for a non-rail vehicle. "Railways are no good, turn em into roads, rip em up, turn em into roads! Railways are no good, turn em into roads, rip em up, turn em into roads! Up the workers, flatten the bourgeois! To hell with the socialists and liberals!" and other such unpleasant language as he moodily flattened a new section of road with viciousness. It definitely wasn't going down in history as one of the famous chants.

"Don't worry!" said Sir Handel with bravado pouring out of every pore "I shall send him packing! I give him a week, nay, three days before I show him what for! He's going to get a run for his money and no mistake!" And he swaggered off, leaving the other engines tensely awaiting news of when Sir Handel's inevitable crash would happen.

...

Later that morning, George was at the level crossing near Ben Glas, a stream that lead all the way along the waterfalls. He was very much aware that he had to avoid the mistakes that Bulgy made of the past. No trying to compete with the steam engines outright. No, his driver, name of Gotch, had briefed him on that thoroughly. His thoughts were interrupted by Sir Handel hurrying up and trying to square up him, which was hard considering his height.

"Huh." snorted the steamroller. "You're Sir Handel, I suppose."

Handel was standing for no nonsense, at least in his own head "And you-" he said, poking a imaginary finger into George's roller "-are George, I suppose, hmm? I've heard of you. Nothing positive, I must say."

"I've heard of you too." grunted George "You're a communist runt."

"Marxist-"

"And you swank around with your steam-roller wheels, trying to be one of us. It's embarrassing, for god's sake. You're pretending to be as good as me."

"Actually, no." said Sir Handel, sweetly. "I'm better, actually. Tarrah!" And with that, he steamed off, grinning like a idiot over his supposed victory over the large green monster.

George grunted, his permanent scowl not shifting once. Then, as Gotch leaned down to whisper something, said frown shifted into something that might, just might, have been a smile. Then he chuffered along, bouncing over the rails and moving like a serial killer after Sir Handel. They parted in different ways, but George kept a stern eye on Sir Handel even as he vanished around the corner.

Later in the day, Sir Handel brought a special load down in a couple of old vans, not long after the final train of the day had gone. As he reached the section where road and rail met, he noticed George trundling along besides the many roadworks. He decided to attract his attention "PEEP! PEEP! LOOK AT ME!"

George took no notice, and was actually smiling in what seemed like innocence, but any expert in facial language could easily decipher it as a malicious smile indeed. There was barely enough room to pass, especially with how bottom heavy George was compared to the average traversing person of the roads. Sir Handel drew level, and the two of them scowled at each other instinctively. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" roared Sir Handel. "You daft pillock! You great clumsy roadhog!

"I don't move for imitation steam rollers, you little nitwit!" George snarled back. The two of them lumbered along as the insults continued, and as they rocked and rolled so hard they would have made Duncan jealous.

"COMMIE TRAITOR!"

"BIGOTED ASS!"

"LAZY SOD!"

"GRUBBY SNOT!"

"IDIOT!"

"PRAT!"

Eventually, as the insults reached an all time low on the creativity scale, there was trouble. There was a loud clattering sound and the sound of crunching, as George's roller and the middle truck made contact.

Unsurprisingly, the middle truck lost.

"Ugh! This is all your fault!" wailed Sir Handel.

"T'wasn't! It was yours!"

...

What happened next was rather ugly. Gotch and Sir Handel's fireman squared up, and began continuing the fight with fists instead of insults. For years afterwards, Bertie the Bus, who brought workmen, would talk of little but the absolutely amazing uppercut delivered onto Gotch by the fireman. Then came a group of enraged workmen ready to fight anyone and anything, and as such, everyone argued.

Until, a distinct ding-a-ling of a bell made everyone stop mid attack. They turned around to see Acting-Officer/Stationmaster/Inspector Norris, who licked his pen and opened up a notebook. He glanced up, and went for the most stereotypical voice he could. "Ello ello ello, what's goin on ere?"

It seemed to work. Everyone immediately banded together to clear away the mess, save for Gotch, who scarpered away once again, following the successful template he had enjoyed a great deal of success with from all those years working with Bulgy.

The next day, the workmen finally did what they had been supposed to do all this time, and put a fence between road and rail. It was a very flimsy fence, but at least it was something. This time,when they left, rather quickly on Bertie the Bus just in case anything else violent happened in the near future, they took George with them, to dump him in a warehouse until they needed him again. Sir Handel counted this as a victory for himself.

He would have, everyone who heard the story thought as one.

...

This made living with him for that entire day almost impossible. His ego had now inflated to the point where it was the size of Krakatoa, and was just as likely to blow as it. He talked of nothing but steam rollers, annoying everyone and making Duke long for the days where he had been buried underneath so much soil. At least it had been quiet.

"Worse than ever." glumly noted Skarloey. "Sorry it failed, boys."

"Never mind." Rusty remarked, wearily. "We'll...work something else out. It can't last. It never does."

The diesel would have been surprised how right he was, and how they needn't have done anything. Some boys from the local school sauntered across the sheds, talking to each other, when one of them pointed at Sir Handel and nudged his other friends. "Look who it is! Sir Handel!"

"I'm a celebrity!" The blue engine declared.

"You hear what happened? He tried to race a steamroller! It nearly beat him! Honestly, I think he cheated! Sir Handel, I mean!"

Everyone grinned. Well, nearly everyone.

"GRRRRRRR. WHAT BLOODY CHEEK!" roared Sir Handel, sending the boys rushing off in a hurry to avoid being eaten up by the big blue monster. He never mentioned steam rollers for a long time after this.

...

"Again! Again!"

"Sorry, Mr Edward, but it'll help him drop off to sleep!"

"Not to worry madam! The little un looks like he'll be a good boy, and no mistake! Hold on, here we go!" Edward waited until all who wanted to have the ride got on him, then very slowly, he started off, making sure that the open-topped carriage didn't come to any harm He picked up a little speed as he headed out from the siding and began to roll along the loop line.

It wasn't too bad, he thought to himself. For years now, the Fat Controller had politely denied any Day Out with Thomas events being held on the island, seeing as the actual engines had a great deal more work when compared to the steam engines used on those events, who were mostly in preservation at the time. However, he had managed to convince Sir Topham to give him a few days off (mostly by pointing out that he had at least a year's worth of holiday days built up over his long time working on the Island, and that he needed a break from any and all engines) and since no one came to Crosby that much anymore, buffers crossed it would be a great deal more peaceful.

Yes, everything was fine.

Until suddenly it wasn't.

It had been quiet at first, a faint sound far off into the distance that he didn't even know was there, or if he did, he had chosen to ignore it subconsciously as being not very important in the grand scheme of things. But now, as he drew closer, he was keenly aware of it. The unmistakeable whine of a drill being fired up. And suddenly it all came rushing back to him, _the coarse laughter and the wailing and the screams and the pleading for it all to stop why why didn't they stop it-_

"Edward?!"

Edward jolted. He looked around in panic. Behind him, he could make out Henry and Gordon, and a group of very confused passengers. He looked around, gasping for breath, breath that he was suddenly in short supply of. He let out a wheezing laugh. "Sorry kids, think I overstretched myself! Gordon, mind giving me a push back to the station? Be a change for once, eh?" He laughed nervously, so hollow that even he could pick up on it.

Henry and Gordon looked at each other, then Gordon buffered up without a word and began to push. Those inside the carriage were chatting away and having fun, so none of them noticed anything really out of the ordinary.

And so, when the last of them had gone, and Edward headed off towards the Crosby sheds, located a mile or so away from prying eyes, he reluctantly found himself in the company of Henry and Gordon once again.

"How'd you find me?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Henry's idea, really. He figured out pretty quickly that you wouldn't have gone too far, and all we had to do was start asking a couple of the kids around Knapford if they'd seen you." Gordon looked at Edward. "You know, not that Thomas didn't deserve it, but you bailing on everyone like that...not something I've seen you do."

"Well." Edward shrugged, or the engine equivalent of and moved ahead a little faster. "It gets to a point, doesn't it. A point where you have to stand up and say "No, I'm not taking your crap anymore". And I reached mine."

"Edward...we know."

"You don't know a damn thing Henry."

"We saw the way you reacted to that drill. Simple thing, really. Just them putting up some new signs. You froze like it was a gunshot...how long have you been-"

"Have you told anyone?" Edward's voice was sharper, more on edge, than the others had heard in a while. "You promised, all right? It was our little secret. No one else need know. It's not important."

"Edward, if you're suffering from this, we need to-"

"Gordon. I keep your secrets. I don't tell anyone when you get depressed, or start crying over Daisy leaving you for the seventh time in a week, or that one time you accidentally managed to compliment Thomas and you locked yourself in the shed for three days to recover. Listen to me, please." Edward sounded on the verge of tears. "We can't tell them, okay? Please, they won't understand! They'll just laugh and say "Oh that Edward!" and move on with their lives. Or worse, they'll...well, you know what'll happen. I can't imagine they'll go easily on me."

"You did nothing wrong."

"Gordon, this never leaves the three of us. Same goes for you, Henry. Please..."

A pause.

"Only if you come back and start making up with Thomas." Henry remarked at long last.

Edward let out a long, long sigh. "Fine. I'll come back tomorrow."

Henry raised a eyebrow.

"Fine. Tonight. Let me turn around."

...

That night, in the offices, Drampf was staying up rather late. He scratched at his eye, reached for a piece of cotton wool and dabbed it on his eyelid. He glanced around, and yawned. He hated this. He hated not being able to just go to bed and wake up feeling refreshed, and he hated the fact that he had to wait for so long for someone who he didn't even like that much to come to him.

At last, the door swung open, and in walked Adrian Gotch. In his hand, he had a large canister of film, protected by a great deal of bubblewrap and tape.

"You're late!"

"Been up all night, haven't I? Getting the stuff together, as it were. The camera work is a bit shoddy, but it gets the message across, and combined with the audio we've got...well, let's just say that this'll change the way they think about Edward forever. ...You wanted a tool to discredit him? This is it. I haven't even watched it, the film's that likely to be destroyed during the first viewing. But I've seen just enough to know that it's what you wanted."

"Excellent. And even with the film being destroyed, once it's seen once, every news station in the country will be taking the footage straight from Trainspotters and airing it worldwide."

Gotch shrugged, and left Drampf holding the film in his hands. The very film that Drampf knew would expose Edward the Blue Engine to the Island, and indeed to the entire world...

...as a murderer.

TO BE CONTINUED.

...

 **The picture mentioned in this story, BTW, is the very first illustration inside the Three Railway Engines book by Awdry. Just a heads up. I would also like to note that every engine mentioned by Gordon and Henry from their past is based on a real engine from the Railway Series (Thanks Thomas Wikia!) and I went for ones that are probably never going to appear in the TV series as a whole for reasons that will become apparent in the next chapter, as my final one before i take a small hiatus. Quick run down, Flying Thistle is from a magazine story and is being used to represent the Red Engine in Edward's Day Out/Edward and Gordon, Albert the Tank Engine is from one of the stories in Thomas and Victoria, the penultimate book from Christopher Awdry, 8783 is a engine who makes a cameo in the RWS version of Toby's Seaside Holiday, and finally, Eagle is the red engine in The Sad Story of Henry, whom Thomas wikia tells me is a seperate entity from the one in the previous stories, so I'm using the name commonly associated with that red engine in fanon to represent him. Hope that sorts things out, and if not, next chapter'll hopefully provide some reason.**


	91. Episode 13: Passengers and Polish

Here it is. My mid season finale, as it is. I hope you enjoy. Will warn you straight away, portions of this are going to be some of the darkest material I've written thus far. Just warning you. This will probably provide a great deal of mood whiplash with regards to the content of the actual episode that I'm abridging. Fingers crossed it won't be too bad, and you'll enjoy it regardless. Next time, we go back to lighter stuff, I promise, but even so, this is the point now where I've got to start bringing in certain things regarding the build up to Magic Railroad now. Consider this, perhaps, a taster of the mix of drama and humor that I hope to bring to that movie's abridging.

Cue the theme.

...

May 12th, 1944.

 _"Not a bad run, all things considered, is it, chaps? Fastest and the best. Pulling the express has never been done better, am I right, little brother?"_

 _"Again with the little brother! I'm the same age as you, we're the same size, the only difference is that you're red! Red, of all colors! No one has ever gotten popular being red before, am I right, Albert...ah, now when I say no one, I mean-" Gordon shut up, as he became aware of how much deeper he was digging himself in. Albert laughed, and backed up rather quickly._

 _"Not to worry, old chap. Perfectly fine. Trust me, if I had my choice, I'd be a bright blue engine, like yourself!" Albert's direct play to Gordon's ego clearly worked, as Gordon swelled with pride. "Isn't that right Henry?"_

 _"If you say so." Henry was morose, his face looked as though he was trying to do a Queen Victoria impression. "I mean, not like it matters, does it? You'd never catch me being painted blue. No one'd be able to tell the difference."_

 _"Oh trust me, we would!" Eagle laughed, a rather vicious and odd sounding one. "Hey, you boys heading over to the docks later on? I think we have to give the Blue Engine over there a little bit of a hand!"_

 _"My name is Edward! EDWARD! Do you always do that when there's a new person with you? It gets old really, really fast!" Edward looked cross, to say the least, and he backed up rather harshly on the trucks._

 _"You get used to it." remarked 8783, better known by his nickname of Biggles due to his enjoyment of watching the planes fly. "They called me Greenie for the time I was the new boy."_

 _"You loved it! Don't lie!" Eagle cackled when Biggles gave a quick little smirk. "You coming, Henry?"_

 _"Not me" moaned the green engine. "I've got a doctor's appointment at the sheds. This new medication's supposed to unclog my entire system. Don't think it will though. I suffer dreadfully and NO-ONE CARES."_

 _"You got that right, old chum." Gordon muttered viciously. "I can't come either, I have to pick up the slack while Thistle swanks off to see those tarts at the docks." He laughed, until Thistle lightly thumped him on the back of the tender._

 _"I'll be heading over as well, I have some last minute shunting to do. Careful, Blue Engine, don't want you getting lost."_

 _"Albert, not you too!"_

 _"Biggles over here's acting as a back engine for me, and we'll join you, Eagle. I imagine we'll give the yards a bigger run for it's money than the oldie over there! I mean, look at how ickle-bickle he is. Might get lost in his own yard."_

 _The Blue Engine grit his teeth and whistled up into the air with no small amount of anger._

...

Present Day.

Edward jolted from the memory. He looked around him, trying to gauge what exactly had happened. But everything was very quiet and very still. It was the middle of the night, or to be exact, two o'clock in the morning, where no one else was awake unless those working the night shift and those who suffering from insomnia. Or the lunatics. There were a lot of them on Sodor as well. Thomas, Toby, James, Gordon and Henry all rested together in the sheds, in that order, and were all snoring away happily as ever.

Thomas's brow did look a little more wrinkled than it had since he had last seen him though. Perhaps he should...

No. No, if he got back onto that again, it'd risk the chances of another argument, and they were still trying to get over the most recent one. By the time the three of them had returned from Crosby, Thomas was already fast asleep, and Edward had no intention of waking him up just so he could get a forced apology out of him.

He glanced out the window. A nice night, all things considered. No thunder, no lightning, no rain, no snow...barely any noise at all.

At least until James woke up a few minutes later, at which point it was pretty certain that aliens far away on Mars (Or Clangers on the moon, take your pick) could hear him screaming about the horrible dream he had had about where his stylist had revealed himself to be a secret one of the 'haters' of his online blog, and took revenge by viciously maiming his paint scheme to be slightly less splendidly red than usual.

Edward rolled his eyes.

Back to normal then.

...

Eventually, the day began in earnest, and as the engines rolled out of their sheds all over the Island and yawned very, very loudly, the Island began to stir into life. The Narrow Gauge engines were no different, and as Sir Handel and Peter Sam rolled out of the sheds with exhausted expressions on their faces, and Rusty tried to keep their eyes open as they shunted the trucks, Skarloey himself gently rolled forward and continued to snore.

He didn't have long to himself, though.

Nancy was the daughter of one of the guards. It doesn't matter which one, so we shall simply pick one at random. The one who had briefly been involved in the incident with Henry trapped in the tunnel. There, that's a good one. She lived at Callan station, and was looking to finish up her exams in school and go into work on the railway. As part of her work experience, she had decided to work at the Skarloey railway for a time, doing odd jobs and so on. On this day, she had to wake up Skarloey and give him a proper dusting down. She pulled out some polish and a rag (actually part of the world's biggest piece of blu-tack) and began wiping down Skarloey.

Nancy wanted to talk. It was very boring when the engines ignored her (which they rarely did, so sensitive were their egos) and so she didn't really care much that Skarloey wanted to stay asleep for as long as possible. "Wake up, you lazy twit! Look at that brass of yours! It's almost as filthy as my mother's mouth! Aren't you ashamed?"

"Nah." muttered Skarloey. "Old fusspot. Like a old wife, so you are." And he closed his eyes and returned his mind to the many times where he and Rheneas had gone out clubbing on occasions, back when he had a personality and didn't have a stunt double who wandered into shot every so often. All the good times that they had together...even if Skarloey couldn't think of any off the top off his head.

Nancy finished her first round of polishing, and dismounted quickly. "Don't you want to look nice for when Rheneas comes home?"

"Nancy, be a dear and- EH!? What?! Hang about, he's what! What?! When!?"

"Soon. Daddy told me, But you'd clearly like to go back to sleep, I'll head off to school now, bye!"

"Nancy, stop!" wailed Skarloey, dragging the last word out painfully long in desperation. "Do I look nice?! I need to look like a bleeding firecracker! Please, can't you apply that gentle touch of yours to this old fool's paint, please?!""

"Now who's a old fusspot?" Nancy laughed quietly, and returned to her work.

There was a rather loud chuffing sound, and Duncan sprang from the sheds like Dracula from his coffin, albeit a Scottish Dracula who smelt of alcohol and regret. "Aye, aren't ye going ta give me a wee bit of a dram and a polish?" He asked in a rather thick accent.

"Bloody hell, Duncan, don't do that! It scares an engine have to death! How long have you been waiting in there!?"

"Long enough. Well, what about it?"

"Sorry, not today, I'm going now. My planet needs me."

"Is that a reference to something?" Skarloey muttered under his breath.

"That's it for today, see. I'm helping the Refreshment Lady this afternoon, we're making ices for the passengers. Trust me, I'd much rather be doing that with you than working with Bella Lasanga, but them's the rules. Never mind Duncan, Maybe another time."

Duncan did mind. He made his thoughts perfectly clear to Skarloey, who returned back to sleep as he ranted on about how "It isnae fair! Peter Sam gets a stupid special funnel, Sir Handel gets steam roller wheels, passengers get bloody ices and I cannae even get one measly polish!" And he clanked off angrily, leaving Skarloey to bask in the morning sun with no small amount of joy at being left alone at last.

Of course, this wasn't true (In fact, Duncan had even turned down a polish the day before, on principle) but Duncan liked to complain, and do so in a loud fashion. He directed his vitriol towards Percy, who quickly rushed away, suddenly realizing that he had something important going on. Somewhere wherever Duncan wasn't, was his excuse.

...

"Hello, and welcome back to Trainspotters, that short little break there was sponsored by Spottiswood and Company, proud owners of TV's Bertha! Spottiswood, where joy isn't manufactured, it's created! ...Did we really have to shill that, Nige, I mean, the joke didn't even make sense."

"Well Stan, if we don't want to get fired, we do! Now, there has been rather a slow newsday in the office at the moment, isn't that right. Stan?"

"Indeed, Nigel. However, while things on the political campaign for Sodor's newest mayor has cooled down significantly since the heated debates between prospective candidates Drampf and Bedella, and the rather embarrassing incidents regarding Thomas the Tank Engine since rumors of his campaign manager abandoning him have been spreading. However, we have word from Mr Drampf that he has come into the possession of evidence that he will be airing on Trainspotters for the first time publicly, information that he promises will change the way that one of our most senior Island residents is viewed. Edward the Blue Engine, he says in a official statement, will never be viewed in the same light again."

Edward spat out his drink as Drampf's smug, smarmy looking face filled the screen. He was saying something about how it was high time that the ladies and gentlemen of the Island of Sodor knew who it was they were trusting with their children, but it was like someone had fired a shotgun next to his ears. It was a murmur, a whisper compared to the very loud, very painful screams of panic in his head.

"Bill, Ben, head over to the docks and give Oliver a hand, would you?"

"But BoCo!"

"Now!" Edward was vaguely aware of two sets of wheels rolling off in the general direction out of the China Clay Pit, before BoCo came into his line of sight and spoke gently. "Edward? Listen to me, you don't have to, but-"

Edward snapped out of it. "Awah?" He coughed and focused his mind on creating actual words. "I mean, uh, it's okay. Trust me, BoCo, it's fine."

"...There any truth in what Drampf's saying?"

"...Well-"

"You're being obtuse, Edward. Not like you. Which makes me think all the more that there is the very, very distinct possibility that perhaps...Drampf is right. Something is there that you don't want people to know. Now might be the best chance to tell me. I don't watch the news, but I imagine that it would be pretty hard for even myself to view the story that Drampf's going to tell with any objectivitiy."

For a moment, Edward said nothing. Then, as BoCo looked down and began to back away: "If I tell you this...you have to accept one thing first."

BoCo looked up. "What's that?"

Edward stared out at the warm, beautiful sun, set just above the horizon as befitting the dawn.

"It was all my fault."

...

1944.

 _The fireworks had been a surprise, the Blue Engine had to admit. A bunch of drunken sailors had boarded their ship (A old rusting hulk of a tramper that bore the signs of intense burning and bomb damage, referred to simply as Krakatoa) and pulled them out of storage. Their captain had clearly gone off with a lady of less than reputable nature, and would clearly not be coming back for quite a while._

 _Edward was slightly jealous. The captain got to get away from his annoying co-workers. He, on the other hand..._

 _"Honestly, Blue Engine, the way you handled those trucks was...average, at best." Eagle grinned, that little cocksure grin that Edward was pretty sure was one of the most hated things on the island. "Oh, but if 98462 was here now. He'd tear you to pieces."_

 _"Shut up, Eagle!"_

 _"Now now, leave him alone, old boy." Albert smiled kindly to Edward. "It's good, Edward. It's very good. Don't listen to him. Just as long as you don't get the trucks too against you." Albert looked off into the distance. "Don't those bloody fools know what they're doing!? There's people here. Women and children! If they attract the Jerrys over here-"_

 _"Jerry's probably at home, toasting his feet over a roaring fire!" Eagle turned back to Edward and grinned, rather savagely. "And what are we doing out here?" He banged one of the trucks aggressively. "Trying to give laughing boy over there a lesson on the art of truck treatment? Give me a break."_

 _"Now now, calm yourself." Thistle's smile was proud, boastful, but warm. "I know it may seem hard to believe, but us bigger engines-"_

 _"Don't put that damn tosh on me, Thistle!" snapped the Blue Engine. "I work just as hard as you all do, and I'm pretty sure that without me, you wouldn't have trains to run."_

 _"Calm down, Edward." remarked Biggles. "It's just the way that they treat you. Give it five or six years. By that point, all but Eagle will have grown out of it."_

 _"You love me!" Eagle grinned at Biggles, who merely gave a quiet laugh in response. "See? Maybe one day, Blue Engine, you'll be lucky to get as close as we are! Then you'll be really useful at last!" His hyena cackle came back in full force as Edward gritted his teeth and pushed the last set of trucks into line._

 _Which was when the bomb exploded._

 _It had been a old one, one left over from the last war, actually. For years now, it had been left in the foundations of the dock, forgotten by all who had constructed the port and left alone, completely silent and untouched for a few decades. However, one of the fireworks had gone astray, and with a deafening bang, it pierced one of the warehouses. Finally, the bomb fulfilled it's purpose._

 _In the chaos, the mad chaos of screaming and shouting and wailing and terrified pleas for help, the engines were momentarily all stricken dumb. Albert was temporarily blinded by the light, Eagle and Biggles were both on further off tracks to the landing site of the bomb, and to make matters worse were drenched in the remains of some of the unfortunate trucks, and Thistle...Thistle was struck mute with shock. There'd never been such a explosion this close to the express engine, and it had stunned him completely._

 _No, the only engine in even remotely working state either mentally or physically was Edward, and that was thanks to the incredibly lucky co-incidence of his shunting the trucks as the bomb went off. He stepped back, dazed somewhat. And then he snapped out of it. He had often been witness to many such bombs, as he had not been allowed out before, so this one didn't particularly shock him that much._

 _But what he did notice was that all of the engines, the engines that had mocked him, belittled him, patronized him, who considered him to be somewhat lesser because of his size were now completely out of it. In a brief, mad second, two very simple facts became apparent to him, as his crew and many others rushed towards the flames._

 _No one would suspect a thing if something was to...happen to them, would they?_

 _No one would blame him for being unable to save them._

 _No one at all._

...

PRESENT DAY.

That afternoon, there was a great deal of bad news from further up the line. Duncan's driver hurried out of the crew's mess hall and quickly tapped Duncan on the buffers. "One of Skarloey's coaches came off the rails! We're the only engines ready at the moment, and we're closest. We'll have to take the workmen and their tools right away!"

"All this extra work!" complained Duncan, loudly. "It wears an engine out!"

"Rabbish!" said his driver, aping James. "Come on!"

Duncan angrily clattered over the bridge of Rheneas Waterfall, aggressively muttering words under his breath to describe what his driver was, and what he did in his spare time. Words that should never pass the lips of humans, never mind engines. Skarloey had long since scarpered off to go and get drunk somewhere, leaving his train in a siding somewhere. The coach itself was in the middle, so Skarloey had been able to drop off the first two coaches with his passengers at the station before getting tipsy.

Duncan shunted the works train into the corner and let them work on the coach, leaving them there for whenever Rusty was coming back around to take them home. They were glad. Anything was better than listening to Duncan and his insane ranting, especially as he had now reached the conspiracy theorist level of intelligence, where he was randomly making links to whatever it was he thought of to explain why he was being held back. It was a relief to all when he finally started off towards home with the remaining passengers in the rear coaches.

He clanked aggressively as he passed Lake Skarloey, muttering angrily about how Skarloey was clearly some upper class twit who clearly hated that he, as the voice of the working class, was more popular and handsome and more beautiful (That last one suggested that he had spent a little too much time with James) than the silly old red engine. His driver considered, not for the first time, jumping into the lake and just waiting until he ran out of air.

"Ah get no rest, ah get no rest!" Duncan complained viciously, out loud.

"Join the club, join the club." muttered his driver and fireman in tandem. They reached the causeway across the lake, next to the old abandoned castle that had once belonged to one of the many King's of Sodor, who often fought a great deal over who'd get to have the bigger scepter and so on.

It won't shock you that Duncan made it very difficult, to the point where he came temporarily to a very harsh stop on the middle of the line and refused to move for a good several minutes. This didn't help how short of steam Duncan was, and his driver decided that waiting for a bit would be advisable to create more. Duncan wouldn't even try. He sat there, and if he had arms, he would have had them crossed like an angry child.

"You are keeping the passengers waiting." ground out the driver through gritted teeth.

"YE ALWAYS THINK ABOUT YER PASSENGERS! NEVER ABOOT ME! Why don't ye bloody marry them, ye prat!?" And he promptly stalled even further, until such time as he had built up enough steam that his driver could very grimly force him onwards. He was now outright refusing to puff, doing everything he possibly could to delay the train.

...

Edward arrived at Knapford, nervously looking this way and that. Everyone was looking at him with...distrust? Fear? Dislike? He swallowed, trying desperately to wet his suddenly dry throat. He looked around, and he noticed the coaches that were to be readied for the next train. So, very quickly, he backed down onto them, and waited for Sand and Heaver to couple him up (the workmen didn't seem to want to come near him either).

And then the TV switched on.

Drampf was on there, talking, as he usually did, complete bull from his rather large office. But Edward wasn't focused on that. No, he was focused on the pictures that were rapidly scrolling past as Drampf talked.

Thistle.

Eagle.

Alfred.

Biggles.

And then suddenly Drampf stopped talking, and a old, grainy piece of footage began to play. It showed five engines in a shed. Five engines sitting there. Right at the end, was Edward.

And then...

And then...

And...then...

Edward's mind was skipping, like a very, very broken record. Everyone was staring up at it, everyone was watching, everyone _knew_ , they all know about it now, they all know what a coward you are, Edward, they all know your secret. The screaming reached a pitch that he'd never before heard of before, and without even a second though, Edward bolted, rushing from the station. He had to get somewhere, had to hide, had to...had to do something to just get away from them all.

...

Drampf stared, open mouthed in complete horror at the sight in front of him. Gotch looked completely and utterly dumbfounded as he sank into the nearest chair. Both men watched as the video played out, the audio (though somewhat crackly) very clear to even the most blocked of ears.

"You...idiot."

"Now hold on-"

"You said, you said that this would...that this would end it. That this would change the way they saw him forever. That it would the final nail in the coffin of Thomas the Bloody Engine! Well you were right about it changing the way they see him. He's a goddamn war hero now! And if there's one thing that the public likes, it's a war hero! You didn't even bloody check the goddamn film reel!?"

"I-"

"Shut the hell up and let me think! We're meeting with Marklin tonight, and I can assure you, your arse is grass when he hears of this!"

...

Far away, unaware of any of the revelations and baffling stuff that was going on, Duncan clanked moodily up the mountain, snarling and muttering slurs of all kinds. "AH'M OVERWORKED!" He declared "AND AH SHALL NOT STAND IT!"

"Then sit down" suggested his fireman, reaching the end of his tether and being perfectly willing to leap off the mountain at this point. At last, they reached the viaduct near Rheneas, and both crew members sighed a sigh of relief. It was practically over.

It was. Just not in the way they intended it to be.

"Come on, Duncan!" encouraged his driver. "We're almost there, once you do, you can have a rest and a drink at the station! We'll get you so much beverage, you'll be swimming in it."

There was a rather rough clanging noise as the coaches banged into each other as Duncan came to a complete standstill. He glared angrily at the crew. "Keep yer silly auld station. I'm staying here."

And he did. No matter how many pleas or arguments or threats or bribes were thrown his way, he moved not one more inch off of the middle of the viaduct until such time as Skarloey was sent out just to put the day of the visitor's out of it's mercy. By the time they reached the station, the passengers were angrier than a hornet's nest having just been poked, and they stormed out and angrily told anyone and everyone they met that this was a very,very bad railway.

By the time Duncan had been roughly shoved out of Crovan's Gate shed by the other engines, all very much angry with him, news had traveled fast, and while Edward's past being revealed was the big story, the Fat Controller took very, very detailed notice.

...

The entire island watched it. Watched the video with open mouthed expressions of shock. The children were sent out of the room, locked in areas where there was no radio, no TV, no internet, nothing.

Hatt spat out his tea in shock. He glanced outside, almost just to check, and was not surprised in the slightest to see that Edward, supposedly gathering coaches for James's train, had vanished. A distinctly familiar looking blue tender had just vanished round the corner as Gordon and Henry thunderously roared for those in charge to turn off the signal.

The engines were in a terrible state. Seeing what they had seen was...well, shocking. They felt sick, all of them, and the search to find Edward was immediately declared to be the top priority. Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver joined Thomas's team as he puffed around, looking desperately. He had to talk to Edward before he did something...stupid.

Edward had locked himself tightly at Kildane. No one ever came here, mostly because of how bad the tea service was. The shed was old and rusty and filled with rather nasty bits of rubbish that indicated that this was used as a meth den.

Good. No one was likely to look for him here.

He needed a moment, a moment to collect himself before going out to face the music. What the tune was, he had no idea, but _suddenly the screaming grew louder and louder and the smell of the rust and the sound of the sawing-_

Edward screwed his eyes up tight and tried desperately not to think about it.

But it rose to the surface nonetheless.

...

 _1944._

 _No one would suspect a thing if something was to...happen to them, would they?_

 _No one would blame him for being unable to save them._

 _No one at all._

 _...No._

 _He would know._

 _And so, taking a deep breath, Edward sprang into action. He glanced from side to side. "All right lads! Let's get cracking! Here's my idea, we get as many people into the trucks as we can until the ambulance get here! We get the trucks as far away from the fire as possible, which means we get the people as far as we can. There are some fuel trucks over there, which means that if the fire spreads to them, the whole dock goes up in flames, right?" He spotted their crews heading back, and was pleased to see them nodding._

 _"Right on!" Biggles agreed. "Come on lads, let's do what the Blue Eng...what Edward says!"_

 _"All right, I'll handle the fuel tankers, Edward, if you'll give me a hand?"_

 _"Certainly Albert. Eagle, you and Thistle take care of the passengers and the injured. We want to clear as big as space as possible for the ambulance and for the firefighters!"_

 _"You got it!" Thistle snapped out of it, and rolled forward. "Everyone here please, express coming through! Get on-board, we'll get you to safety."_

 _"Folks, focus on the splendid red engine, all right!" Eagle called out. Elsewhere, Albert andEdward began pushing the fuel tankers out of the way, directed by Biggles. Those injured were helped onboard the trucks and pushed away from the fire towards the road, while all those who weren't left on Thistle and Eagle._

 _At last, the firefighters arrived to throw sand on the fire, and to beat it down with blankets, and medical personal were dealing with the wounded. The engines quietly headed off for home, towards Wellsworth._

 _And then the very loud, very clear sound of a air raid siren cut through the midnight air._

 _"Blimey!" Albert was stunned. "Not now! Of all times!"_

 _"The fireworks would have attracted them anyway, but the explosion can't have made things better." remarked Biggles grimly. They were still in the area of Tidmouth Harbor, so the five engines were quickly driven into the sheds. The firemen damped down their fires, and joined the drivers as they made their way to the nearest bunker._

 _For a while, after the bombing had ceased, there was little anyone said or did. Nothing moved. The only thing that they could really gather was that whatever damage the Luftwaffe had done was quite severe, from the smell of the rather pungent smoke._

 _Then, there was a very loud and very audible clinking noise, as one of the shed doors (which had been closed) was slowly opened. From what the engines could see, it was still dark outside, the sky only lit by the bright orange glare of fires far off in the distance. And there, standing in front of them, was the Captain of the Krakatoa. Besides him stood...well, it was pretty obvious who they worked for._

 _"And you are completely sure that these are the engines."_

 _"Listen, sir, I did what you told me to do, I found the engines from the Ministry, can I please just go?"_

 _"But of course. Your Fraulein is waiting for you Good luck."_

 _The Captain smiled and turned back._

 _He walked fifty paces before the man in charge pulled out a gun and...well, you do the math._

 _As the body was removed, the leader smiled a rather horrifyingly calm smile to the engines, who were terrified. "Now then...shall we begin?"_

...

"Edward?"

No, no no no no, not him, anyone but him. Please, please just go away, find another shed...anything, anything, just don't-

"There you are."

Edward opened his eyes. Thomas was looking at him. He averted the gaze, focusing on anything, anything at all that wasn't Thomas's face. He couldn't look at what was in those eyes? Sympathy? Empathy? Anger? Disappointment?

"Edward...God...I..."

"Shouldn't you be back at the press conference? They'll want to talk to you."

"Screw that. You're the priority now."

"They know, Thomas. They know it all. They know my skeleton in my cupboard. And boy oh boy, it's a amazingly large one, isn't it?" Edward laughed, a low and bitter sound. "You just know they're going to use that against me...my one moment of weakness. You see it was my fault."

"I didn't see that. No one saw you doing anything that we blame you for."

"Funny. BoCo said the same thing. I wonder, if he gets it now. I told him, you see. He was the first living soul who I've told in years. Henry and Gordon knew, of course, there had to be a reason why suddenly four of their fellow engines weren't working any more. And Charlie and Sidney knew, naturally. They were the ones who rescued me. I'm not sure if Hatt knew. I think he did. His father passed that secret on to him when he retired."

"Edward, what are you-"

"The Fat Controller of my time, Charles Hatt, was a kind soul. He saw me struggle in certain areas, not unlike you, when you first started. I was good with the coaches, but not quite at mastering how to get them to the station on time. And I was okay at taking care of trucks, but I needed help. So, naturally, he asked the others to give me a hand. They resented it. But what could they do? Disobeying your controller back in those days was a far more risky thing than it is at the moment. ...So they went. With degrees of sincerity. And everything was going so well. I think I'd finally proven myself to them like...like everyone else had to. Like Henry did after the tunnel, like Duck, like Donald and Douglas, like Mavis, like the Skarloey engines...that's how it goes on this railway. You see, I think if I had been perhaps a bit better, they wouldn't have been at the harbor. And they wouldn't have been there when the bombs were dropped. And they wouldn't have been helpless to the advance party sent by the Reich to scout out Sodor for a full scale invasion."

...

 _"Now then, my...lads, is that what you are? My friends, I am a simple man, who speaks plainly. I am merely here to speak with the one who works for the Ministry of Defense. I imagine that we have much in common to talk about, you understand? Should he identify himself, I assure you, you will all be safe. I merely wish to know where she is."_

 _The engines looked at each other. They were terrified, but many of them tried to avoid it. "We...we don't know an engine who works for the ministry." spoke Thistle at last._

 _The man shook his head. "Such a shame. We could have had this all sorted out...ah well...Hans, pass me the hacksaw, if you please."_

...

"It was Thistle they tortured first. They didn't keep it going for long, just long enough for us to get a idea of what was coming out way. We tried to help him, but we couldn't move with our fires dampened down...they cut so much of his face off that he...he bled out, but I'd never seen blood like his before. It was...different, it wasn't right, it was wrong somehow and it just spread and pooled everywhere. The smell was...It took him a long while for him to die."

...

 _"Have I made myself perfectly clear? I believe I have, ja? Now...the Lady? She is here, on this railway, I am sure of that."_

 _"There is no stinking engine!" shouted Biggles, his composure broken by the horrifying sight of the still twitching corpse besides him._

 _"You require more, ah, persuasion? Now then...eeny. Meenie. Miny...you."_

...

"And then he went for Biggles. i...I don't know why, he did, I think it was to show that we shouldn't mouth off if we wanted to live. He started off with the hacksaw again, but this time he went for his boiler. The screams...it was...it echoes, echoes everywhere in my mind, like it did that night, and there was so much blood and black smoke, it was impossible to tell what else they did to him, before...before one of the others sliced through his forehead with a pair of shears...he cursed them all as he died, it was the loudest I'd ever seen him...then they turned to me."

...

 _"The little runt in the corner...hiding. Like a coward."_

 _"You...You k-k-killed him!"_

 _"Very observant. Now, I ask you again-"_

 _"IT WAS HIM!" Eagle burst out in complete and abject terror, gesturing towards Edward. "It was him, I told him that he should give himself up, but he didn't! It's all his fault! You want him!"_

 _The man looked at Edward, and then at Eagle. He nodded once. Two men moved forward, raised their guns up high..._

 _-and began to shoot at Albert. The tank engine let out gasps of pain with each bullet piercing everywhere._

...

"His boiler, his face, his buffers, his cab, his gears and leavers...everywhere it would have hurt him to die. He never screamd. He never screamed out loud as the bullets kept smashing into him and ruining him and ripping him to tiny shreds of metal...he just kept telling me that it was okay, like he wasn't even feeling it, and then they...they..."

...

 _"Leave him...we shall take him back with us. Such a engine is strong...stronger than he looks for such a small one. But the other one, the one in red is useless to me. Proceed, Hans, and make it count."_

 _"NO! NONONONONONO, IT'S HIM, IT'S ALL HIM, LEAVE ME ALONE, PLEASE-"_

...

"Eagle was scared. Terrified. We all were, but him especially, he was just...standing there, next to the corpses, and he'd just seen his best friend die. I should hate him, because he tried to send me to my death, but I can't help but feel deathly sorry for him. He was scared. Scared and desperate. I tell you something, Thomas, if it had been me tortured, I don't know if I could have stood it without telling them anything to get me free...then they turned to me."

...

 _The Blue Engine shuddered in terror, twisting and writhing in fear. The blood-like substance had splashed down from...from what the men had did to Eagle. So much of it...there was no longer any sign that there had been a face. Just a raw twisted hunk of metal and flesh twisted together, so bad that no one could tell what it even looked like any more... He was ready._

 _"And this one, sir?"_

...

"He looked at me. For the longest time."

...

 _"No. Leave him. He is not important. Come, take the tank engine out, clearly we have found the wrong shed. They were telling us the truth." The man waved, cheerfully, almost as if he was completely unaware of what it was he had done. "So sorry to trouble you."_

 _He turned._

 _The bullets shredded him like paper in a fan. The others spun around, firing their own weapons, but were cut down like wheat. The home guard rushed in, staring around in horror at everything that had happened. Two in particular rushed to Edward. "Lads! This one's still alive! Old boy, can you...can you-"_

 _And finally, Edward started screaming._

...

"Charlie and Sidney were soldiers at the time. That's when they found me, met me for the first time. I didn't give the best impression of myself. But they stuck by me, and they've stayed with me ever since."

Edward was silent for a long time after that. Thomas didn't know what to say. But he had to start somewhere. "What happened to Albert?"

"They...they got him to the works as fast as they could. He fought for five days like a beast to stay alive, but eventually they decided that his internal damage was too deep and too screwed up to ever fix right, and they decided to put him out of his misery as quietly and as humanely as possible. I was brought onto the mainline after about eight months of intense counselling, and I worked for a bit...I'd get these periods where it'd flare up again, really badly, but this is the first time that it just...went nuts. All the pressure, all the attention on me, it just brought it all back. You telling me that that I was...basically unimportant in our argument was the last straw."

"Did I ever mention that you shouldn't really trust me when it comes to saying correct things?"

Edward snorted. "You may have mentioned it once or twice." He paused. "What's the reaction been?"

"Reaction's that they never knew anything about what happened to you. They're feeling guilty that they could ever believe you'd be a murderer, and I get the sense that Drampf is getting grief from all sides for disrespecting a war hero."

"War hero." Edward scoffed. "I'm not that. The truth is, I was just a silly little engine getting over his head. It's ironic. I try and act like I'm this big and smart and wise old engine who has all the answers for every problem there is, and in the end, I can't even muster up the courage to tell you all what happened."

"Have you MET the other engines? Honestly, I get it. You show a bit of weakness, that's it, you're toast." Thomas looked downcast. "All honesty, no lies at all? I'm putting it on. A lot of it. The flash and the sparkle and the rebelling out against everything because I don't want to go back to being that little tank engine no one cared for and no one noticed. I don't know how to handle it, Edward. Which is why I'm quitting."

"Wrong, Thomas."

Thomas looked up in shock at Edward, whose face was now set in a very determined expression.

"That's why we're going to win."

...

That night, at the Skarloey sheds, the Fat Controller arrived, ready to give Duncan hell. We, er, had to cut things down a bit for the kids, so we shall simply sum up what he said with these words. "No passengers means no polish."

And Duncan, contrarian that he was, muttered back. "No polish means no passengers."

The Fat Controller stared at him for a moment, and then just walked away.

Sometimes, that was all you could do at the moment.

...

At the quarry, humans and engines alike began to furiously accuse each other of betraying the end goal. Marklin and Davidson argued that thanks to Gotch and Drampf, their plan to kill Thomas at his lowest point popularity wise was a bust. Drampf and Gotch argued that if both engines had told them that that was the plan instead of keeping it amongst themselves, then they wouldn't have tried to go ahead.

"Ahem."

All four stopped dead in their tracks, and turned to face the source of the calm, almost formal interruption.

The Fat Director, flanked by Captain Zero and his own personal security guards, stepped off of their other spy on the railway, known only by his code name. Stunt Double. The Fat Director looked around, and sighed. "Such a waste of time, gentlemen."

" **Sir! He messed everything up!"** Marklin insisted.

"On the contrary. Mr Drampf and Mr Gotch's actions, though fool hardy and rather jeopardizing in the short term, have also provided us with a golden oppurtunity. You see, now that Mr Drampf has released the footage, the footage of what many people will see as a POW getting tortured, all of the blame will now become attached to him. Every bit of public ire and anger on the Island is now flowing towards him."

"And this is good how?!" Drampf was enraged "I'm trying to gain their support!"

"While all the hate, all the anger and all the ill will is directed towards you, Mr Drampf, it shall make things a great deal easier to make sure that my spies are planted upon the Island, one way or another."

"So the assassination is out of the question?"

"On the contrary, it is more important than ever that we proceed with the plans, just in a slightly altered capacity. We do owe Mr Drampf a great deal, after all." On this rather cryptic statement from the Director, Captain Zero walked forward and removed the tarpaulin from one of the many covered up wagons around the quarry. Everyone gasped, or at the very least, sharply inhaled.

On the truck, which Stunt Double had brought to the quarry this very afternoon, was Edward's tender. It was unmistakably his, the correct coat of paint, the correct number, the correct size and number of wheels...

"Where did you-" Davidson wondered breathily.

"Simple. While Edwards lept at Crosby, the good Captain and a number of paid off employees took the tender and had it delivered to the quarry while you were all playing at being in charge. In it's place, we replaced it with a exact replica, with one difference that only becomes apparent over time." The Fat Director pointed to a large screen suspended above the quarry. "I do believe we are to get a statement from the engine himself."

...

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Island of Sodor, I wish to thank all of you for the kind words that you have bestowed upon me. When the video was revealed, I thought to myself that surely, that was it. Everyone would look upon as some cowardly fool who couldn't fight back when he was most needed, as a hypocritical fool who should watch his tongue, or far worse, as a source of comedy. I have done you all, engine and human alike, a great disservice, and I feel no such hesitation in saying that this Island is the greatest place in on Earth, and there is nowhere else I'd rather be."

A loud roar of cheers sprang up from the assembled engines and humans alike. Edward stopped for a moment to collect himself, then needed to take slightly longer when a large chorus of whistles and horns sounded up in support. He looked up, and grinned sheepishly towards James, Percy, Duck, the Scottish Twins, Oliver, Mavis, BoCo and both of the Troublesome Twins. He approached the microphone again.

"And I believe I owe most of my friends in the sheds an apology for not telling them this sooner, as a way of guilting them into letting me take the top berth for myself." He let the laughter die down. "But...with all seriousness, I thank you from the top of my heart. Now, to business. You may have noticed that I was slightly conspicuous by my absence in the past weeks' worth of drama regarding the political race. In all honesty, that was because I was suffering from problems regarding my past, and I was not in my right state of mind to give Thomas a hand in dealing with it. When we talked earlier on, he suggested that he willing to drop his mayoral campaign. And after a number of months of having all this hassle and having to go on TV to justify everything, I could have easily said yes.

But I didn't.

We're going to fight! Mr Drampf, you wanted a war?! Well now you've got one!"

There was probably more to the speech, but it was drowned out by the roars of approval from everyone gathered there. And as both Edward and Thomas grinned at each other, with the kind of determination that only the most brilliant of mad people have, their drivers raised glasses to each other, and clinked them together.

No one could hear, of course, the sound inside Edward's tender, the very, very quiet ticking sound.

The war had just begun.

...

And that's that! This chapter is the longest I've written in a while, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Lighter stuff next time,, once I've done a few other things we're not getting anything this dark for a bit. And I hope I put enough humor in here to not completely turn you off.


	92. Episode 14: Gallant Old Engine

Cue the theme!

...

Sir Topham Hatt sighed for a moment, then poured himself another cup of tea. He plucked up enough courage to try yet another of Lady Hatt's home made buns, dipped it in the tea in the hope that it would maybe take the taste of cement off it and began chewing on it thoughtfully.

Things had gotten weird on his Island lately, he noted to himself. There had been all that business regarding Edward's past, a rather odd thing that he had wished his father had informed him about before passing on. But then the senior Hatt had never been one for his sons. Lowham always seemed to be a little starved of attention, he noted. Perhaps that's why he ended up starting that balloon animal emporium. He didn't hate his father, on the contrary, he had many fond memories of spending time with him on the railway. But love him, as you were supposed to do? No. No, Charles Hatt was far too aloof in some ways to love. Always had far too many secrets close to his chest.

Edward himself seemed to be heartily embarrassed about all the attention, and seemed mortified that Hatt had sent him to a therapist. He had practically begged the other engines not to treat him any differently, and had been very quick to get back to the status quo. Hatt understood this.

He didn't understand, however, the sudden popularity in which Thomas's campaign had picked up in the new year. With the passing of 1994 and the beginning of 1995, people seemed to be flocking back on the bandwagon. Current approval ratings seemed to suggest that Thomas and Bedella were racing neck and neck, with Drumpf a ways behind them.

This really was a decent bun, by Alice's standards. This one was actually average! Average was something that Sir Topham Hatt loved.

His butler walked in, stiffly, and placed a selection of papers on the desk. "New corrsespondence, sir, from a variety of sources."

"Ah, yes, thank you, Digby, that'll be all. Tell Lady Hatt that these are delicious, if you please!"

As the butler departed, Hatt sifted through the papers. He tossed aside the bills to be dealt with later, then sorted what remained into a neat pile. Taking hold of a letter-opener. Slicing them open, he looked over them quickly.

First, there was a brief invoice from the yard manager listing concerns that the trucks were starting to get even more troublesome than usual, thanks in no small part to a strange private wagon that was whipping up discord on a scale not seen since the death of the heads of family in the barbershop incident. Hatt made a mental note to ask Edward, Duck and the Scots to look into it.

Secondly, there was a rather pointed reminder by the manager at Crewe that Rheneas was ready to come home, wanted to come home, and had been ready to come home for about three weeks. Hatt cursed. If he just sent Edward off to get him and get the engines to all stand around awkwardly doing nothing, it'd make up for the fact that he had completely forgot that Rheneas even existed.

There was a brief note that said that Allcroft and company were looking to start filming the main engines again, moving away from the little railway, which Hatt thought was wise enough.

Finally, there was a rather important looking letter that was from-

His eyes widened.

His jaw dropped.

"HOLY-" He read the entire letter again, his mouth unable to work properly. His mind was not much better. Finally, it clicked in his head, and drawing a deep breath, Hatt let out the most triumphant bellow he ever had in his life, flinging his arms open.

In the process, he flung the letter opener from his hand. The handle bounced off of the wall, swung back blade first and stabbed him in the leg.

It took a great deal of time for Hatt to stop punching everything that came his way so that the ambulance could finally take him to hospital. But even so, he was so high on the news he had received that it almost didn't hurt.

Almost.

...

Duncan would not stop grumbling-

I shall pause for you, right here and right now, and let you recover. Perhaps you have fainted in your living room, or reading it on your phone, or wherever you are in the world reading this story right now, out of sheer shock regarding this simple fact. I know, I know. I too was shocked to find out in this very script that Duncan, well known for his generosity of spirit and his kind, humble words, would be grumbling. It is okay. The world shall keep on turning. Sit down, take a deep breath, eat something. And continue.

He wasn't picky about what he grumbled about. He grumbled about not getting polished enough, he grumbled that he was overworked, he grumbled that he had to deal with Duke on the occasions where everyone else managed to get out of the sheds quicker than he did, and most of all, he complained about how the Poddington Peas had been screwed over.

Oh, and something about passengers as well.

"I'm ashamed of you Duncan!" Skarloey said, aware that saying so was about as effective to Duncan's conscience as trying to engage a angry bull in a theological debate. "I only thank the lord that Rheneas is coming home soon, because he'll be able to pick up your slack. Maybe he'll get some sense into that thick old head of yours before it's too late! By god, when we were your age, you had to watch your mouth where you went, or you'd get turned into a boiler soon as you closed your mouth! Bring back capital punishment!"

"Wut has Rheneas to do with me?" said Duncan, his voice more Scottish than usual. So Scottish, in fact, that it was a surprise that he didn't just reveal that his chassis was covered in a tartan kilt and that his whistles were actually very small bagpipes.

"Rheneas saved our railway! ...Well, sort of. He liked to brag about it before he lost his personality in that terrible accident. Oh wait, that was his driver, Rheneas had already lost his personality by then." He shook his head sadly. "Buffers crossed, he's fixed by now."

"Please tell us!" said Peter Sam, who was bored and easily distracted.

"Well-" said Skarloey "-it was before you came. We'd managed to buy up some of the old line that you used."

This was handy, as the historical recreation would be much harder if they hadn't done so. Cue the sepia-toned flashback.

"Things were pretty bad considering. I mean, the roof was leaky and clearly hadn't been fixed since the last inhabitants of the shed had lived there, for whatever reason, and there was this smell of grease and oil that indicated that someone had been rather violently ill there, and of course, that generator kept swearing at us, left right and center. Probably annoyed because Rheneas had stolen one of his faces in the middle of the night. We had no other engines, for some reason or another, and so me and Rheneas had to keep the trains running or our poorly constructed line would be closed down.

"How awful!" cut in Peter Sam, before suddenly realizing something. "So if you were there, how come you didn't find Duke in his shed in the corner, right next to you?"

"I TRIED HARD!" Skarloey spoke loudly, trying to drown out Peter Sam's questions. "But my old wheels ached. Rheneas understood, even though half the time he spoke in cliches and the other half he sounded like a fax machine reciting off an area code. Boring as paper, he was."

...

A FEW MONTHS PREVIOUSLY.

 _"Ooooh heck! My wheels!" Skarloey wailed. "They don't half hurt, me old mucker!"_

 _"That is okay Skarloey!" Rheneas smiled a bland smile, the kind of smile that would have been defined nowadays as 'blander than bread' and looked around for a fitter. "Do not worry yourself! It is my turn now, and do not fuss! I shall do the work for you!"_

 _"Ye gods, you have got it bad. Talk to manager about getting you back a personality! You're flatter than his missus on a Tuesday!"_

 _Rheneas was often short of steam, and many of the passengers were creeped out by how Stepfordian he seemed to be at some points, smiling no matter what. He always insisted that they struggle to the next station. "I must not stop between stations, or that would make my passengers ever so upset and our railway may even close down, oh gee darn golly gosh heck what-a-to-do!"_

...

"Pshaw!" Duncan snorted. His stopping on the viaduct was still something he gave not a single care about! "Ye just made that up, didn't ye?!"

Skarloey had, in truth, done as Duncan had said, but at the same time, knowing Rheneas as he did, it wouldn't have surprised him if that was something that he had, indeed, said in passing conversation. "Passengers get cross, you see boyo, when you stop at the wrong places. When they're cross, they complain to the manager, or controller, or director and so on. And when they complain, the ones in charge get cross. And when that happens, by heck, you should watch out. Rheneas stopped in a wrong place once, not that he could help it, the poor twit. This is what happened."

"Why are you speaking like that?"

"So the cameras can get it! Everything all right there, Angelis, boyo!?"

"Radical, mate!"

...

THE PAST.

 _One day, Rheneas set off with a loaded train across the Hawin Doorey causeway near the castle (which was only slightly less crumbled and rundown than per-usual) with a grim expression on his face. Someone had defaced the manager's side with a piece of graffiti that read 'Fat Ass Parked Here'. Skarloey had found it funny, but Rheneas's Lack of Personality Disorder meant that humor was an alien concept to him as of the present. The wind was wild, and the rails were wet and slippery. Trying to get a grip on them was like trying to grab a fish. Luckily, he was only going home, so it wasn't too far._

 _At last, as he crossed off the long stretch of rail and rounded a corner, his driver breathed a sigh of relief. Considering that there were even passengers in the guard's van for some reason, he had a fear that the extra weight would cause the rails to sink down into the lake. They crossed the little bridge that ran over the river, and still nothing happened._

 _"Oh, and I thought things were going to be bad today!" said his fireman. The driver looked at him, sighed and smacked him across the face. One did not say such things on the Island of Sodor! You sounded like you invited trouble if you did, and those invites were usually written in gold font and included a fancy layout. This wasn't a comfortable ride at all, and the driver just wanted to go home, curl up in front of the fire and go and hibernate for a good long while._

 _With every turn, the wheels kept slipping and sliding. Taking one turn forwards often meant sliding back three more, and as one of the wires on the track got caught up in his wheels, that too was rather painful. But Rheneas didn't complain. Mostly because he couldn't feel pain at this moment. The hill was the worst, it was just a steep climb, and would have been bad on a normal day, but as has been established, today was not a normal one._

 _He grew slower and slower, and even though he could feel no pain, even so, Rheneas had to gasp as the strain began to get worse and worse. But at last, with a forceful little twist to the side, his wheels gripped the rails tight and he quickly puffed up the rest of the hill._

 _"The worst is over, by golly gee thunder!" he thought aloud. The driver reached out, and slapped Rheneas's forehead with a newspaper. "Now we are away, and the worst is over, nothing can go wrong, no one can stop me, don't stop believing-"_

 _And then something bad happened- And please, take your time to recover, because I'm aware having two shocks in one chapter is terrible for you, but please, the story must be told- to Rheneas as he finished that thought._

 _There was a sudden blaring noise, a sort of shrill whine as something scraped along...something, and Rheneas's face instinctively screwed up. Suddenly pain felt very, very real. "Oooh er!" he declared "I have cramp, by gee whizz golly gosh marshmallows!" And he came to a rough stop on the lonliest part of the mountains. The driver quickly began preparing himself in case he needed to start eating any of the other passengers. He had his eye on the fireman first, it was his fault for jinxing them._

 _They examined Rheneas carefully. The driver stood up, wiped his hands and addressed Rheneas "The valve gear's jammed, looks like you're going to need that overhaul after all, old boy. Maybe they can fix that little...problem, you have. But in the mean time, I'm going to really need you to be able to reach the next station. Do you think you can still get us there?"_

 _"Of course! I must not stop, boy howdy! The passengers would be upset and that would never do, no-siree! By golly, I shall try!"_

 _"I...Okay, then." As the driver got back on, he was heard muttering to the guard "We really must ask them to make sure that they get his head looked at. He's practically Vanilla Ice levels of bland at this point."_

 _"No! Not Vanilla Ice!"_

 _And so, Rheneas started off. He was lucky, going downhill is almost always better than heading up. But even so, with every little turn of his wheels, he felt the sharp and shooting pain dig into his body. The wind buffeted him, and several times he felt as though he was going to lose grip on the tracks completely. But gritting his teeth, Rheneas soldiered on. The sheep watched in amazement as the Gallant Old Engine (See what we did there) forced himself through the rain that was suddenly bucketing down from the dark grey overcast skies._

 _He rounded the bend at the bottom of the hill, wincing as he did so, feeling the sharpness once more. But still, he crawled along. "If I fail-" he thought "-I'll have let down the whole gosh darn railway and that would be a darn shame! The passengers will get cranky and the railway will close!"_

 _And so, as the land leveled out, he forced himself onwards, even though every wheel turn felt impossible. As he reached Skarloey Lake, everything in front of him blurred into nothingness, and he knew he couldn't move any more, couldn't make another turn._

 _But move and turn he did._

 _Another turn.._

 _And another._

 _And another._

 _And ano-You get the idea._

 _He crossed over the bridge that was soon to be named after him for quite a few reasons. And finally, tired but triumphant, he reached the station. It took his driver the full weight of his body to brake Rheneas to a halt, so determined was he._

 _"I'm here at last." he wheezed, and collapsed._

 _The passengers got out, and thanked him profusely for getting them home, and for not getting them a bit wet at all. "We'll tell all our friends what a fine railway this is, and about it's gallant old engine! Much better than that Skarloey twerp!"_

 _His driver was delighted. "You are a gallant little engine, and no mistake. When you are rested, we shall start mending you so you can be ready for tomorrow!"_

 _"Wa-hey." said Rheneas, as he passed out._

...

Everyone stared at Skarloey, who shrugged. "I may have embroided the language of Rheneas's speech a little. That was what it felt like to me, in all honesty." He smiled, fondly. "Yes, but for all his faults, ad there were many, not least how he was boring to be around, my brother was always ready for tomorrow. Always."

"Thank ye for telling us about it." said Duncan, in a humble tone of voice, which was so unlike Duncan that the other engines wondered briefly if the Stunt Double had painted himself yellow to try and trick them. "Ah was wrong, passengers are important after all."

"I bet you're excited to see him tomorrow!" Peter Sam whistled.

Skarloey thought for a moment, and a wide smile spread over his face. "You know what, boyo? I actually am!"

...

The next day, Rheneas came home.

It was a big event, and most of the bigger engines had been dragged to it. Some were happy to get out of the stress related problems that the campaign had caused, like Thomas, Percy and James. And others, like Henry, had faces like someone had kicked them in the balls, because Rheneas owed them money.

Edward backed up, pushing the flatbed that contained Rheneas on it back as close as he could to Skarloey. There was a bit of kerfuffle as they realized that getting a crane into this spot had been rendered impossible, so they sort of just shoved Rheneas off onto the tracks below, before the breakdown train operator remembred his job and lowered him down, and the engines let loose a chorus of whistles that echoed across the line.

And Skarloey looked at his oldest and dearest companion and smiled at the grin on Rheneas's face.

The latter spoke "You know, gee golly gosh gumpkins, it really does make a old engine feel like at last he has finally reached his dang home."

There was a pause.

Rheneas burst out laughing. "Holy shit dude! The look on your face! Never mind, Drunkloey! I'm here now, to take care of you!"

Skarloey looked to Edward, who gasped. "Oh yeah, I forgot, the manager at the Works told me that apparently, um, they were able to fix his personality...somewhat. He's going to go through cycles of different ones at various intervals, like daredevil, wise old sage, whiny kid, jealous brother...so, yeah, this isn't permanent."

"Thank god!" said Drunkloey-

"HEY! ENOUGH OF THAT, NARRATOR!"

...

"Well well well, Stepney. You ready to talk?"

"...Yes."

"Very good."

"If I had any earthly idea of what it was you wanted me to talk about, I'd do so. But you haven't given me that honor, so I can't." Stepney would have done the engine equivalent of a shrug, if the engine equivalent of shoulders hadn't begun to rust and atrophy. He hadn't slept in ages. "I mean, those hired gorilla you call engines roughed me up, then I wake up a year later to find that I haven't been touched? You are either the most unique torture technician, or the worst."

"Ah, that's what I like about you, Stepney. You've been here now for years, and your chums still haven't found you. You are alone, in a strange land, where my facades could kill you in a instant. And yet you remain calm. Cool. The guards tell me the only thing you've asked for are some bluebells. Not a way out. Not any help. Just bluebells. You've given up, haven't you?"

Stepney was quiet for a moment. "Have you ever been in a scrapyard, Mr Boomer? I mean, as a engine, mind you, not as a human. I have no doubt that as you are now, you have been in several. No, let me make this easier. Have you ever been held hostage? By people who mean you and your kind harm? You can deflect all you want, but I believe you haven't. I have. Once, before this. I had to cross through many, many scrapyards, see many of my friends die painful, slow deaths in the smelter's yard, lost my crew once in a while, and it was only during the end of all this, that I got help from the Bluebell Railway. They saved my life, but it took them years to do so. You don't frighten me, Mr Boomer. I am calm, cool and collected, and don't ask for much, because I know that for whatever reason, you haven't hurt me in years, and that you need me for something. Now I have no idea what that something is, but I'm going to use that to my advantage. I've been playing this came since I was first constructed. I'm fully prepared to wait another twenty or so years. It's all a matter of taking your chance."

Boomer's eyes twitched. "Keep a eye on him, boys. This one's feisty. Shouldn't take too long to break his spirits. We know everything."

As he headed off, and as the guards drifted off, Stepney smiled as his driver hurried from the canteen, where he had been hiding out as one of the staff members, wrapped in a rather fluffy pink scarf and carrying a mug of tea.

"Not everything." Stepney muttered rebelliously under his breath.


	93. Episode 15: Rusty to the Rescue

One of my favorite episodes ever here! I hope you enjoy this, and I plan to flesh Stepney out a lot more in the next two or three parts. He's...well, put it this way, he's got connections to the over-arching story. Not necessarily the ones you might think, though.

Cue the theme!

...

"It's a nice spot."

"Yes, it is" agreed Allcroft "It's a nice spot to get some...er, angles. Why are we here, David? Remind me, I may have passed out after hearing Angelis and Asquith argue again, and missed it all."

"We're here, Britt, because...the plot demanded it, I guess, I don't know! I just wanted to get a couple of shots of Rusty going round the corner so that I can pad out a couple of the episodes."

In springtime, Rusty the little diesel loves to visit a faraway place. Faraway in the sense that it was a few miles away from Crovan's Gate and wasn't really that far out, really. This was the Bluebell Railway. Or at least, part of it. In reality, the line was far bigger and greater than it's rather small presence on the Island indicated, but as Hatt had set up the Island as being a sort of preservation and haven for the steam engines of the world, it only made sense to maintain contacts with several of the other preserved railways as well. Lines from Talyllyn, the Great Western and the Bluebell Railway often overlapped on the stations closer to the edge of the borders of the Island, such as Vicarstown and Brendan. Thus, this was a place for where visiting engines could come and rest their weary heads without having to be loaned out to the Fat Controller's company.

This part, owned by the Bluebell Railway, was filled to the brim with daffodils. No, just kidding, it was filled from mountain to lake with bluebells. So many bluebells that you'd get sick of seeing them after a while. The air smelled sweet (A result, no doubt, of the extensive damage done to the enviroment so that only bluebells could grow here, something that Henry had become most offended by) and Rusty thinks there is no better place to be.

Apart from, you know, his actual home in Crovan's Gate. That suddenly slipped his mind for some reason. That home.

...

On that particular day, Allcroft and Mitton accompanied Rusty and the crew on his rounds. It was to be their last two days exclusively covering the Narrow Gauge Railway, as Sir Topham had specifically asked that they return to the main line because there were going to be some rather interesting events over the next few months. They had yet to pry anything out of him, save for a rather cryptic comment about 'royalty' and 'special trip'. Then he had begun to giggle maniacally and had accidentally knocked the drip from his hand to the ground, resulting in the nurses having to restrain him for what was not the first time.

Thomas puffed by with Annie and Clarabel. He had just delivered a few trucks, and would be heading off towards Elsbridge to pick up some passengers. "Peep peep! Good morning, Rusty! Your driver doesn't half look worried, I wonder why! ...No, I don't, actually, I'm just saying that to pass the time. Pretty boring day all things considered, bye!" This came out as a mumbled and random garble, from which Rusty could only pick out certain words.

"I...know?" remarked Rusty, venturing a guess as to what it was Thomas had exactly said, seeing as he hadn't bothered to slow down in any way, shape or form. "I wonder why? So...er, driver-"

"My name is Larry. We have been your crew for...for a long time, and you still don't know our names!"

"Be fair, mate." said the fireman, named for his ability to put out any fuel fires that might be caused by a diesel. "I don't even know your name."

"B-But you were there at my wedding!"

"Let me tell you, it was a nightmare trying to find the chapel when you have no idea what the groom's name is!"

"You were my best man!"

"Uh, can I interrupt here? I'm pretty sure we missed the line we were supposed to be turning on" Mitton got a muttered curse for his troubles as Rusty's driver backed the diesel up and clung to the cab roof so as not to trip over himself.

"So, is something wrong?"

"Yes indeed! My best man doesn't even have the first clue what my name is!"

"Okay then. What's my name?"

"...uh...um..."

"You don't even know my name. Let he who is without sin-"

"Manager says that we need another engine for this line, Rusty! Isn't that swell?!"

"Nice job changing the subject, Larry. That was subtle. A bluebell engine, eh? maybe I can help find one."

...

Arriving at Crovan's Gate, Rusty noticed that Douglas and Percy were taking a little rest from their usual work in the corner. Rusty plucked up the courage, and headed off towards the two of them. Along the way, he passed the engine sheds for the narrow gauge railway, now bedecked in bright, neon colors that looked as though an anthropomorphic personification of the seventies had somehow exploded all over it. Clearly Rheneas was still in that stage of being a 'rad dude' much to the discomfort of the other engines.

"-Aye, it went everywhere! Tha's the last time I'm going ta a party planned by Donald! Silly fool nearly killed us!"

"Yes, Thomas said that next time he'd consider just going with the most expensive option for any parties along similar themes as last night's. So, at least something's good come out of it- Oh! Hello, Rusty!"

"Yer working with yon Rheneas, aren't ye?"

"Working? Rheneas?"

The three shared a laugh, though Douglas was a little suspicious, as he often was regarding diesels. Rusty didn't blame him. He hadn't come right out and told them to clear off like other engines who were somewhat wary of the oil guzzling replacements for steam. "Hey, so this might seem like a really weird topic, but do you know where you can get a engine from?"

"Well, when a mother engine and a father engine love each other verra much-"

"Hardy har. No, I'm talking finding another engine for my line. You know, engines who don't really have a home, engines who are looking for work, that sort of thing. Can you help me find one? I have one place specifically in mind."

"Where?"

"Where you found Oliver."

Douglas coughed as his drink went down the wrong way. "Ye mean-" he spluttered "-on yon Other Railway? Losh sakes man, be careful with ye words!"

"Yes, that's the place I'm talking of. I've been there before for a bit of time, but I'm really looking for a Bluebell Engine. If you'd give me a buffer getting me back over there, talk to a few of my contacts-"

"I'd like to help, really, I would. But these days, the Railway has been getting stricter and stricter. These days, it's only the diesels that go there. No steam engines allowed anywhere near it."

Rusty decided then and there. "So, that's where I'm going! Thanks lads!" And they backed away, leaving Percy and Douglas looking at each other baffled.

"Take care, ye daft beggar!" called Douglas, somewhat aimlessly.

"Well that escalated rather quickly." Percy remarked.

"Aye."

"...You don't think they'll get in any trouble?"

"...Put it this way, Percy. I believe it should be advisable that we prepare, just in case we need to, er, act the cavalry!" Douglas glanced over, and saw Gordon pulling a long line of box vans "Aye! Gordon! Yer're heading towards the Other Railway, aren't ye?"

"Not going inside! You wouldn't get me in there if I was armed to the teeth."

"Yon diesel thinks he's Steve McQueen. Ye and Henry keep a eye out, all the same, okay?"

"Fine. But you're paying my bar tab."

Douglas grit his teeth, and nodded. Percy was in awe. A Caledonian, paying for someone else's drink? The mind boggled.

...

Rusty told the four in his cab his plan as he dozed in the afternoon sun. Allcroft and Mitton, always one to seize a oppurtunity, were eager for it. The driver was more cautious, but still rather interested in the idea. The fireman was the lone holdout, insisting that they talked to the manager about it first. Despite many cries of "Buzzkill!" they eventually agreed.

That night, the driver returned to the little diesel. "Manager says, among other things, that if you can find a Bluebell engine, he's willing to make a home here and with the actual Bluebell railway. IF you can find one."

"Righty-ho!" said Rusty, not daunted in the slightest "Shall we start tomorrow?"

...

The Other Railway was busy that night. The labyrinthine structure of the place made it very hard for people who didn't have massive maps on them to get around it, and even then, having that map meant that you were only slightly more qualified to walk amongst it. Certainly, no fool would walk along the Railway alone. If they did, you could be sure that you'd never see them alive again.

"Get off home, quickly" remarked one of the replacements. He shuddered as the very empty eyes of the diesels eyed him up. He gestured to his mates to hurry up and take up their positions in the control room, as the cameras were tilted to focus exclusively on Stepney. The previous guards hurried off to their barracks. You worked on the Other Railway, you did so in the complete and utter knowledge that you were abandoning any potential life 'out there' in civilization.

Ah yes. The diesels.

Those with long memories will recall that, from a period between 1991 and 1992, a secret Project was underway referred to only by the name 'Project Facade' on the Other Railway. And while the main scientist on that project had long since passed away (Not, it must be noted, peacefully), many, many diesels had been duplicated in a similar fashion. Alongside D1 (Diesel), D3 (BoCo) and D4 (Mavis), they had finally managed to get Daisy's duplicate (D2) working at long last. They had no personality aside from a pathological hatred for all steam engines, and a undying loyalty to the Fat Director. They sat there on the sidings, watching, waiting, anything. Stepney wasn't too close to them. They would have torn him apart.

Another diesel, a Class 40 type, was there as well. Though he wasn't a Facade, he too was die hard loyal to the cause. His number was D6 and he was a rather snooty diesel, even by Other Railway standards. He was the kind of diesel you could easily imagine running a very corrupt church somewhere that looked down upon poor people and insisted that God didn't give a shit about you until you repented his sins and followed the doctrine of the church with your every breath. But now he was silent. And still.

No one moved. No one breathed. Later, the guards would tell themselves that it almost felt as though there was something possessing the diesels.

The sun never really shone on the Other Railway. The only sense of time passing was the faint little hue of navy blue that decorated the sky over the railway.

...

It had taken Rusty a great deal of the day to travel to the Other Railway. Not least because every so often the fireman had to get out and rush to the toilet.

"Trust him to get a stomach bug on this day of all days!" snapped the driver, who looked at his watch, looked ahead towards the viaduct and decided 'sod it'. "Mitton, you had a crash course in being a engineer, right? Well, you're my new fireman for the day. All you have to do is stand around looking pompous and important and, if anything catches on fire, put that blanket over it. I'd say it's so simple a complete idiot could do it, but a complete idiot has been doing it for the past few years! Onwards, Rusty!"

As they crossed the viaduct, the rather bemused fireman ran after them, before eventually giving up and catching a bus home.

At last, as the sun was beginning to set, they reached the outskirts of the Island, near Vicarstown. Gordon and Henry were both waiting there, shunting around, looking anxiously at the clock. They whistled as Rusty approached.

"Good luck!"

"Have fun!"

Rusty honked back, and charged forward. Both engines looked at each other.

"They're doomed."

"Definitely."

...

Darkness fell, as Rusty and his makeshift crew of three crossed over one of the bridges that overlooked the Inn and several houses where the workers could rest between shifts. A cold wind blew and whistled through the mostly silent railway. It was like a high rise building, completely cut off from the rest of civilization and all things normal and natural. The moon was a full one, and Mitton quickly used a new type of camera, developed by Scuttlebutt Pete, that flew across to get a good shot of Rusty's shadow against the moon.

At last, the little diesel came off the bridge, and passed a variety of sleeping diesels, before at last rounding a corner underneath a very large signal gantry, that also contained a control room full of sleeping guards.

There was a odd sound that echoed across the nearly silent area. "What's that?" murmured Rusty, Britt, David and Larry all at once. But it was only the sounds of the lonely scrapyard.

Only, you'll note, is perhaps a bit of a understatement.

The diesels were there. Rusty had chosen the worst possible place to stop. They were all there. Silent. Still. Lined up on guard.

 **"WHO"**

 _"ARE"_

 _ **"YOU"**_

The voice from them...it was no normal voice. It was many voices, all talking in tandem somehow, all clashing, all with different accents and lilts and tones and such, but at the same time, all the same as well. It was...odd. It was as though a million people were speaking, and yet only one.

They sounded as though the concept of language was something that had never been invented.

Rusty felt as though they had just stepped into the domain of the Elder Gods, and that they were some silly little mortal about to be driven absolutely bloody round the bend. But he plucked up courage. "I'm a...shed and sidings inspection diesel, er, sent round here to check out the sheds and sidings. To make sure they are efficient. Have you...any engines in your sheds?"

The answer came back pretty damn sharpish.

 **"NO"**

 _"NONE"_

Rusty was on the verge of panicking, and felt very much as though this plan of theirs had been rumbled. Britt whispered something, and the little diesel rallied. "Then, er, um, what about the si-sidings?"

There was a pause for a moment. A very long pause. A pause that felt as though it lasted for centuries, when in reality it was ten seconds at most.

 _ **"ONE"**_

 **"WE"**

 _"HAVE"_

 _"ONE"_

Rusty grew braver still "Then, er, I shall just go and inspect them, shall I?" They started off, and for a moment, a brief moment, the driver felt as though they had overplayed their hand. But the diesels, and whatever it was that controlled them, let them pass through. No alarms sounded. No one screamed. No one even so much as really looked at them in a odd manner.

So they moved on.

...

They moved past the row of scrap, everyone shuddering as they saw the carcasses of steam engines cut up and hung about like twisted trophies from some demented safari hunter, until at last, they reached the area where a second control room viewed the action.

A small engine, with a tall funnel that was somewhat damaged, stood sad and alone in the middle of a siding. His driver was huddled in his cab, keeping him company and trying to keep warm by wrapping a feather boa around his neck. The Hulk Hogan look did not suit him, it must be said, but points must be given for oriigniality.

Rusty drew near, all the while keeping a close eye on the control room. The guards were looking back at the little diesel, perhaps aware that whoever this little one was, they were clearly not one of their own. There was a spark in this one's eyes, a sense of vitality and life. They were the ones who had been commenting on how grim the idea of hanging steam engine's corpses around the little yellow engine was. They had yet to be ground down by the life of the Other Railway workman.

So, defiantly, they switched the cameras off, and began to make their way towards the outside world.

Rusty turned the attention back to the other. "Excuse me-" they said "-this may seem like a random question, but do you like bluebells?"

The engine looked startled "Yes...I do. I think bluebells are beautiful, but why-"

"Because you're about to see a lot of them. We're getting you out of here!" Rusty grinned at Stepney, who stared back, completely stunned and, it must be said, a little suspiciously. But then he caught sight of Britt, and his eyes widened.

"You're Britt Allcroft!"

"You...know me?"

"What engine doesn't?! Come on then!"

Everyone began to work fast. It was difficult to light Stepney's fire, but the driver's managed to get it glowing hot, and made sure that the Bluebell engine was full and ready to steam. His fireman had long since abandoned him to the wolves, so his driver admitted to needing a fireman.

"I'll do it!" said Mitton, bravely. He lept from Rusty's cab and hurried over.

And then off they went.

Well, first they had to find a way to turn themselves around first, which gave them time to introduce themselves.

"I'm Rusty. I used to work here, not by choice, I tell you."

"I believe it. I'm Stepney. I used to work on the Bluebell Railway, funny enough. Silly thing is, this isn't even my first time fighting the scrapheap and the monsters who control it."

"Really? But-"

"I know. I should have known better. See, I was heading off from this little promotional tour I'd done back in 1991. You know how it is, people come up asking for you to tell them stories, you rub elbows with a few dukes and duchesses, and so on."

"Of course" lied Rusty, whose closest association with a duke was the very smelly and half senile engine of that name.

"Anyway, I'm coming back up the line on my own, when all of a sudden, I'm surrounded on all corners by diesels! I'd faced off with those types of attack dogs before, but even so, I could tell these were...different. They weren't acting like normal diesel engines. They were acting more like...animals. And then they went for me. I fought as hard as I could, but of course, it didn't help that my fireman had run off like a chump, and my driver had to hide in case the crew on the diesels tore him to shreds. They took me back to that siding, and for the first couple of months, they sort of tugged me about a bit. Gave me a couple of knocks, and then they...went a bit stronger. Passed out, and when I woke up, I'd only skipped a good year or so of my life! It's amazing how long engines can sleep for!"

"So, why you?"

"They seem to imagine, though I have no idea why, that I have knowledge of some secret weapon that the Island of Sodor has. I suggested to them rather forcefully when the diesels came back to try again that perhaps their greatest weapon was having personality. That earned me this." He tried to make a gesture to a rather puffy eye, but couldn't. "And then I was left alone. Save for driver, of course. Dear driver. Came back time after time with a sympathetic crew, kept me ready, just in case. But I'd never have managed it without you."

"We're not out yet."

Now they had turned around, and they were now heading back.

Back past the bleak and brooding line of diesels-

 **"WHERE"**

 _"IS"_

 _"HE"_

 ** _"GOING"_**

The hiss clearly had a rather negative effect on Stepney, who halted temporarily, but Rusty was having none of it. "Just down the line!" he responded with a great deal of blitheness. Mitton stoked the fire, and Stepney staggered onwards, past the diesels, who were only now beginning to suspect that something was really wrong. They sounded their horns, as Rusty lead the old engine onwards onto a siding where both standard and narrow gauge tracks ran side by side. As the control room went into chaos up above, men falling over each other to try and alert the other, the two of them focused hard on getting past them. The diesels were in such a hurry that they were rushing past the two escapees, until at last, they reached back onto the main line towards the gates.

And they chuffered quickly away!

"STEAMER! STEAMER!" came the howl, but by this point, the two of them had already reached the bridge, and like ET, they triumphantly rushed ahead, silhouetted against the bright and silvery moon.

"We've done it! We're over the border and back on our own railway! Mission accomplished!" Rusty crowed in absolute delight. In their cabs, Mitton, Allcroft, Larry and Stepney's driver were whooping, more to relieve themselves of the tension and terror they had felt during their escape than anything. And Stepney? Stepney merely smiled a weary smile, as he felt the familiar grooves that indicated that he was finally on his way home.

...

"YOU LET THEM GO TO THE OTHER RAILWAY!?"

Percy looked to Douglas for help, but the latter appeared to be very consciously trying to put as much distance between the very angry Skarloey and himself as could be possibly put. "We didn't think he was that serious-"

"And you didn't go with him!?"

"Douglas!"

"Ach, I tried to warn him, I really did, but Percy here-"

"I did not!"

There was a rather familiar honk, which drew all three engines's eyes to the opposite end of the line, where Rusty and Stepney limped in, to a rousing welcome from engines, coaches and workmen alike. Stepney wearily grinned, and Rusty awkwardly batted off the praise, before at last, the manager managed to bat his way through the throng of fans. He said something about mending him and sending him back on his way to the railway, before his delighted driver interrupted.

"You lucky old engine! You've been saved by the Bluebell Railway! Again! What are the odds of that happening?!"

"Well, technically, my friend Rusty did. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Rusty."

Rusty blushed.

"So-" remarked Douglas "-we, er, all forgiven for the wee mix up?"

...

Once Skarloey had stopped attempting to murder Douglas and Percy for letting one of his friends go off into what seemed like certain doom and such, they were often witness to the little engine working happily up and down the Bluebell Line. His name is Stepney (As has been mentioned once or twice before, so we just hoped you hadn't noticed that) but everyone calls him the Bluebell Engine.

They're all really unoriginal like that.

...

Boomer and Zero looked at each other, for once, in complete agreement about something.

They were both utterly and completely terrified of what was about to happen.

The Fat Director had just returned from a business trip overseas, he hadn't even looked at the morning paper, which was filled to the brim with various stories regarding Stepney's return and freedom from scrap. And now someone had just been sent in with the news. Someone small, someone insignificant, someone whom would not be missed if he was killed.

But both men were very much aware that they had never seen the Fat Director react to a complete and utter loss like this. Every other loss, every failed attempt, had had at least something good to fall back on. But this? This was a complete and utter balls up. There was nothing good for the Other Railway here. As one, they turned and started walking very quickly to the door.

They didn't make it five steps before the door to the Fat Director's office swung open so fast that it fell right off it's hinges straight away, and the body of the unfortunate messenger sailed out, striking the wall with such force that it actually left a imprint there, and the Fat Director walked swiftly out.

His face was slowly turning a very deep red, almost purple with rage. His fists were clenched together, so hard that the Captain thought that his hands might actually start bleeding. His eyes looked like they were about to burn a whole lot of holes in someone's face. He was disheveled, and when he spoke, it was with a slight tremor, at first.

"Why-" he hissed, a terrible hiss that sounded like it had been bathed in molten magma and had a warhead stuck to it's front "-why am I surrounded with such INCOMPETENTS?!" It was the first time that either man could recall the Fat Director raising his voice for anything. It was disconcerting, like seeing a favorite teacher lose their cool completely. He advanced forward, and both Boomer and Zero began immediately backing away towards the door to the outside world. "I have worked so hard over the years, making sure that everything, EVERYTHING is in order, everything that can possibly go wrong had a counter-measure. But do you know what?"

"What?" The Captain's mouth was suddenly very, very dry.

"I didn't plan for the bunglers that work on this railway. I didn't plan for bleeding hearts to be amongst my work-staff! I entrusted you with that responsibility, Captain Zero, and not only that, you gave me some of the most incompetent and idiotic men to have ever worked for anyone! How else do you explain the very simple fact that we keep seeming to lose easy targets for the scrapheap?! And now, now they have taken away Stepney! A bargaining chip, a potential sacrifice, someone who can give us valuable information, all of that gone in one fell swoop!"

Zero swallowed "it- It was Boomer who hired them-"

"You little liar-"

"SILENCE!" The roar turned both of the men, whom considered themselves to be extremely cool and calm under pressure, into jelly, and they instantly shut up. "The two of you are going to begin to fix this mess. You will make sure that no one gets in or out of this railway without the express permission of myself. You will lock down the gates, you will eradicate every member of staff who under-preforms in any sense of the word, you will make sure that anyone who does manage to enter this is executed publicly. And whilst doing that, you will continue to search for Lady and the Magic Railroad. You will do both of these tasks and you will not complain to me. Or else-"

He turned to a open window. The other two looked outside.

There, on one of the sidings, several members of the control room that had been atop the gantry were backed up against each other. Surrounding them on all sides were the fake diesels, snarling, growling, baying, like demonic hounds. The men were terrified, they made no effort to hide this in any way, and this in turn seemed to be exciting the diesels more and more so. Or rather, whatever strange force was in control of them.

And then one of the men made the worst, and last, mistake of his life.

He tried to run.

To say what happened next is too horrible, even by this book's standards. So it shall perhaps be simpler to say that one of the diesels, D2, caught the man with her mouth, and...there was a great deal of crunching, and screaming, and then simply the workman had ceased to exist.

And now the other diesels, inflamed by the smell of blood, rushed forward too, the control men trying in a mad scramble to get over each other or out of the circle, or in vain tried to protect each other.

Boomer and Zero watched in horror at it. It was like watching a car crash, if the cars had teeth and ate the victims alive, in that they couldn't look away.

"Or that." remarked the Fat Director. "That will happen to you. I make myself clear?"

Both Zero and Boomer nodded dully.

"Very good." The Fat Director turned and walked away, without another word.

The two men couldn't get out of the room fast enough.


	94. Episode 16: Thomas and Stepney

Cue the theme!

...

Thomas the Tank Engine was feeling very happy.

He had no choice in the matter, as he had been drinking so much coffee to stay awake on the campaign trail that he had forcefully made sure that all negative emotions were pushed aside. His maniacal grin was a warning to all who came near him. _Don't f**k with Thomas, or else he will kill you painfully. With a ax._ It was a interesting attitude for a politician to have, and Thomas was of the opinion that if more had this attitude, then there would be far greater success all around for many of his ilk.

Thomas was now so far gone on his own hype that he believed himself to be amongst the company of Churchill, Eisenhower, Roosevelt and so on. "I-!" He declared one bonny afternoon "-am probably the reincarnation of a famous leader of some sort! Kennedy!"

"Shot in the head." remarked Toby, casually.

"Augustus Caesar!"

"Poisoned by his own wife." Gordon drylly noted. "Careful. Annie and Clarabel might get ideas."

"King Charles the Fir-Okay, yeah, that one's probably not the best example- OOOH! CAKE!" And so saying, Thomas had made leaps and bounds over the turntable to get at a specially created cake.

But back to the present.

His coat gleamed in the sunshine (It should, considering how long James had insisted he stayed in that car wash for, though Thomas was becoming aware that it was entirely possible that James had left him halfway through the process to get drunk with Henry and Gordon), he was right on time (A rarity nowadays, considering how he had to constantly do PR work with Edward) and all around his branch-line, the countryside seemed prettier than ever before. Henry had clearly been very active here, as he could see quite a few miserable looking youths having to spend their weekend clear away rubbish.

He hurried into the Callandale area, whistling wildly and scaring some of the birds away. He came to a stop right next to Percy, who was staring off into the distance, a contemplative look on his face. "PEEP PEEP!"

"Thomas, why do you say your whistle sounds out loud?"

"You ask me this after ten years of knowing me?"

"A fair point."

"My branch-line is the pride of the line!"

"You amaze me, Thomas. From all the talk you've given me over said ten years, I assumed you were deeply ashamed of it, and wept frequently every night. I am flabbergasted to learn the truth. In fact, I dare say my ghast has never been so flabbered in all my life."

"...Are you being sarcastic?"

"What do you think?"

"What?! Do you not agree?!"

"Er, yes, Thomas, of course it is, naturally, but, er-"

"But what?! Out with it Percy! I do not have time for your pedanticness!"

"Well, there is another famous engine with a branch-line too."

"Oh, Ivor! No, much as I love his show, he cannot possibly hope to be as great and as wonderful as myself! And as for his line, PAH! It's in Wales! Do you realize that every time an American comes over here, they think that there are only three parts to the entire UK?"

"Thomas, I'm not talking about Ivor. "

"Then WHO!? WHERE!? WHY?! HOW?! I SHALL DUEL HIM!"

"His name is Stepney-"

"A STUPID NAME IF EVER I HEARD ONE!"

"-He lives far away, but the Fat Controller says he may visit us soon! Or, at least, he will. I had another one of my visions again-"

"Oh cripes, not the visions! I thought we discussed this! You predicted ONE time where I asked you to do my work and you got stuck in a flood! Anyway, last time it didn't work!"

"Thomas, it's not my fault you interpreted 'A great windfall will hit you' as 'I'm about to get stonking rich'. Especially considering that we were in hurricane season at the time!"

"When is this Stepford fellow coming?"

"Someday soon. Tarrah!" And Percy started off.

"Pah! As if!"

"I knew you'd say that."

"Shut up, Percy."

...

Meanwhile, Stepney was puffing purposefully along his line. That purpose being the search for good wine. It was a hard and ardous task, not helped by the fact that all that surrounded him was fields and flowers, and not a goddamn vineyard in sight. It wasn't very long, this stretch, anyway. It was the only one he was allowed on, unfortunately, since his return, as they wanted to build him back up to his proper strength a little more.

He complained to this to Rusty, who had arrived to drop off supplies for some of the other engines located there. The little diesel therefore had to meet most of Stepney's fellow preserved engines.

"Captain Baxter didn't really say much I understood. I mean, it was just a lot of swearing to me." Rusty started off by saying.

"Means he likes you."

"Cromford and Adams didn't say anything, and spent most of their time scoffing what they could get, I got the feeling they rather distrust diesels as a whole. And Bluebell hadn't had much time to chat, as she had to rush back to deliver water and coal to Primrose. At least that was her excuse."

"They're not bad, really" remarked Stepney. "But they're all rather sore considering the fact that I was kidnapped. I keep telling them that you're the only reason I'm here at all, but-" He shrugged.

"It's okay. If I let that get to me, I'd never work on Sodor. Yet you seem glum."

"I feel hesitant to mention it...but what the hell. Everyone's been so kind and friendly. But even so, this railway's rapidly gotten shorter than I remember. And I yearn for a good long run to stretch my wheels. Get some of the cobwebs out if you know what I mean. And the visitors and the others are beginning to get on my wick a bit, which is wrong of me."

"Well, if you tell driver, I'm sure he'll understand." Rusty sighed. "And I have to head off, sorry. We're still trying to get Rheneas to stop sniffing glue."

"...Do I want to know-"

"No. Not in the slightest."

...

Stepney soon chatted, that evening in fact, to his driver, who pretty much agreed. Spending so much time alone in the Other Railway had made him rather broody, and eager to see the rest of the world in all of it's beauty. "You know, I feel the same way. But guess what! The Fat Con- Wow, they really don't have respect, do they? He's invited us to go to his railway for a few days and meet the engines!"

"Aren't they the really drunk ones?"

"Yes."

"Well, beggars can't be choosers, I suppose."

"It'll be a long run to get there. And a even longer one back, I should imagine!"

"Oh, thanks, sir. I guess."

The next morning, they set off.

...

By now, news had spread across the island about Stepney's arrival (spread by a very eager Rusty) and all the engines were busy talking of little else. A group of them had met at Knapford to discuss this. Thomas was sulking in the corner, as per usual, while Percy was shunting some trucks together, and James, Edward and Douglas were all busy chatting about if this was going to be of any political benefit.

"Just think-" exulted James "-we get one of the famous engines on our side, to endorse us...well, it'll be a real blow to the opposition, wouldn't it?"

"I dinnae see how."

"I get what James is saying." said Edward, surprising even himself by coming to James's defense "Last I heard, Jeremiah Jobling pledged his support for the Drunken Sailor Party. That's given them a temporary boost in popularity amongst Jobling's actual fans-"

"All three of them?"

"Percy! That's unkind of you." Still, Edward couldn't hide the smirk on his face "So, if we can get Stepney to support us, then it's entirely possible that all the railway enthusiasts and so on'll start voting for us. And that's not to mention how...what's that word? Photogenic! That's it, how photogenic he looks! Engine looks like he stepped off a Hollywood red carpet. Mind you, I've heard some good things about him."

"Aye, he wasnae a fool. Fought his way through the scrapyards of Europe!"

"He runs a famous branch-line!" Percy declared. "Did you all know that?!

"YES PERCY." snapped Thomas. "You have talked of nothing else the last few hours! You don't need to rub it in! And it may be famous, but my branch-line is the first all around!" Duck passed him, and rolled his eyes. This set Thomas off, and he immediately began praising the overall superiority of his own line, travelling on a similar path to the other engines who immediately could quote the speech off by heart. "Everyone knows that, too! And if they don't, then I shall tell them! Loudly! Until their ears bleed! Now, I can't stand about lollygagging about weird looking engines and politics with you boring lot, I have a train to pull!"

"Was it something I said?" asked Percy in a faux innocent voice, as Thomas left. Then, in his normal voice, he glimpsed something on the corner of the platform "Look! The passengers! They're standing still. But there's no train here, is there?"

Percy was wrong. Not for the first time.

In the distance, there came a rather loud whistle. Gordon and Henry, who were watching a tar wagon balance atop another, watched from a siding as the signal dropped.

"Here he comes!" shouted Douglas.

"Yes, we get it" said Edward, mildly peeved that Douglas had shouted in his ear.

Stepney puffed around to a chorus of whistles. He puffed proudly along the junction, grinning and saying hello to anyone who would hear him. Someone had got wind of his arrival, and so prepared him a nice glass of wine. Stepney's grin widened. Perhaps this trip would be fine after all.

"Hope you meet Thomas!" said Edward, quietly. "You both have branch-lines to be proud of...that, and Thomas's face when he meets you is going to be priceless."

"So, James, Donald wanted me to tell ye that he's betting twenty pounds that they come to blows before the end of the night. Ye taking that bet?"

"Ah, Douglas, a kind thought, but I have already made a similar bet with Henry. He thinks the same as your twin. I, personally, have spent quite a bit of time with that tank engine, and I know for a fact that his mood'll blow over by tomorrow morning."

Elsewhere, Stepney had cleared the station, and had rolled into the yard to help Duck shunt coaches. The two got along quite well, not least because they both felt the pressure of being one of the few sane engines on lines that seemed to be filled worryingly quickly with nutjobs. They spent the rest of the afternoon happily getting the coaches ready for the big engines.

"How do you do it?" remarked Duck. "Those coaches, the red ones you're pulling just now, they're usually far harder to get out of the yard. And you come in here and-Woosh!"

"Ah, it's nothing much. A little charm, a little kindness...and, of course, sand."

"Sand?"

"Oh, it's a little trick I learnt. You have to start off rather quickish when you're on the run-"

"Were you on the run, then?" Duck asked, innocently, in the same tone he used when chatting to Oliver.

"Oh, do I mention that too much? Sorry. No, the trick is to pour down as much sand as you can get rid of. Helps give you a proper grip. You probably know that-" He looked up. "Good grief. Night already? Doesn't time fly."

Duck shrugged. "Suppose. Mind you, time's a rather odd thing on this Island."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, no one seems to notice here, and so I don't like to point it out to them. But...well, put it bluntly, it's all wrong. See, one day, my driver brought me a calendar to...well, it doesn't matter why, but it was rather interesting. This calendar, which is supposedly new, tells me that the year is still 1950. The very latest date on the calendar year-wise is somewhere in the 60's. And yet...well, it isn't. You're living proof to that. And there's another thing. The rest of the world is passing by quite modernly. But here, the cars are still the same make as they were almost forty years ago. The technology too."

"How very odd." Stepney looked Duck in the eye. "Ah. I recognize you now. You're one of his lot, aren't you?"

"Whose lot?!" Duck said, rather sharply, for no one had told him that Stepney was...well, to put it bluntly, on his side.

"Scotsman's. Or Truro's. You're working for him- Don't worry, I won't tell the others. You seem like a nice enough fellow. But you've got that mark about you. Yes, you're definitely one of Truro's pet projects."

"I don't know-"

"Do you want to know? Do you really want to know why this Island has never moved, or breathed, or CHANGED since the fifties? Why the cranes at the docks are holdovers from a by-gone age? Why there's barely any modern technology here in any form? It's because-"

Thomas interrupted, as he rushed up, determined to rub it in Stepney's face that he had a train last minute, and Stepney didn't "Ah! Sorry, can't talk-"

"Then why did you come over here?"

"-Last train of the night! I mustn't be late, we do have a position to keep up after all, tarrah!" And so saying, he hurried off with the rest of his train, leaving both Stepney and Duck to stare after him.

"That engine-" remarked Stepney "-is very weird."

"You don't know the half of it."

"Are those neon lights that read 'I AM BETTER THAN STEPNEY, DEAL WITH IT, DON'T READ ANYTHING INTO THIS' on his back?"

"They are indeed. But, listen, what are you saying-"

There was a great deal of shouting at the station, which interrupted them again. Thomas was barely even out of sight, so he couldn't be the cause of the commotion, for once, shockingly. Doors were banged, toes were stubbed, fights were had, it was utter chaos out there. Moments later, a large and comically oversized alarm bell was rung, and a man randomly began bellowing "STOP ALL TRAINS!". This wasn't an actual official, he was just some random guy who felt like doing it. But for whatever reason (aside from the obvious one that everyone on the Island are complete morons) they listened to him.

The signalman answered the telephone. "A special is it? I see". Then he noticed that his phone wasn't connected. "Oh. Blow."

Thomas was growing crosser and crosser. Not least because some joker had shoved a big black box onto his side as a practical trick. "The hell do I even have on my side? Why are we waiting, anyway?! My passengers are being delayed! And I'm pretty sure that they'll start rioting soon, and it'll be on YOUR head!"

"Sorry Thomas-" said his driver, who wasn't "-but we're being shunted. Special train's needed to take home some bigwigs, or some such."

Thomas fumed and fizzed as he puffed onto a siding. If he had arms, they'd be crossed right now. They waited and waited, and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited- Sorry, narrator's record got stuck there.

Soon, there came a unfamiliar puffing sound, and Stepney, chuffing hard and with his face red with exertion, came round the bend pulling a long line of coaches. Gordon and Henry, who were now trapped in the siding thanks in no small part to the tar wagons being rather unfair sports, whistled to him. Stepney had no way of whistling back, so tired was he. He gathered as much speed as he could and disappeared round the bend.

"Well, bust my bloody boiler!" said Thomas the Tank Engine. "I'm going to get more caffeine. I feel like I need it."

...

The next morning, Thomas was still fuming as he waited outside Tidmouth Sheds. Henry looked at James, slyly. "Looks like you lost your bet."

"If you recall, Henry, you will remember me saying that they have til the end of the morning to make up. Oh look, here he comes now!"

"Shunted! And on my own branch-line too!"

"Technically, it was at the big station, which is part of-"

"SHUT UP, ANNIE! IT'S A BLOODY DISGRACE IT IS! I SHALL MAKE A LAW TO PREVENT SUCH A THING-"

Stepney, who had been sleeping in the works shed, hurried up alongside him. "Ah, er, Thomas, was it? I've been looking for you since I got back!"

"Come to rub it in, have you? Oh, look at me, I'm Mr Escaped From Scrap! Look at me! Everyone loves me!"

"Sorry" responded Stepney meekly. "Turns out, I was supposed to be a special, of some kind."

"Why!?"

"Well, I don't really get it, but there were a bunch of important passengers who came after you left. Something about politics and some such. They ordered us to take a special train. Duck let me take it. We enjoyed it, but-"

"But, it can make a engine nervous not knowing the line."

Stepney hadn't intended to say that at all, but he pretty much saw that this was his only chance to get Thomas on his side. "Exactly, you're such a expect, I don't know how you did it!"

James got his money from a fuming Henry, and as Thomas brightened up, the two big engines watched as Thomas began telling Stepney all about his branch-line.

The latter soon regretted his decision.

...

"Jinty."

"Duck?"

"We have a problem."


	95. Episode 17: Train Stops Play

Little bit of a plot heavy one with regards to the subplot, but I hope you enjoy! Not least because it'll give perhaps some backstory into the Old Ones, who I have mentioned before, who will be vital to understanding Season 5 and Magic Railroad.

Another thing, writing the actual Train Stops Play thing was amazingly fun. Not least because the entire episode is pretty lighteweight itself, but because Caroline is rapidly becoming one of the funnier characters to write for. Basically, if you don't get her deal, then watch the George Carlin version.

Also, outside of one joke I'll make in the chapter itself, this has nothing to do with anything, but it's just a general observation of mine that I don't think I can slip it into Season 5. So, saying it here, I'm actually pretty okay with Alec Baldwin's Season 5 narration. His Season 6 one is weaker, but I still like him as the narrator. Not least because he probably does my third favorite Topham Hatt voice after Angelis and Wickham.

Cue the theme!

...

After a rather rough night, in which many of the engines had been forced to endure listening to Henry's long diatribes about how humans were destroying trees, the sun shone down upon the island, casting everything in a golden light. Stepney was busy talking to the other engines, enjoying very much his first ever trip to Sodor. Thomas, Toby and Percy had little going on that day, and as they shared a drink together at the Tidmouth bar, they watched as the other engines bustled about doing their work and laughing at the poor sods. Duck and Donald were doing much the same thing

James puffed out with the express towards the station, snootily sticking his nose up at the four non-tender engines. But deep down, the red one was concerned. Henry had been worried all night over rumors that Drampf had uncovered something that could potentially sink the campaign. And while James was many negative things, he was also someone who did care a great deal for those he worked with daily.

Stepney, meanwhile, addressed the other three. "You are very lucky engines, not to preach! Your line has everything! A decent wine collection for a start! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" said the others, who drank their wine quickly. They had taken it in an attempt to look more cultured for the photographers. Thomas spat his out rather quickly the second the cameras switched to another shot.

"I mean it though. I mean, it's nice enough that you get a good long run, you've got passengers out the wazoo, plenty of trucks to have some fun with, a decent controller...I mean, that quarry and mine is something else! You won't believe this, mind, but they got rid of trucks on our line. They're fun. Wish I could have a go and see if I've still got that old black magic!"

The three of them stared at each other as Stepney stared off wistfully. They thought he was a bit touched in the head for wanting to get involved with trucks. Percy spoke up "You're welcome to take these lot. It's my one job or so for the day. Better ask driver first. You know, just in case."

"What was that?!" Carlin leaped from the cab "A way to get off early for the day!? Come on then, you ******* lot!" And the two engines set off, leaving Thomas and Toby to stare after them, speechless.

"Well." said Toby, recovering "And how goes preparations for the big debate?"

"I don't really know. How the hell do I speak for exactly half a hour on the topic of bicycles?"

"Well, some things are a mystery."

"You're a mystery, Toby."

"Killer insult, Thomas."

When Thomas hurried off to get a quick drink of something at the harbor, he passed by James and Henry, both of whom had taken a break from arguing repeatedly about whether or not Drampf was a threat to be reckoned with to marvel at how Stepney was maneuvering the trucks around. As he picked up a fresh and empty batch, he whistled quickly to the other engines as he started back along the Little Western.

As he reached the aptly named Bulgy's Bridge, he saw a cricket field, and was somewhat thankful that the signal had stopped him. Not because he enjoyed cricket in any way, shape or form, but because at least it would help him drop off in the warm sunlight easier. His driver, however, was a avid watcher of cricket, and so sat down with his sandwiches to get a good watch.

The Fat Clergyman was leading his team against that of Mr Jobling's, though if you asked me what the hell was going on I'd not have a clue. Then, as always, there was trouble. The batsman (Jem Cole) hit the ball and it soared through the air, just as the signal went down.

CLUNK, went the signal (I bet you never knew signals talked, did you?)

THUMP, went the ball on the soft hay (Stepney had gotten lost and gone through a hayrick)

OH BALLS, went the cricketers.

Neither driver or fireman heard it, as they had rapidly remembered that of all the sports, including ones of alien planets, cricket was quite possibly the most boring thing to ever be played at all. Stepney started off as the cricketers stared in horror.

"STOP!" belted out the players. Stepney ignored them.

"Come along, come along!" He called to the trucks.

"Our one and only ball!" fumed the Clergyman.

"It-a occurs to me that-a we-a really should have a-planned ahead for such a eventuality" remarked the Barber.

"We're not letting this game go! We've wasted too much time on this pointless game to give it up now!" Bobblehat prodded Cole in the chest "Ere, where's that old banger you were talking about?!"

"How dare you speak about his wife like that?!"

"I mean the car, you great steaming nit-"

"Don't you great steaming nit me!"

Eventually, to calm everyone down, Jem jumped over the wall and fetched his new car. Her name was Caroline, and she had been bought for a cheap deal from Adrian Gotch. The man had been haggard, and had, in a unusual move for the seller, insisted on paying Jem. "For your insurance! You'll need it!" he said, and departed as Caroline sulked.

Jem had used her once or twice. He could see Gotch's point. "Wake up, Caroline! The chase is on!"

"Why ah do declare, Mr Cole, you get shove it right up your ass!" Caroline was a Southern Belle. Cole would have taken an actual bell if it eventually meant he'd get shot of her. The other members rushed forward, and climbed inside, or when there wasn't enough room, outside.

"Come on love!" encouraged Bobblehat "Onwards!"

"But where will ah go? What shall ah do?!"

"Frankly my dear Caroline, we'd don't give a damn!" And at last, Jem managed to start her off, the Fat Clergyman and the Barber hanging to the car for dear life, while Jobling rather enjoyed his roofside seat. As she left, she hooted at Bulgy, who snarled and muttered something offensive about women under his breath. A chicken then decided to relieve itself in the luggage rack, just to spite him.

Stepney, meanwhile, was enjoying his run tremendously. As he crossed a bridge that ran by the River Eis, he saw out of the corner of his eye the odd caravan rushing on the road bridge on the other side of the river. Soon, she had caught up behind him, so slow was he going. Stepney ignored her, and carried on, chuffing happily.

"TOOT! TOOT!" she wailed. For no reason, might we add, did she need to actually shout it when she had a perfectly fine horn, but Caroline was like that. The players shouted (Well, most of them did, the Fat Clergyman was hanging on for dear life and had little to no breath whatsoever) but no one seemed to notice.

The driver turned back. "Er, fireman, do the Keystone Kops reside here?"

"A bit of a loaded question that. The entire railway is one Keystone Kops sketch that hasn't ended."

"Right. Well if those jokers want to look like right plonkers and have a race, then who are we to argue? Faster Stepney, faster!" He leaned out "And you SUCK at cricket!"

"Mamma mia!" cried the barber, not because of the comment, more because he was slipping off the car.

"We need less weight!" called Cole, directing his comment at the Clergyman. With a nod, the man of the cloth braced himself...and then shoved the Barber off into the stream.

Poor Caroline was not having a good time at all, as she rattled along at twice her usual speed and with hordes of sweating cricket players trying not to throw up. She began ranting and raving as she journeyed on "Ah should not be treated like this! It is far too hot for a lady like mahself to be doing this, it'll fuse all of mah systems, it will!"

Suddenly, Stepney was nowhere to be seen, save for a brief wisp of smoke coming from the inside of the Hackenbach Tunnel. Caroline whooped and cheered aloud with great joy. "Hoorah! The silly old train ran into a gosh darn hole! Can't catch him, time to go home and rest my dainty little wheels!"

She had reckoned without the cricketers. "Onwards!" belted out Jobling, and she started off so roughly that she launched the Fat Clergyman high into the air, proving once and for all that karma is always watching on the Island. As they climbed the hill, her driver pounded her up it (Heh. Pound. Sounds dirty...sorry, that was immature of me) and then down the steep slope. Stepney, who was waiting at the bottom, stared in bafflement as Caroline swung about wildly, before lurching to a rather sudden and sharp stop that sent Bobblehat through her roof. The good news was that he landed on something soft.

The bad news was that the soft thing was the Clergyman's belly. "GERROF!" He shouted, using language very unsuitable for a man of the cloth.

"We need our ball back!" cried the players.

The third truck from the van contained the ball. Jobling raised it up from the straw like a Olympian wielding a mighty trophy. "WE HAVE IT!" He bellowed.

"Sorry." muttered the driver.

"Not your fault." said Cole, who was feeling much better now after finding the ball "Now, we'll just have to hurry back quickly."

"You'll be lucky. Caroline looks worn out. Is she supposed to be on fire like that?"

Driver, stationmaster and yard manager came together, discussed something together, and agreed on a plan. Using their combined strength, plus a rather small crane, they forced Caroline onto a flatbed via a number of wooden boards that were lying around for some reason. Who knows what lurks in the hearts of yard managers? The players clambered into the brake-van, and Stepney pulled them all back to the playing field, giving Caroline a chance to get a nice bit of kip.

When they got back, everyone enjoyed watching the game. That's a lie. Stepney went back to sleep, the driver did his crossword and the fireman went home. But the players seemed to have fun in their weird game (Jobling won by the way, and proceeded to rub it in the Fat Clergyman's rather red face) at least until the post-match punch-up started.

Caroline had to admit, she was wrong. She doesn't think trains are silly now "They do have their uses, they can save the wear and tear on a poor beautiful car like mahself's wheels, indeed!"

Stepney decided not to waste time and energy on getting insulted by Caroline saying that the only reason his race was even useful was to give her the occasional lift, and headed back for Tidmouth.

...

"Blimey guv, it sure is Mork and Mindy out here, careful that Mickey Bliss of yours doesn't make your Trouble and Strike regret that she married you!" Stepney coughed, and spoke normally. "So yeah, according to some idiots, I sound like Dick Van Dyke reincarnated as a engine."

"So, what was that you were saying?"

"Driver, it's really windy out here, make sure that piss of yours doesn't make your wife give up on you."

"Huh. You learn more every day." James grinned. "So, tell us, Stepney, what is it like living with urban people?"

Stepney looked lost for words for a moment. James could be the most clueless person on the planet sometimes. Make that most of the time.

The engines were gathered together for a good old fashioned boys night out at Tidmouth's Shed. The Main Seven were there, alongside Donald and Douglas and Stepney. Supposedly, Duck and Oliver were supposed to be coming along, but Duck had backed out of the sheds the second he saw Stepney, and Oliver had yet to arrive at all. So for the moment

Henry came to the rescue with a rather odd story about the time that he and Gordon, sleeping in Vicarstown Sheds, had been swarmed by Jehovah Witnesses, and all the wacky hi-jinks that followed.

"What do you guys think of religion?"

Everyone looked to Toby, who did the engine equivalent of shrugging. "Sorry, just curious, it just occurred to me that we've never really talked about it."

"Here we go." muttered Edward, under his breath.

Everyone considered this for a moment.

"Well-" remarked Henry at last "-I am pretty sure that there is a God up there, judging us. Don't know if that makes me a Christian or whatever." Most of the other engines agreed, while Stepney stayed deep in thought.

"I don't believe in God" declared Toby "What about you, Stepney?"

"Hmm? Oh, I think there's a God all right, and I'm sure he's the Christian one. No, it just reminded me of a old story that I heard a long time ago about how steam kind was created."

"Oh?" Edward looked intrigued "Oddly enough, I don't think we've got many engine-based religions on the Island. Apart from James's. Which lasted...how long?"

"A month"

"It was ahead of it's time!" raved James "You just couldn't understand the vision I had for it!"

"Ah, you don't want to hear this story-"

"No, come on, you can't just leave us on the edge of our berths like that, come on!"

"Yeah, we've got time".

Stepney smiled. "Oh, all right. Well, it's a rather interesting story, even though I personally don't believe in it. Once upon a time, back in the Middle Ages, there was this creature. This...malevolent force was a truly terrifying creature, made up of shadows, and with a voice that could corrupt even the purest of heart. Though it's influence was, for the moment, contained to a solitary island known simply as 'England', it had the potential to grow and grow until it covered the whole world. It haunted people throughout the land, did horrible things to them, and amassed an army of ruthless and desperate people who were willing to serve it."

"Are you talking about the devil, or Hollywood?"

Stepney laughed. "Oh hush, you. Anyway, one day, a group of magic users and beings journeyed to a lone island off the coast of England, where the creature was preparing to draw enough power to begin it's conquest of the world. Now this group was a odd one indeed. Amongst them were the last remaining group of a tribe of Vikings that had been wiped out by the creature, a creature from the woods of Doyley, a jester for one of the local 'kings' as they insisted as being referred to and a wizard who had supposedly been to the future."

"Okay, was the guy who came up with this smoking something? That's just...weird."

"So, this group arrived on the island determined to make sure that, for once and for all, this menace was going to be taken care of. But they knew from experience that attacking the creature with their fists and weapons was no good. Nor still could they attack it with magic, at least, not without some form of a conduit. Something that could harness their magic and use it as a weapon.

Now, the wizard had seen many a thing upon his journeys back and forth time, and it has been suggested that the jester too came from a place far off in the future, and so both of them set to work gathering metal from the island, and gave it to the blacksmith of the vikings, ordering him to construct a variety of machines that could take the magic that all combined had to offer, and use that magic to vanquish the creature.

Well, it was hard work, and many machines were created, many that would become the inspirations for the modern vehicles of today. Cars, boats, buses, tractors, steamrollers, tugs, all of which were good...but not good enough. So then, the wizard summoned up as much metal as he could, and ordered the blacksmith to create something he had seen many a time, what he called a Ste-Am En-Gin. And so, two engines were created.

But by now, the malevolent force had understood that it's home was under attack, and it's future conquest was on the verge of being destroyed. As it moved out, many of the brave vikings tried valiantly to stop it, but to no avail. And so, the wizard and the jester poured as much magic into the trains as they could. Nothing happened. And then, in the blink of a eye, the trains grew faces. And then they asked:

"How can we help?"

Now, of course, when a creature of such darkness exists, it is perhaps the way of the universe to provide a polar opposite to counter it. In this case, two spirits who had lived on this island for quite a large portion of their enormous lifestyles, had inhabited the trains. And that, really, was what the weapon needed. And so, as the creature rushed towards them, the last of the vikings having fallen in battle, the seven remaining figures poured all the innate magic that was hidden deep inside of them into the two trains. And with a deafening bang, they launched a terrible, blinding white light that completely engulfed the creature, and banished it from this world.

Well, there was little need for anything more to be done. It was offered that the two trains be taken back to England, but they declined. For this massive burst of magic had brought to life the other vehicles of the future, giving them faces and minds and hearts like the trains. For spirits, they were wise to the ways of men, and knew that nothing good could come of introducing technology and powers before their time to them. So, they promised that one day, they would come back to the mainland. So saying, they were gratified when the wizard gifted unto one of them, a female, the gift of magic and knowledge of the arts. And the jester gave the second, a male, a powerful lamp, with which to light the way for all kind."

"Wait, wait, wait." Thomas was on the verge of laughing "The Proteus story?"

"Uh huh. As I was saying, then they left, and the vehicles were left to their own devices. As they were the first of their kind, they called themselves Old Ones. And eventually, when man officially invented the steam train and so on, everyone eventually left, spread out, and with the help of the island's metal, wihich had been supercharged with magic, they were able to make more of them. And that, in turn, is where we come from."

Everyone paused to digest this.

"It's a nice story-" Edward said carefully.

"-But it's just that. A story. Besides, most of the Old Ones would have probably been killed by now." James laughed. "I mean, who the hell is still looking for them after all this time?!"

...

"Jinty, listen to me, all right!"

"Duck, what is it that you want? You're been going hot and cold with me for months now. First you tell me to talk, then you cut all ties with us-"

"Oh yeah, and how does that feel, huh!?"

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"I, er, walked right into that one." Jinty looked into the sidings. "What is it that you wanted to call me about?"

"i...look, when I made that call to you, I was rather in shock. I had no idea that Stepney even knew about the Old Ones, let alone that he'd have a idea about why I was here. But look, he says that he's not going to tell anyone, and I don't think he has, so there's really no need to detain him. Certainly no need for Pug to bring him back to HQ."

"Why are you so concerned? He's not going to be harmed."

"But still! I mean, I just...I just-" Duck realized that telling Jinty that Stepney had said a couple of things that had very much interested him wasn't a thing he was prepared to do at the moment "I just don't think it's fair that we're taking him in." He quickly changed tack "And anyway, when I called, you said you had something to tell me."

Jinty looked sceptical, but moved on "A couple of days ago, Pug intercepted a letter that Hatt had sent to the papers, looking for a helper. Thanks to you, all of his mail now goes directly through us, so it wasn't hard to find. There has been an answer, however, and I thought it fair to warn you in advance. It's a Class 40 diesel. For the most part, we've had no indication to believe that he's anything more than a massive racist towards all steamkind."

"But?"

"But there's the fact that he's primarily been working on the Other Railway. And the fact that the last time that such a thing happened-"

"We ended up bringing Marklin onto the railway." Duck thoughtfully inclined his face a little "A fair point. I'll be watching, and should anything untoward happen, I'll, er, use the old bowler hat trick."

"Fair enough. There is just one other point of business."

"Which is?"

Jinty opened her mouth...and then closed it "It's, er, something to do with your pal Oliver."

"Oh yeah?"

"The trucks are growing restless. We've identified the cause as one private wagon, S.C. Ruffey. He's...not a nice truck to cross. Only responds to brute force, and we can't even try and make sure he doesn't make this entire island go into revolt because of how guarded he is. He's targeting Oliver. I'd suggest that if you really care for him as much as you indicate you do, you'll help him."

"Right. Thanks Jinty. I...I'm glad you get it! I mean, get that it's impossible for you not to get attachments. It's just...they're all good engines, in their own way. And I'd like to see them come to no harm. Night." And so saying, Duck puffed back to Tidmouth.

Jinty stayed silent for a moment. And then Pug rattled out of the darkness, looking off at Duck in the distance. "You didn't tell him about the raid on the Beetle's warehouse?"

"Why not? It's like you said. He is too attached." Jinty shook herself out of her reflection. "Ah, right, so Pug, what date is the next Kipper Run on? I think that'll be the best time."


	96. Episode 18: Bowled Out

Before we begin, a quick note. Thanks very much so to the good Mr genericuser22, Thomas Abridged now has a TV Tropes page. Anyone who wants to, feel free to add tropes there if you want, or just look it over. By the way, there is a reference in this to Percy, James and the Fruitful Day. Henry's secret, as it was, is related to that. So, go back and read if you don't get it.

Cue the theme!

...

"We've got good news, Thomas."

"Drampf's called it a day?"

"Lower your expectations a bit, Thomas, Drampf's not the type to abandon his leaky, rusty, foul smelling ship, even if it is going faster and faster into a very nasty whirlpool." Edward looked back at the various papers resting neatly on his bufferbeam. "No, but I've got the next best thing-"

"Some very pretty young coaches?"

"Thomas, if you don't stop, I will punch you. And anyway, trains can't have...that sort of thing. No matter how many people suggested that 'biffing' is some sort of bizarre sex act that you can find in the Kama Sutra

"A engine can dream!"

"And sometimes, I think that's all you do. No, the news is that in the polls, you are officially ahead for the first time! Bedella's not too far behind, but both of you are miles ahead of Drampf! Oh, and then there's the drunken sailor party that's just sort of...there. I guess."

Thomas grinned. "Must have been that awesome speech I gave last night!"

Edward smiled to himself "It was rather good, I think. I'm actually impressed that I only had to come up with a quarter of the stuff, you just kept on going making good point after good point!"

"It was a pity-" James slyly remarked "-that you ended up putting the audience to sleep around about the two hour mark, and they didn't get to see the next two hours of that speech."

"Well!" said Thomas, defensively "-I think that it, er, shows determination! And grit! And that I am taking the race seriously, and that-"

"That you love the sound of your own voice?" asked Toby, quietly.

"Well I thought it was great...the bits I could stay awake for, anyway" Stepney was enjoying his visit immensely, not least because it was rather amusing to watch the Infamous Eight Engines bickering amongst themselves. "Almost a shame that I'll be leaving soon enough, I'd love to see how this election goes. It's more interesting than whatever the hell they're doing back on the Bluebell Railway."

"I assume that's why we're here" remarked Duck to no one in particular "I mean, so that Fat Hatt can say some nice things about Stepney and then give us any special announcements."

"He does this often, your controller?"

"Not much, no," Henry said, dourly, still thinking of the threat Drampf had made to leak something that would destroy Thomas's campaign completely "Sometimes he does it, you know, every two months or so, to get us up to- Oh, here he comes!"

Sir Topham struggled out of his car, and limped over. He had rather badly strained his left leg the other night, after a brief attempt at, ahem, canoodling with Lady Hatt had gone terribly wrong. I won't give specifics, but it involved a episode of the Herbs, a watering can and several jammy dodgers. "We shall miss you." he said to Stepney, before skipping that conversation and turning to the other engines. "Since Daisy has apparently refused to come back to the railway unless she gets her own private masseuse to clean her wheels every hour-"

"Amen to that sister!" James said with great glee.

"-we've got a problem. My railway is very busy, and I am pleased with all...with most of you-" He glared at Gordon here, who looked innocently around "-but you need some help. All the help. So much help that it hurts. A diesel is all that is avaliable." The Fat Controller rolled his eyes as several of the engines sharply breathed in. "Now, do your best to avoid any...um...disturbances."

"What does that mean?" asked Duck as Hatt left. He had to play dumb so as not to give away the fact that he knew already.

"That means that this engine will be difficult!" hissed James.

"Racist" muttered BoCo.

...

Unfortunately, for once in his life, James was right, and the diesel was, to put it bluntly, difficult. In next hour or so, most of the engines that were staying at Tidmouth were resting, along with the Scottish Twins and Stepney, and were thus there to meet...well, he didn't offer a name, and no one bothered asking him.

He surveyed the shed, and then the engines in it, with a cool and calculatiing glance "Not bad," he remarked, his voice somewhat nasal "At least you're all clean. For your kind, I suppose."

If one was to measure these kind of things, the diesel were already on about a six or seven on the 'James' scale of hatred. The engines offered glares that would have caused lesser diesels to self-combust almost instantly.

"It's not your fault of course-" Class 40 continued "-but your controller should really scrap you. They have to fiddle around with you for ages and ages, and make your passengers wait. But with me, it's just a touch of oil, a touch on the starter and I'm off, no problems. No bother. I mean, they have to fuss around for hours with you until you're ready. And even then that doesn't work."

It should go without saying that the 'James' scale was now completely broken in two, as the engines were more furious than they'd been about nearly anything in their time here, apart from that one time someone insisted that they watch Joe 90 marathons endlessly. This was a very close second, however. James was quite possibly the reddest he'd ever been. The Scottish Twins were immediately picturing just how one could disembowel such a diesel without drawing too much attention to themselves.

As for Duck, he was beginning to feel less and less bad about using the Bowler Hat method.

Stepney, on the other hand, was very carefully looking at Class 40. He had seen him somewhere before, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember where.

The next morning, the engines gathered together and did what they did best: Held a meeting to bit-I mean, a Indignation meeting round the turntable. Duck had deliberately put himself on the turntable, as he enjoying spinning himself around.

It was just something Duck did from time to time.

"Disgraceful!"

"Disgusting!"

"Despicable!"

And if you don't know who said that by this time, then you need to freshen up on your Thomas history. The three big engines briefly dropped their anger to grin at each other. Eight years on, and they still had the knack of saying it at exactly the right time.

"Well, if you're not going to contribute anything else, and you're just going to keep on trying to make that a meme, then how about we get on with actually working out a way of getting rid of that prat?" suggested Thomas, acidic tones making it very clear that he would have preferred to be asleep at that point.

"Ta say such things to us!" cried Donald and Douglas

"Neat trick, that talking in unison thing." remarked Stepney

"It's ta teach him a wee lesson is what we'd be wanting, now how are we gonna do it?"

No one had any idea. At least, ideas that wouldn't get them thrown in jail or barred from the Sidings. And so, they eventually realized that they had actual work to do, and so headed off to get back to work. Duck and Stepney were the last to leave.

"Well, I'm sure we'll think of something." Duck said, innocently.

Stepney knew that Duck had something up his sleeve, so to speak, and so only warned "Well, you'd best get a move on then...I mean, to think of something."

Their chance came sooner than expected.

...

The Bowler Hat trick, as Duck referred to it, was quite simple. It was a way not only of getting the enemy out of your own way, but it also served as the occasional bit of morale boosting for any steam engines that were around.

Class 40, as he seemed to be called, was resting in the yard, looking on with smug contempt at the steam engines bustling about. Stepney was in the corner shunting trucks, and trying very hard to place where Class 40 had been seen before today. The diesel was purring comfortably in the hot sun, as a fitter began making final adjustments.

An inspector had called, and had asked to see the new engine. This was very odd indeed, for no scheduled inspection could be found in any of the logbooks late that afternoon. What was overlooked, in the eagerness of the yard manager to give a good account for himself, was what had happened to Duck's fireman, who was the same height, size and pretty much everything as the inspector.

The fitter replaced the air intake cover and wiped his brow "Bloody hell, felt like hell's nadgers down there!" He glanced to the driver "All right mate, take him out!"

The Diesel noted several of the coaches that were waiting for him at Tidmouth station. "Oh finally" he purred "Look at me, Goose and, er, Shadnell, was it? Now I'll show you something."

it may have been a hot day, but the wind was picking up. This made what was about to happen next all the easier. The Inspector even appeared to blow a slide whistle to make the fact that his hat had blown off even more obvious.

The diesel started off towards the coaches, the completely deadpan Duck and the rather annoyed Stepney watching. There was a wrenching sound, like something jamming in the gears of a great clock. And then it happened. Class 40 advanced three yards in all, then coughed, faltered, choked, made a face that looked as though he was having bowel trouble and then came to a undignified stop.

"Well-" said Duck, struggling valiantly to stop laughing "-that was certainly something."

Class 40 growled, and then gave the most panicked expression he'd ever made, as the prompt realization of what was in his intake became apparent. The 'inspector' was still searching for his hat, doing a great pantomime as he did so. The diesel seethed with uncontrollable fury as Duck and Stepney shoved him back into the shed. The Fat Controller and the 'inspector' stared at the air pipe. The fitter turned a deep shade of red as they watched the Inspector's hat vanish up into the gears.

"My HAT!" cried the 'inspector', delivering a Shatneresque performance at the sight of it.

"Oh blow your hat!" said the Fat Controller crossly, and suspiciously "You're not one of our usual's, are you?" Duck coughed, and Hatt turned his attention back to the problem "The heavy train is due out in ten minutes! Duck, you're going to have to take it!"

"Can I help, sir?" Stepney asked, trying to sound innocent, but in reality, very much wanting to get Duck on his own. The Fat Controller was very pleased, and hurried away to make arrangements. And maybe have a chat with the cafe about supplying him a few extra buns or so. The engines carefully backed up together, and their drivers threw down sand so as to give them proper grip. Before they set off, the Fat Controller gave them a few last words.

"Listen, all you have to do is take the train to the halfway point at Crovan's Gate. The passengers'll get out there, and take Gordon's train back to wherever it is they need to go. Get the train there in one piece, try not to break any records or bones, good luck all!"

"We'll get there!" Duck grinned.

"And early, too!" agreed Stepney. The two of them waited, eagerly, until at last, the whistle blew, the last door banged, the guard showed his green flag and they were off! The cavalcade started slow, but soon as they reached the open line, they picked up speed like no one's business. "Now for a sprint!"

"Ready when you are!" Duck's smile was almost maniac as they began to go faster and faster, their wheels flying so fast that the side rods were blurs and sparks seemed to fly out of them.

They flew through Edward's station, the engine himself whistling them on. As they charged in the general direction of Gordon's Hill and beyond, Duck tried to see what Stepney's expression was. "All right, we're alone."

"So we are."

"What do you know? About time here? What do you mean that Truro and Scotsman-"

"Let's just make sure we understand each other here. Am I correct in that you're searching for Lady? The lost engine of legend?"

Duck paused. "Yes." it felt good to say it out loud. "I am looking for her. Haven't found her yet."

"You won't. Trust me, if she was hiding anywhere, it wouldn't be where she was...for lack of a better word, born."

"No, now it's your turn to talk."

Stepney concentrated as he puffed around the bend. "Very well. i suppose you know that old story is true. They took some liberties with the details, but for the most part, a lot happened that the mythmakers got right. One thing that research into the myth has allowed me to realize is the nature of magic. It's powerful. Very powerful." He began attacking the hill with everything he had, puffing out short bursts of the next sentence "Now, imagine for a...for a moment that you have all this power, like Lady does. All this- Bloody hell, this hill is big- all this raw and dangerous power. And as you grow older, you refine it, you learn how to multiply it, to the point where it grows worse and worse in what damage it can do."

"Right. You're also correct in that this hill is ridiculous." They felt the drag of their coaches weighing them down, and it was a great deal of hard work. But at last, the top was in sight. The last ten miles or so was plain sailing. "So, what, she was able to stop time?"

"Yes. Partly. As I'm sure you are aware, she was a being of amazing power. She poured as much of her magic as she could into the Island itself. Everyone on this island has a portion of her magic. And that's affected them, too. They don't age, or at least, not as fast as every other normal human. Modern technology, anything that's older than the day she vanished, doesn't work properly, with a few exceptions. Only thing that isn't affected are the trains and rolling stock. Her legacy."

"I...won't pretend that makes any real sense-"

"Good, because it doesn't, whoever comes up with this stuff is stupid."

"But what about Truro and Scotsman?"

"...You ask them. Ask them what they really want. And then ask yourself...do YOU want what they want?"

They were silent as they coasted into the big station. Thomas, James, Percy and the Narrow Gauge engines whistled to them, as Bertie the bus took off from the car park across the bridge. James shouted something to Stepney, as Gordon puffed forward with a huge grin on his face.

"You're early! One in the headlamp for that old silly bastard, isn't it?"

"James says that he's sick as boiler sludge and sulking in the shed!"

"Well, that'll serve him right! Out of date are we? Ha!" And so saying, Gordon pulled out of the station, chortling to himself.

He ran back a moment later when he realized that he had forgotten the passengers.

...

Jinty and Pug sat near Crovan's Gate and watched and waited. This was the day Stepney was going home. The Fat Controller and the Bluebell Manager had made speeches thanking each other, and as many engines as could be expected had arrived to send him on his way.

"Come back and see us soon!" said the engines.

"And bring gifts, next time!" shouted James above the rest.

"And you are all welcome on my railway!" Stepney said, grinning. And then he started off, and soon he was out of sight of all gathered there.

"I'm going to miss him." remarked Edward to James.

"I suppose. Bit of fresh air." James sighed. He looked over to Henry, who looked horrified. "What's wrong, big guy?"

"James, Drampf's just..."

James puffed over to join Gordon at looking at the front page of the newspaper.

"What's he done?" Edward sounded sharper now.

On the front page was a picture. It was a picture of Henry getting rather friendly with a male engine. And below it, read the sub-title: THINK OF THE CHILDREN, SECRET SEXUALITY OF TOP CABINET MEMBER.

"Oh please!" scoffed Gordon. "It's 1994. What's the worst that can happen?" He gazed into the distance. "Uh, are those...pitchforks?"

Everyone paused, and began to move sharply away.

...

Jinty and Pug rushed to the Vicarstown Bridge, followed rapidly by a panicking Duck. "You don't need to do this!" he shouted, but they paid little attention to him. They reached the bridge, with no engine in sight. Jinty went up to the man on duty. "Did you see a well spoken engine, a goldenrod one?"

"No. I did see a cockney engine with that color though! Told me to leave this for someone called 'Duck'? I think."

The letter was a short one, it simply read:

 ** **Sugar and spice try, ya Hoppin' Pot. better Donald Duck next nickle and dime. catch ya 'round!****

"The hell does that mean?"

"I think-" said Jinty quietly "-he is jokingly saying 'Nice try, you lot. Better luck next time, catch you round'. He's gotten away. Pity. We would have had a good chat, I believe."

Duck grinned despite himself.

...

What of the diesel, though? He left too, but with no one to even whistle after him, or care that he was gone. He left two things without saying goodbye to no one: A rather nasty smell of bad manners, and a rather battered bowler hat that rested on a barrel of diesel oil.

As he reached the bridge, and crossed over it, he shuddered for a moment, buckled...and then gazed up into the furious eyes of Marklin.

 **"Why, oh why, did I pick YOU of all diesels to possess?! Why couldn't I have got someone with a little charisma!? Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. Let's head home, D6. Tomorrow is another day.**


	97. Episode 19: Henry and the Elephant

CUE THE THEME!

...

Thomas was puffing happily along his branch-line with Annie and Clarabel, til at last, they made it to Elsbridge station. There, he spotted the Fat Controller standing there impassively. His leg had gotten somewhat better, though it was still a little stiff (Ha!) and as such, he was somewhat more focused than he had been during Stepney's departure. He looked at his watch. "Well done, Thomas, you are right on time and really useful."

"When am I not, sir? ...Don't answer that, actually."

"Oooh, right on time, really reliable! Down to us!" hummed the coaches. Thomas rolled his eyes, and whistled to Percy, who was busy taking on water. The two of them were planning the big speech at the end of the campaign. Before the final tally of votes came in, a rather odd formality had to be observed. The Callan people were rather fanatics when it came to bikes, and therefore, each candidate had to deliver a half hour speech pertaining to how awesome bikes were. After which, support would be judged by how many people rang their bells at each one.

No, seriously, Sudrian law was weird.

Also, this has basically nothing to do with the rest of the story, but we just needed padding.

...

The matter had been resolved rather quickly, Gordon thought as he dozed in the warm sunshine.

Drampf's attempts to smear the campaign with suggestions of 'wicked orgies of darkness and violence' with rather graphic details of what Henry had supposedly done with his perversion had failed somewhat when Gordon had pointed out that if they were even capable of a quarter of things that Drampf was describing, this would have been news a long time ago. And then James had returned home one night, looking as smug as ever, explaining that Drampf was already drafting a apology. Many tried to get what happened out of him, but he refused to tell anyone.

Even so, the big engines weren't happy.

"Where's Percy?!" bellowed Henry. "He's supposed to be fetching our coaches! Does anyone get a sense of Deja-Vu about this?"

"We get no rest!" grumbled James. "Let's go on strike again!"

"No thank you." groused Gordon. "I like having the ability to pull the express and look amazing whilst doing so, thank you. Did you see the state that Edward left the main line in last time!?"

James angrily moved into the turntable, and took out his anger on the one engine who wasn't in a fit state to fight a chicken, let alone James. In short, he was rude to Henry because Gordon could probably kick his arse. "What's the matter Henry!?" he snapped "There's no rain today to make you scared! Get off that big fat green arse of yours and do some work instead! If you know what the word even means!"

"I am not afraid of the rain! I never was afraid of the rain! I was HIGH that one time!" Henry fumed, unaware of what was going to happen come Adventure Begins "Besides, fat arse yourself! You look like a clown, and just like a clown, no one is laughing at you for the right reasons! Go join a circus and maybe you'll find some lions desperate enough for a-"

"Oh you heard the news!" said Percy, excitedly.

"What news!" grumbled Gordon, who realized very early on that he wasn't going to get to sleep.

"About the circus!"

"He's flipped. What are you on about, Percy?"

"The circus has arrived at the docks! I've been there now, watching them unload all their trucks and helping. The Fat Controller wants you to come and help too!"

"Don't we have anything better to do?" Gordon growled.

They didn't.

...

The circus masters had managed to find some old sheet music from one of the earlier seasons, and was playing it in their usual circus like way. They later got sued out the wazoo from Messers O''Donnell and Campbell. Whilist that was happening, the engines soon forgot to be tired and cross (Okay, they were a little less of those things, that was the truth) until, after a rather messy ending to the circus which involved twelve custard pies, a clown car and the ringmaster's wife, it was time for the circus to leave. No, not the engines, the actual circus. At which point, being prats, both Henry and Gordon grew angry over the fact that James had been chosen instead of them to take home the ridiculously long train.

Why they didn't just shove them back on the boat is beyond me, but then we wouldn't have a plot, so hush.

A little later, a very frazzled Sir Topham rushed back to the sheds, stumbling over his words and frantically looking over his shoulder in case something came after him. Now, Henry didn't know this, but James had somehow managed to lose a elephant. It's a weird thing to lose, but he managed it. And Hatt was rather afraid of elephants, ever since one had eaten his cream bun when he was eleven, and then had picked him up and insisted upon parading him around the ring. Lowham had laughed his arse off, of course. So Hatt had made sure that the bodyguards had impressively looking, but useless, guns around. "Er, come about, Henry, there's a tunnel that's been blocked. You need to take the workmen to investigate."

"And you picked me, sir? With my history of tunnels?"

"Jump to it, and don't argue!"

...

"Pushing trucks, pushing trucks, Henry do this, Henry do that, oh my god a cream bun, mmm, my father never loved me!" grumbled Henry under his breath. His driver rolled his eyes, and nodded to the workmen, who got off the truck to examine the Ballahoo Tunnel. Henry growled. At the very least, he'd have some nice scenery to look at, even if he was next to the worst place he had ever got high in, ever.

All bar the foreman headed inside, chatting together amiably, asking after children and wives and what they were doing over the weekend and so on. The foreman sat down to have his tea, pulled out some cake and began to snack.

It was very quiet for the first minute or so.

Not for long.

Suddenly the tranquil nature of the surrounding area was shattered by the most awful bellowing sound that anyone had ever heard. Henry leapt three feet in the air and tried to reverse backwards, only for his driver to clamp down the brake. "HELP!" came the cry, in much less polite terms, and the workmen promptly rushed back out, pushing and shoving and shoving and pushing over themselves so as not to be the last one in there.

"IT'S THE DEVIL!"

"THE SOUL EATER HAS ARISEN!"

"IT SOUNDS LIKE MY AUNT ETHEL!"

"THE GHOST OF PROTEUS HAS COME FOR US AT LAST!"

"I NEED NEW PANTS!"

At last, the foreman smashed a few heads together and some sense was gotten. "We went in, started to dig and then it grunted at us and moved! And then it let out a bellow of HATE! HATE I TELL YOU!"

"Rabbish!" said the foreman.

"It is not rabbish, or rubbish! We're not going in again! We're going for a safer job, like using jackhammers! You're on your own, mate!"

"Right!" said the foreman decisively. "I shall go in on the trucks with the gun like Marcus Brody with that great white and get rid of this monster! Henry shall push us in, and we shall fix it all!"

"Oh SHALL HE?!" shouted Henry. "WEESHT!" He looked at the tunnel. As has been previously mentioned, he had been stuck in a tunnel once, and he was not pleased to repeat the experience, especially when there was something in there! "I don't want to!"

"Neither do I!" moaned his driver. He had heard horror stories from Carlin about the last time Henry had had to go into a tunnel, and he was in no hurry to repeat the experience. "But I don't think we've got a choice in the matter. We've got to clear the line, or else we won't get paid!"

"Oh blow, oh jeez, oh god, oh god, oh god I regret my life choices so much, oh why is it so dark, why does it always have to be-" Henry suddenly went very quiet as he entered the tunnel, in case whatever it was hated gibbering idiots.

And, as per usual, then there was trouble.

The block was alive, angry and very, very strong. Suddenly, the train started to reverse. First came Henry, stunned into silence by whatever the hell was happening, then came the trucks with a very startled foreman aboard, and lastly, a huge, grey and very confused elephant.

"Well knock me down with a feather and call me Sally! It's the one from the circus!"

"You shock me, foreman!" shouted a worker.

"Can we eat it?!" shouted another.

They didn't eat the elephant, who was rather dazed and pining after his very nice warm truck. No one thought that having elephants was even legal anymore, but they called the ringmaster. They fed the elephant some cake (which he seemed to be very much enjoying, judging by the noise he made) and then gave him three buckets of water which he drank post haste.

He was on his fourth when Henry accidentally whistled out of sheer terror. The elephant was so surprised that it squirted water all over Henry's stunned face. The green engine spat out the water like he was Grampus the Submarine and stared slack-jawed at the elephant.

Poor, poor Henry. Everyone laugh at him.

The elephant and his keeper were soon reunited, and they headed off back to the rest of the circus, who were getting a right earful from Sir Topham. Henry was ignored by the rest of the workmen, who went home, leaving him to complain.

"AN ELEPHANT PUSHED ME! AN ELEPHANT HOOSHED ME!"

"What is a hoosh?"

"What you'll be getting in a minute."

...

That night, Henry told the whole tragic tale. And while James and Gordon felt sorry for him, that of course didn't stop them from teasing him one bit. They had already scheduled Sudrian television for the next few days to be filled with a marathon of Babar the Elephant, the Jungle Book and Dumbo.

"First the rain, then a elephant, what will you be afraid of next?"

"Never mind, Henry, you did your best today, and I know you were really reliable."

"Thanks Thomas...and nothing was accomplished."

James scoffed. "Yeah, well, be lucky that you got off so easily."

"I wonder how that happened."

James said nothing. But he thought a great deal. Especially about the night after the news had first broken.

...

ONE WEEK AGO.

James watched Henry sadly trundle away to work. There had been a rather awkward silence between him and his passengers, a few odd looks, a few worried glances between workmen...James could tell that there was clear some discomfort regarding Henry and his choices in life. Now, James was many things. He was vain, he was mean, he was a massive prat, and most of the time he was a massive idiot. But damn it all, Henry was his friend. Even if they did bicker, and even if he was horrible to him half the time, and Henry to him the other half.

So, very calmly, he finished his jobs as quickly as he could, and hurried off towards Vicarstown.

The large station loomed overhead. James quietly sidled in next to the tall, green engine standing at the platform. He looked, from the back, like Henry. But as you got closer, you'd soon see the very clear difference between them. Henry didn't have deflectors, for one thing, that almost hid the face. A face that looked like it always wanted to sneer at you, with a thick, bulbous nose.

His name was St Eustace. He had got that name from the war, where a bomb had briefly set him on fire while delivering a train. But despite that, he had survived, and become a minor celebrity on the Island. Years ago, before he had come to Sodor, James had met him while being constructed, back when his paint had been mixed traffic black, and didn't gleam like it did now. St Eustace was a bad tempered, sour, unlikeable sod. And he was the only one that James knew he could get information from.

"Well-" sniffed Eustace, also known as the Foreign Engine, ironically. "-you've changed, haven't you, Breakblocks? Can't believe that you sent me a message after all this time."

"Oh hush up, you bloody boiler buster." snapped James impatiently. "Do you have it, or don't you?"

St Eustace glowered for a moment. "John Drampf is, in fact, a deserter. He didn't even get into combat. Matter of fact, he used his position as the son of one of the Ministry of Defense boys to take the 'Beetle' out for a spin, on the Island. After that, he got a lot of unearned cash for his 'hard' work and never looked back. I read somewhere that he mocked war deserters for not having the guts. I didn't think you were the type to argue against fighting."

"I'm not. But when a man like he lies about what he did during the war, well...I'd say it was nice to see you, but-"

"Goodbye, breakblocks. Until the next time."

James puffed off, determined to confront Drampf with the evidence.

Eustace was alone for a minute or two. Then, two engines clanked up besides him.

"Should we warn Montague?" asked Pug.

"No. It's a isolated incident. Scotsman and Truro need not know. You two, meanwhile, should focus on finding this beetle, before it's too late."

* * *

Sir Eustace, by the way, is the Foreign Engine from the story Gordon Goes Foreign. I chose the name because it sounds like 'Euston' which was his main line in the story. And because it also lead me to a nice story about how St Eustace was the patron saint of firefighters, which gave me a nice excuse to give him the name.


	98. Episode 20: Toad Stands By

The Works Diesel mentioned here is (You guessed it) another character from the Railway Series that I doubt will ever be adopted to the screen. You know the cover of Christopher Awdry's book James and the Diesel Engines? That's him on the front! As the Steamworks hasn't yet been built in my timeline, and won't be for a bit, the Works Diesel'll be filling in the role for the moment. And of course, it's time for more obscure character spotting. The trucks mentioned at the end are all from the Railway Series as well.

Also, quick note, I am using a new system for the Scottish twins, which is to run the dialogue I want through a Scottish translator for kicks, to make it funnier. If it's not to the liking, I'll switch back to just using my own judgement.

CUE THE THEME!

* * *

"So, I'm already to go?"

The Works Diesel nodded, or as well as he could nod, given that he had no such thing as a neck. He ran the Crovan Gate Works, or was at the very least the mascot of the place. He never said a word, but was rather friendly to all he met.

Oliver was lowered down off the hoist, and let out a satisfied sigh. He had been to the works to be mended. After the trucks had shoved him in the turntable well (He remembered it like it was last season) he had been suffering various cramps and ailments that constantly needed to be checked up. This was supposedly the last lingering pain that needed to be fixed.

Now, supposedly, he was as good as new. But the trucks had him worried, not least because of how much they seemed to be against him as a whole. Here are just some of the highlights of Oliver's last year!

-Briefly ended up smacking face into wall following shoving contest with trucls.  
-Proceeded to get tipped into the sea, following confrontation with trucks.  
-Taunted repeatedly, and subject to many graffiti attacks by trucks, including the infamous 'Ollie SUX!11!'. The ones are not a spelling mistake.  
-Referred to as Ollie repeatedly.

"I'd rather not use them!" he mused as he passed through the Works Diesel's plastic fake scrap.

"That's okay! cackled a truck. "We'll use you!"

Oliver sighed, and continued onwards, passing Gordon, Henry and James, who were busy discussing their latest idea for what to do whilist bored at the bar.

So, what have you got for us, Henry?"

"Well, I got these from that young Rheneas dude, you know?" Henry's driver placed down several packets of...something, it was unclear what. "He told me that it was totally dank, and wasn't whack in the slightest. I took that to mean that it's perfectly safe. Apparently you can see God when you take this stuff. And I thought that, seeing as I am experimenting with the more Naturalistic version of Buddhism-"

"You lost me." James admitted.

"-because I'm all about trying anything to see if I can gain a understanding o the universe, I was thinking I'd put some in my drink. The two of you are free to come along if you want. And, er, Edward too. But don't tell him. He's...rather iffy about this alternative religion stuff."

"Well, it's a boring day anyway." Gordon grinned. "Ah, what the hell?"

"Yeah! Mix it in our drinks!" James nodded. "I'll, er, get Edward over here, somehow."

...

Unfortunately for Oliver, he was on the wrong Island if he wanted to avoid trucks. They were all gathered together in a yard not too far from Callan. They had began to sing songs, rude and loudly, which was the only way that trucks sang anyway. S.C Rufey, or Scruffy as he was better known, a private wagon who had risen to notoriety following his manipulation of Bill and Ben that had ended up with a piece of shrapnel embedded in Edward's face and the docks on fire, had risen to become their leader, and was now conducting brightly.

 _"Oliver's no use at all!_  
 _Thinks he's very clever!_  
 _Says that he can manage us!_  
 _That's the best joke ever!_  
 _When he orders us about_  
 _With the greatest folly_  
 _We just push im down the WELLLLLLL!_  
 _Pop goes Old Ollie!"_

Thomas, Duck and Percy were most offended and cross. Not just at the insults thrown Oliver's way. The tempo was all wrong, the singing was incredibly off-key, and all that made them want to dash their brains out against a hard stone rock. "BE QUIET!" They would bellow at random intervals, while Oliver tried to get his trains ready. But they couldn't be everywhere, and everywhere they weren't the trucks began again.

They needed to work on their song, clearly. It has been hypothesized by many well known scholars of very advanced degrees that clearly the trucks have the mental capacity of dung. Thus, they only know the one song.

...

At last, the engines gave up. They decided "Sod our friend, I'm pooped, he can sort it out." and went to get drunk. They put it a little nicer to Oliver, though.

"Sorry Oliver, we can't give a crap anymore."

"It's my fault, I suppose, for falling in that turntable well!" Oliver said, bitterly. It's lost a bit in the transmission of the episode, though.

"Yep." Thomas smacked his lips. "Well, come on Percy! Back to the grindstone!"

Toad the brakevan felt rather sorry for Oliver. True, he was a idiot most of the time, but he was Toad's only companion from the Great Western, and he knew that deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, DEEP down, he had a good heart. And so, as Henry and James finished their last jobs for the day so that they could go and get high, he waited patiently to speak to Douglas, who was the engine who took him out the most save Oliver himself. They had a good bond, surprisingly.

He waited so patiently that he had no idea that he had waited over ten hours, for it was morning before Douglas crept into the yard, clearly a little worse for wear following last nights session of booze.

...

And speaking of worse for wear, the four engines looked at their drinks. Edward hadn't been informed of what was about to happen, all he had really been told was that this stuff was supposed to give you quite the kick once you had some of it. The driver had opened the packets and and poured the contents into each drink. He turned around as the engines continued to chat about something or other. Unbeknownst to him, the fireman wandered into the bar, looking for something or other, spotted the nearest drink to him and took a long large gulp that emptied the cup.

"Well!" Henry said, cheerfully. "Here's to us!"

"To us!" intoned Gordon, James and Edward, who took a long hard sip from the straws. Henry beamed. He had been rather selective with the truth around Gordon and James. Some would call that a lie. Some would be mistaken. It was not a lie, it was just that telling them that it was less about helping them relax and more about getting them to open their minds to his point of view would seem weird when they inevitably pointed out that he had had to drug them to do so. He had taken several types of drug since his fascination with the simpler life had begun, partly for medical reasons, and partly because he wanted to understand Mother Earth in a way that few engines-

It suddenly occurred to Henry that his own straw was surprisingly empty. He smacked his lips, and peered down at the cup, which was empty. He frowned, turned to the fireman and stared in awe-struck horror as he finished stripping down to his boxers and began pole-vaulting with great abandon. Henry had no idea where to even look! The driver stared, slack-jawed and with his tongue almost flopping out of his mouth. He turned to Henry. "What the hell was in those packets!?"

"It was something that the Barrow University gave Rheneas to give to his friends to test out!"

"Oh yeah, genius, and what's your hypothesis?!"

"That I've made a REALLY, REALLY BAD MISTAKE?!"

"WELL NO SHIT SHERLOCK! Where's-"

Henry suddenly realized with horror that the three engines besides him had vanished. He could faintly hear Edward cackling (And there was a problem right there, because he had never, in all his life, heard a cackle from Edward) in the distance, and so, hoping to perhaps make sure that nothing bad happened, rushed off after him.

As he did so, Douglas finally entered the yard to find Toad musing quietly to himself.

"Morn tae ye, Toad! What's th' problem? Ye look raither glum."

"I'm worried, Mr Douglas." said Toad, glumly. "This disrespect of engines, when is it going to end? Will it ever end?"

"Who knows?" Douglas agreed grimly. "Ah heard that dobber scruffy's th' cause ay aw thes. th' hedonistic so and so-" A dobber is the Scottish (Or at least, the twins used it) word for a bastard, but Toad didn't know this, and so was most confused. He decided to just carry on.

"Yes, well, I've got a plan, Mr Douglas. A very clever one, if I may be so bold as to admit to feeling pride in it. May I stay here today instead of going with the last train? I wish to help Mr Oliver, we are both Great Western and must stand together, even if he can be a bit-"

"Foolhardy, croose, dumb as several bricks an' occasionally a real tosser?"

"I was going to remark that he could be a bit difficult, honestly, but I suppose all of those things as well."

"I'll take ye to him." said Douglas. "But he's ower smar' for the wurrk ye ha in mind."

"...Okay, Mr Douglas, are you doing that on purpose?! I think you are! You're making your Scottish accent even more Scottish just to mess with me, no offence intended, but I'm pretty sure you are!"

"Ach, m-ME!? Ye cannae be serious." Douglas flushed. He hadn't expected Toad to catch on so fast.

...

Soon Toad was explaining his plan to Duck and Oliver. The former was somewhat sceptical. "Bloody hell, Toad, that's something that might be beyond Oliver. I'm not sure you should have suggested it. I've been looking into this Scruffy's past. He was the black sheep of the Truck Families for some years now. Even back when the heads still had power, before that incident with the barbershop, they were always rather wary of including him in activities. He was sly, but lazy. He prefers to sit back in the yard and gloat like some old villain from a Saturday Morning Cartoon than really get into action. But the fact that he has survived this long tells me that he could be worse than he looks."

Oliver interrupted. "No, Duck, you're wrong! My pride, which was salvaged from the escape from the scrapyard-"

"DID you escape from the scrapyard, Oliver, I had no idea?!"

"-has been dented for long enough! I must do this, not only to reclaim my lost honor, but also because it's all my fault that I am in this predicament, and if I let it continue now, it shall only worsen the attitude that these trucks have towards you. I must put my error right!"

"Oh, stop being a ham." snapped Duck.

"I meant no disrespect, you understand."

"Of course Toad, I know that! We have been through some hard times together, such as the time that we escaped from scrap and...and...well like that time we got away from scrap, and driver agrees with both of us. We need to nip this in the bud now."

"You're not going to back down, are you, Oliver?"

"No I am not! It is time that I became resourceful and sagacious for real!"

"Very well." sighed Duck. "I can't stop you, but I can advise you one thing. The train itself doesn't need to be shunted until about three in the afternoon. Delay on starting off as long as you can, and I shall arrive with the passengers to give you back up, should you need any."

"We've cleared it with the stationmaster."

"Very well. My passengers need me, so I'll head off. But don't forget the tip that Stepney gave about sand. Spread as much of it on the rails to give yourself maximum grip when dealing with those bastards. Good luck!" And so saying, Duck rushed off towards his train, already fretting himself silly.

"Goodbye!" said Oliver. He was also fretting himself silly. He suddenly wondered if it was worth heading to the bar to steady his nerves. He then changed his mind as he saw Henry dragging back a thrashing Edward, who had briefly decided that he had wanted to be a bird and had nearly jumped straight off of the nearest cliff.

...

Later that day, Oliver marshalled the worst of the trucks together into a long line, two by two. He felt quite a lot like Noah as he did so, except Noah hadn't escaped from scrap- At which point, his mind proceeded to violently pound itself into the ground. Even it was getting tired of the references.

"That's the way Mr Oliver. It takes longer this way, but by doing so, it makes them less likely to cause any mischief for you until you've actually got the train started. And if you leave that little sh-I mean, er, monster, Scruffy, until last, then you have him behind you and you can bump him if he starts any nonsense."

"Are you sure this is wise, Toad?"

"No. But it's better than doing nothing, isn't it, sir?"

Duck arrived as Oliver backed down with Scruffy. The workmen coupled up the private wagon and the engine, and Duck gave a cheerful whistle to give him some encouragement.

"Hold back, hold back!" whispered Scruffy, gleefully. "And pass the words to the others! You boys don't need my help anymore! You take it!" Scruffy relaxed. He saw his job as having been done. They needed to show up this engine, and they could do that without his help. That way, no one could blame him for when Oliver's inevitable mistake was made. The giggling only fuelled his ego, which swelled to a dangerous size.

He wasn't as clever as he liked to think. Oliver knew what he must do. His wheels gripped the sand that his driver had laid down, and with a fierce growl, he gave a great heave. The trucks yelped, but not as loudly as Scruffy. "OH!" he shouted, gasping at the sudden pain. "I DON'T LIKE THIS! Ohhhh I really should have thought this through!"

The trucks still held back, digging into the rails even as Oliver strained and tugged as hard as he could. The couplings tightened, and Scruffy began to feel as though he was being stretched on some immense rack. Oliver wasn't going to back down. The trucks weren't going to back down. He was trapped.

"STOP! STOP YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!"

The trucks paid no attention.

"GO IT!" shouted Duck, trying and failing to check his excitement. "Well done boy! Well done!"

"OOOH!" screeched Scruffy, his face screwed up in agony. "OHHHHHH!" There was a slight splintering noise. "I'M COMING APART!" Another noise now. "I'M COMING APART!" A louder noise. "I'M COMING-"

There was a rather nasty tearing sound, which echoed around the yard, as Scruffy did indeed come apart. His entire body seemed to disintegrate, as his sides toppled to the ground, spilling sand and construction materials everywhere. Half of the truck, the one with his face, had been completely torn from the other half and was now lying at a horrific angle with a face that was spurting a lot of a blood-like substance.

The trucks stared in horror. Toad found it all remarkably funny. Gallows humor was a big thing for breakvans.

"So Oliver." remarked the Fat Controller, having turned up to watch the fireworks "So you don't know your own strength, is that it? Should put you in the circus with the elephants."

"Er, yes, sir." said Oliver, wisely realizing that keeping his mouth shut was the best option.

Hatt turned to Scruffy. He looked a little better, but not much so. Most of the blood had been cleaned away, so Scruffy was just lying there, a broken wreck. "As I thought, rotten wood, rusty frame. You should have been refurbished a long time ago." Hatt shook his head. "But, er, don't tell the trucks that. I'd rather not see them try and get out of work that easily. So maybe if we put you back together and not give you such a career limiting name, you'll make something better of yourself." He turned on his heel and marched away.

...

Henry had found James drinking turpentine out of the cans at the Works, and had dumped both he and Edward there to be looked after by the Works Diesel. Now, all he had to do was find Gordon. How hard could that be?

It wasn't, actually. Gordon was very easy to find.

Stopping Gordon, on the other hand, was a different matter.

Henry had just enough time to attach himself to the back of Gordon's tender before the express engine, now so high on whatever drug it was that he had put in the drink, shot like a dog being fired out of a cannon fueled on nitroglycerin.

"GORDON STOP!"

"GORDON GO!"

"GORDON, NO-"

"GORDON, YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

Several cows looked up as a very fast blue blur pulled a rather fast green blur behind him. They blinked and returned to their grass.

"-ESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" Gordon continued screaming as he hurtled towards Edward's station. Henry slammed on his brakes and stared in bafflement. He had half of Gordon, namely his tender, and therefore had to watch the pride of the line go hurtling forward into a siding and through a wall.

It was a long trek back to the Works to dump Gordon there. Along the way, he passed what remained of S.C Ruffey.

"Today's been a rough day for all of us." He remarked.

"You ain't half telling me, pal!" growled Scruffy, as best he could.

...

Nowadays, Oliver only takes the trucks when the other engines are busy. They really, really like having a turntable that works, you see. On another note, Henry only takes drugs by himself, after the three engines came down from their high, realized that they had been doing something stupid and began hitting the crap out of the big green engine as punishment.

But back to the original point. The trucks are always quick to warn each other. "Take care with Mr Oliver, you play tricks on him, he'll tear you in half and you'll never be the same truck again!"

S.C Ruffey has been rebuilt, has learned his lesson and says nothing at all.

Well...in theory.

There are two rather interesting postscripts to this story, that would have caused Duck to be very interested, had he not been preoccupied with the events that came during the Battle of Callan later that year.

The first concerns the fate of the private wagon known as S.C. Ruffey, or as he was more commonly referred to, Scruffy. He was repainted later on to look more like a normal open-topped truck, and was later donated to several areas where mining took place. He proceeded to cause a large amount of chaos that will be documented another time. But later on, after the incidents not only there, but of the events concerning a certain Magic Railroad, some trucks whispered that they had seen a very shadowy figure come to Scruffy in the middle of the dark of night. This shadow resembled a steam engine, talked in a voice that dripped with oil and evil and promised him great things, if only he would assist them with something rather important.

The second was the more immediate concern. Scruffy's injuries and humiliation did not a martyr create. The angry trucks saw it as giving the engines another victory, yet another bogeyman to deal with. But some of the elder trucks, trucks like Rickety, Fred Pelhay and U.L.P, who had taken over to an extent as heads of the truck families, suddenly came under new management. A single breakvan, scarred and never seen, even by his closest advisers (Those three trucks) and calling himself by the very familiar name of 'The Spiteful Breakvan' used their clout to become the new and leader of all non-coach rolling stock across the Island. Whether this was the one destroyed by Douglas or merely a pretender was not known. What was known was that he was tough, vicious and had great charisma. He must have had that, to put one single, solitary thought amongst the remaining trucks that would drive them througout the coming years. The knowledge of what that thought was soon spread to the other engines, who shuddered and viewed the coming years with great distaste and even a little bit of fear.

And this thought was simply this:

 _ **Give them HELL.**_

We say it again.

Interesting.


	99. Episode 21: Bulls Eye

ONE HUNDRED EPISODES NEXT TIME. WOW. HOW'D I GET THIS FAR? The answer, of course, is all of you!

CUE THE THEME!

* * *

Toby the Tram Engine has cowcatchers and sideplates. This is for everyone who don't have the use of eyes, or has somehow completely forgotten this very important piece of information despite the fact that we are on the 99th episode of a very long running show with tons of merchandise. They help to prevent animals getting hurt if they stray onto the line. Again, just reminding you.

His mind was on other things as he entered Elsbridge one bonny summer day. Henrietta was brooding rather badly, angrily complaining that no one would give her anything interesting to do in the show. She wasn't wrong, but Toby was trying to keep everyone happy and so had told her that they would talk about it later. He had gotten hell for that.

His mood was not improved by what he saw. "DAISY!?"

"Oh, hello, Toby!" It was like she had never left. The Fat Controller had told Toby that he was going to get some help on the branch-line for a bit while he made sure that Thomas and Percy were specially fitted for some sort of trip that he had planned. Hatt had told him that he'd explain when the time was right. Toby had rather hoped that it wasn't Daisy who had been sent, for although he liked her, he was aware that they always tended to clash when the cameras were turned on them.

Like today.

Daisy thought Toby's fenders were silly. She didn't half mention it.

"So, still got those silly sideplates."

"Still got that bad attitude."

"Never mind the cows. You're afraid of getting hurt yourself!" she flounced, in a flouncy manner.

"I'm not! Besides, who likes a ruddy cow being buried under your wheels? It's not pleasant, is it? It's not my idea of a good time. I'm sure that there are some people who like getting stuck into farm animals, but those people are what we call weirdos. Or farmers. Or weirdo farmers, if you want to combine the two."

Percy whistled as he passed, sharing a sympathetic look with Toby. Daisy continued. "You are! I mean, I don't have cowcatchers or sideplates, and I'm defenseless, but you wouldn't see me shrieking at some silly uddery thing came my way. I'd just toot and they'd all just go away."

"Okay, are we talking about cows or your love life, here?"

"Hysterical, henhouse."

"They don't, anyway." Toby grinned at James, hoping to get some sympathy. He didn't.

"They would with me. They recognize a true leader and visionary when they see one. Animals always run away and rethink their life choices if you look them in the eye as you do so and toot!"

"Even bulls?"

"Even bulls!" said Daisy with suicidal confidence. She had never met a bull, shock of all shocks, but still she prattled and hummed off, leaving Toby to consider why it was he was working on a branch-line with such insane engines on it.

...

Daisy went along, quite in her own word, swaggering confidently with great show. As she approached a farm crossing, she tooted her horn and watched with great glee as a horse and cart stopped to let her by. She assumed that this was down to her, and not, surprisingly enough, the farmer's desire to not die a horrible death.

She swaggered on down Castletaled, a section of the line away from Tidmouth and Elsbridge that was pretty overgrown and used only by people, not engines. She didn't care. Her job was to show off to all and sundry what a splendid engine she was.

"Mmmm." she practically purred. "It's so easy. I just have to toot and they all stand back. This is true power." And so her pride swelled to James and Gordon levels, and her sense descended to the average truck's level. This was a fatal combination.

"Poor little Toby!" she sniffed patronizingly. "How sorry I am that he's frightened. I shall call him Toby Doo from now on!"

...

Toby jerked upright.

"Something wrong, Toby?"

"Nothing, Percy, I just felt as though I was insulted quite profusely."

"Damn! How do you know?"

"Trust me, after being in this shark pit of a railway, you get to sensing these things."

...

As Daisy crossed the signalbox, she noticed that there was Inspector Norris talking to the porter. The next station was Toryreck, and as she pulled to a stop, the police man turned to her. "There's a bull on the line. And since I'm apparently not allowed to do anything actually exciting with this job, it's up to you. Please persuade it to get out of the way of the line."

"What do you think we are?!" hissed the driver. "A bull whisperer?"

"I have heard many engines say that Daisy can talk bull for days!"

"Well, I hope you're satisfied with that lame joke."

But Daisy wasn't listening, for she was too excited. "Now I'll show Toby how to manage bulls!"

"How to manage what?" said one hard of hearing porter.

Amid snickering, Daisy left for her appointment with destiny.

Champion is not really a fierce bull. Unless your name is James, but in all fairness to Champion, it is very tempting to let him off the hook on that one because if the great big bloody red berk would stop in front of him, he only had himself to blame. But on this morning, he was cross. A couple of people had tried taking him to market. He hadn't liked that, and after smashing his way through the back of the cart, he ran rampage through a fence, fell ass over teakettle down a slope and landed in one of the nicest fields full of crass he had seen in years. Now for his breakfast, he thought. If bulls could think.

So as Daisy exited the tunnel, Champion was in rather a chipper mood, all things considered. Somewhere off in the day, a lonely saxophonist decided to let out a few warbling notes.

"OOOOOOOH!" tooted Daisy. Well, it says here that it's a toot, but I'm not sure. I know my toots, and that was more of a Oooh. But then again, they pay me to say toot, so I shall say toot. "Go on!" she continued.

This stunning attempt to force the bull to leave was, shockingly, a failure. Champion was busy enjoying his grass, and so had completely ignored Daisy's stunning attempts to get him to move.

"OOOOOOH OOOOOOH!" continued Daisy. This breathtaking display of force was shockingly not enough to move the bull once more. I know, be still beating hearts.

Champion grazed on.

By now, Daisy had been slightly rattled, and by slightly, I mean very. "This is all wrong!" She fumed, and like any great person, she immediately blamed everyone except herself. "How can I look him in the eye if he won't turn around!? Such a arrogant bull! Thinking he can mess with me. ME?!"

And at last, Champion did notice. He frowned. Either the grass had mutated and taken a new form to punish him for his wicked ways of grazing, or this was another bloody train. The bull had many thoughts on British Rail as a whole, complicated for us to understand, but he never held with trains. Not really. He began to move closer to inspect.

"Ooooh, er, um...OOOOOH!" tried Daisy, suddenly remembering the words 'Be Careful What You Wish For' engraved upon her shed wall. "Why isn't he backing away?! That should have worked by now!"

"Go on, Daisy!" said her driver, who was a rather stupid man at times. So stupid that sometimes he appeared to be less of a human and more a sentient lump of plastic with a face painted on "He's harmless." Somewhere, the lone saxophonist was playing matador music to try and make the mood fit a little better.

"Yes!" snapped Daisy, her nerves making her a little snappy. "You know that, I know that, but does HE know that?" She would have attempted to nod in a knowing way had not Champion began to move towards her face. "Look at how big they are!"

"What?" said the driver, who felt like he was in a Carry On movie at the moment.

"His horns! Think, if he came after me and hit me with those great steaming things, how much he'd hurt m-HIM!?" Daisy laughed, on the verge of hysterics. "That poor chap might hurt himself! I would never forgive myself!" Champion sniffed at Daisy. "EURGH! OOOOH!" And that was that. As the lone saxophone player played off into the night, Daisy reversed hard and did no more, leaving Champion rather lonely.

...

Toby was both amused and bemused when he entered Toryreck to find Daisy back so soon. Once the story had been told, that bemusement faded rather quickly to outright amusement. She was currently sulking in the shed, her face on the verge of dropping off from sheer sadness. It was probably mean of him to laugh, but he was going to do it nonetheless. "Bulls run away if you toot them and look them in the eye? Well mercy me, Daisy, you have taught me some things today! Ah well, we live and learn, I suppose. Right-ho! Time for me to continue my winning streak of being one of the few competent engines on this Island and chase him away for you."

"You don't have to sound so smug about it!"

"I kind of do!" And so Toby set off towards the tunnel. As he exited, Champion looked up, in case Daisy had come back. He was surprised to see Toby, especially considering how different he was to the many other engines he had seen. He snorted, and looked down again.

"Easy does it, lad." Toby said, smoothly. He rang his bell and his driver blew his extra whistle he kept for emergencies. Nothing. Toby grinned, and let out a 'hoosh' of steam that got Champion's attention straight away. Toby continued to do this for a good while. And Champion, his appetite sated and this strange wooshing monster unnerving him, trotted off back to the farmer, who by this point was willing to just ram him in a pen instead of bothering to go back to market.

"Well-" said Toby, allowing himself to feel smug "-scared, am I?"

...

Daisy's day had been exhausted. Several trucks had aggressively mooed at her, the engines had given her looks of pity and her passengers seemed to have been hand-selected to drive her up the wall.

As she approached the platform, she saw some little boys on the platform. "Look Daisy!" said one. "I've got some sweets! They're called bulls eyes!"

Daisy had never before wanted to kill a child as much as she had at that very moment. "BAH!" She settled for at last. "Keep your rotten bulls eyes!" And she skulked her way to the shed.

Somewhere, a very pleased with himself saxophonist finished off his last matador riff for the day.

...

Hatt grinned as he began to pack. He had a week to arrange everything and then...off to London! His hands trembled in excitement. He had already decided that the first eight engines would be coming, anymore and he'd have trouble back at home.

He looked at the very special letter on his desk, and smiled to himself.

He couldn't wait.


	100. Episode 22: Thomas's Special Letter

**All right, we are ready, I believe? Mr Angelis, start reading when- Hang on, is the door open?**

Sorry, am I interrupting something, Steve?

 **Mr Starr! Er, what are you doing here?**

Heard that Tommy had reached the big one-oh-oh. I fancied meself a little trip down memory lane. Ah, Micheal! Didn't see you there.

 _Nice to see you, Mr Starr. Just recording the lines now. Unless you want to-_

No, no no no. It's fine. Really, I just popped in. It's your show now. Just wanted to watch, if that's okay.

 _Fine by me. Mr Asquith?_

 **Yeah, sure. Take a seat Mr Starr. All right, Mr Angelis. You ready?**

 _As I'll ever be._

 **Good man. Mr O'Donnell, Mr Campbell, if you please-**

...

CUE THE THEME.

...

1978.

"New engine coming! New engine coming! New engine coming!" Marklin whistled with no small lack of viciousness. He hated the idea of having another tank engine here! It seemed like it was an insult to his professional standards!

The bigger engines weren't that happy with it either.

"Where's he from!?" grunted Gordon.

"Brighton, so I've heard." said Edward, somewhat gloomily, as he hadn't been out of his shed in a while. "Must be nice over there." He suddenly glanced at Gordon. "What's all the fuss about, then, loudmouth? I thought that getting a shunter in would be great for you!"

Gordon scoffed. He didn't like it when Edward called him out on his bullshit. "Little Edward-"

"You know, I'm going to look forward to the day when this engine comes, because then hopefully you'll stop calling me little all the time!"

"-You have no idea the stresses and strains that we, as large and important engines, go through daily! And having another little tank engine around, well..." He snorted loudly.

"Knowing our luck-" said Henry with his usual melancholic disposition "-he'll be another cheeky little sod like the rest. What number do you reckon he'll be?"

"Number five, surely." Gordon remarked.

"Not so. We lost Glynn a few years ago, remember." Edward frowned at the blank expression on Gordon's face. "Glynn? Ran the branch-line? Welsh? ...The Coffee Pot?"

"Oh HIM! Well, I mean, it wasn't expected. But surely you can't mean-"

"It means-" said Edward with some vindictiveness "-that this new engine'll get the number one."

Gordon was enraged! "Hatt has gone TOO far, this time! I swear to God, this Thomas the Tank Engine won't last a month!"

...

16 YEARS LATER.

One warm evening, Thomas the Tank Engine brought his last train to the junction. He was in a really cheerful mood, which in and of itself should have warned someone that bad stuff was going to happen. It was the law of the universe that whenever an engine is overconfident or feeling as though nothing can go wrong, the full weight of karma shall fall upon them like a avalanche!

Percy and Toby were waiting there as well. Toby was taking on water, and Percy had just finished shunting the last lot of trucks. They had been chatting about how clearly the election was going well, and how they couldn't wait to be done with it.

"You on your way to the big station?" Percy asked.

"Yeah, thought I might get a quick little drink before I head off to sleep! Why?"

"Because I'm going there too!"

"OH MY GOD." Thomas gasped, mockingly. "You mean to say that we're going to the same place?! WHAT A SHOCKING TURN OF EVENTS! I think something is up! Clearly this is a conspiracy on a level we've never even heard of before!"

"Where?" said Toby, looking up literally.

"Not up there, down here! What is wrong with you today, Toby? Have you been drinking? Has Henry given you more of that special stuff again? I'm pretty sure he's not allowed to do that anymore."

Toby grinned. "I know, Thomas. Just a joke." He frowned. "Not a very good one, admittedly. I'm bushed. I mean, how can something be up when it's down?"

"Ask Hatt and his supply of viagra."

But Thomas was too excited to joke about Hatt. "Bust my buffers! Look at that! I've never seen something like that before!"

Coming around the corner was a massive convoy of engines. Some of them were painted in the black coloration of the company that loaned engines who were merely there temporarily, but others were far more recognizable. There was Mavis and BoCo, chattering away as the latter pushed the former, and Bill and Ben, who were eyeing up a bunch of wagons left carelessly around.

Then, on the other line, Donald and Oliver steamed through proudly, followed a second later by Douglas. The three of them were also talking away. Douglas grinned as he passed the three engines. "Well? Good evening ye lot! Aren't we all a fine sight?"

"Very splendid." said Toby, who was still somewhat amazed that Mavis hadn't told him about such a large gathering of engines.

"Ach, I'm sorry that we cannae stop, but tha Fat Controller wants us all at yon Big Station!" Douglas grinned. "I'm hoping we're getting more booze!"

"What is this all about?!" Thomas said, puzzled.

"The Fat Controller has a plan, and he's going to tell it to us." remarked his driver, providing several future dubstep artists a perfect line to start their songs on.

"Ooooh! Ominous!" said Carlin.

...

They attempted to follow the other engines to the end of the line at the Big Station. Unfortunately, the Fat Controller had slightly misjudged how many engines would be turning up, so they had to retreat back to Tidmouth Sheds for all to receive the announcement. Duck was in the center turntable, and even as all the engines whistled together, he caught sight of Jinty and Pug. He winked at them. Only Jinty gave any indication that she had heard him, giving a slight nod. The noise was deafening, and several people began to complain.

At last...

"SILENCE!" roared Sir Topham Hatt, as he clambered atop of Duck. He stood up, slipped and banged his head on the cab roof.

This gave the engines much hilarity.

"AHEM! I have an important letter to read-"

"Sir, your head is bleeding." said one of his bodyguards.

"-from a little girl who is five years old!"

There was a moment where everyone stared at Hatt blankly. They had several thousand letters from little boys and girls who were five. What made this one so special.

This is the letter that Hatt read out.

 _Dear Thomas and all the engines._

 _Please can I meet you? My friends say they would like to meet you too! You could come to my house for tea (What do engines eat? Do they eat?) but my mummy says that there are no railway tracks to my house. Can you come to the station instead? Thank you very much._

It then gave the name and address, but we shall leave that for a moment.

The engines, who as it has been mentioned were rather fond of children, smiled at each other for a moment. Then Edward spoke up. "But sir, nice as that is, you must have several letters on that subject. What's so, and I'm afraid to say this, but what is so special about this one?"

"Because, Edward, it seems that many girls, boys and even their parents wish to meet you. At the station in a week's time, I thought that it was about time that Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends met their fans." Hatt failed to mention that it would also mean some good word of mouth for Sodor's flagging tourism trade. "Therefore, Thomas, Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby and Duck, you will be heading to the Big City far away."

"Big City being?"

"London."

"Why didnae ye say so? And what of us!?" demanded Douglas.

"Unfortunately, the Island cannot run itself on it's own. Therefore, all other engines shall take over the work until we get back. I promise you, however, that should this be a success, these, er, Days Out With Thomas will continue, and you will all get a chance."

"HOORAY!" called the engines, amid whistling and honking!

"SHADDUP! Look, basically, show em what to do."

...

But that night, the eight engines began to talk to each other.

"I'm not sure if I really feel up to going." remarked Edward.

"Why not?! You'll get the chance to miss out on seeing me get the long overdue respect that I have earned!" James gushed.

"I know. But trust me, no one's favorite engine is Edward, is it? I mean, not when you're a kid. No one wants to be the goody-two shoes of the group."

"I don't think they'll like me much either." Toby confessed. "I mean, I'm not exactly the most interesting engine there."

"You can serve the drinks!" suggested Gordon.

"Bog off, Gordon."

...

But despite this doubt, the engines began to teach their temporary replacements a thing or two. Duck instructed Jinty and Pug to take good care of the Little Western while they were away, and also to inform him if Davidson made any real move. Edward assisted Donald and Douglas in putting his own branch-line in order, and made sure that they were aware of the timetable. Toby was pretty confident that Mavis knew all the ins and outs of working at the Quarry and on the branch-line as it was, and Percy very quickly left Bill and Ben to their own devices in the shunting yards, as the Works Diesel promised to take care of them. BoCo too won over the sceptical big engines with his performance on the express.

Which just left Thomas and Oliver. The latter was taking over the branch-line while they were away, and Thomas's glee at getting to go away was inflating his head to airship sizes. As Annie had personally threatened to gut Thomas unless she and Clarabel came along too, they had to practice on a variety of other coaches. Oliver was growing crosser and crosser as Thomas continuously kept up a rather patronizing amount of patter. He shared a sympathetic glance with Mavis before Thomas continued to babble on about his favorite subject, namely himself.

And all throughout the day, Thomas grew more and more excited.

Until it all reached a rather nasty head.

"I'm glad that I'm a really splendid engine!" he puffed. "Fatty thinks that I'm the really usefulest of them all!"

"Thomas, why are you talking like James?" said Oliver, concerned.

"I had a race with Bertie once!" said Thomas, in his own little world and completely ignoring Oliver. "I whooshed through the tunnel and stopped an inch from the buffers! I shall give you a demonstration, and then you shall be able to tell your friends that you were there when it happened!"

Oliver could see where this was going.

"Just like this!" Thomas boasted, and shot forward like the cork out of a bottle. He hit the buffers, which splintered completely, slid down the very muddy bank and smashed straight into a wall.

Oliver stared, his mouth open in shock. "What-" He stammered "-what just happened?!"

"I have no idea." said Bill. For once both twins were shocked beyond words as well.

...

No one was hurt (Unless your name was Thomas) but his front was badly bent. They phoned the Fat Controller, who swore aloud. "OH SHIT! We'll send workmen, but if he isn't repaired in time, he can lump it! We go to the big city without him!"

The second he placed the phone down, his mood changed. Hatt was furious. He threw his hat upon the ground and stamped up and down upon it like crazy! It was really a sight to behold. "YOU IDIOT!" He screeched.

Thomas was placed in the works. Edward backed into there to check on him.

The two engines were alone for a moment. Then Edward quietly spoke.

"You know something, Thomas? I...I just wanted to come in here and tell you something, okay?" Edward sighed. "So, god help me, I know I'm the last person to try and give a lecture. I really don't like doing it. Usually I just shut my mouth and just carry on while all the others do their stupid stuff. But, you know, I just have to say this right here and now. This needs to stop. This, right here? You going overconfident and overboard with the whole 'I'm the Star' routine? It needs to stop here. You want to know why? It's been sixteen years since you first came here, okay? Sixteen years. In that time, you haven't changed. At all. And I expect better from you. I don't expect it from Gordon and James, but damn it, I expect that you get your act together. Because when we head off to London, we're not going to be dealing with the usual brand of idiots on this Island, all right? The ones who know you. There are going to be kids there. Many, many kids who came to see Thomas the Tank Engine. And there's now a very good chance that they won't."

Edward licked his lips. "Hmm. Thomas, you got into politics to try and boost your ego. You say that it's changed, that it's about doing the right thing. I'm not entirely sure it is. I don't know anymore. What I do know is that I just can't do THIS anymore. Having to keep dragging you out of situations that your own stupid pride lands you in."

Thomas didn't answer.

"Okay. I'll put it this way. I don't want to force you to change, okay? I like you too much for that. But for god's sake, grow up a little bit. All of them on the mainland think you're some sort of hero. They love you, Thomas. Be worthy of it."

And he puffed away.

...

The time came. Eight o'clock, and the engines were all waiting at the junction. Everyone was there to see them off. Donald, Douglas, Oliver, BoCo, Daisy, Mavis, Bill, Ben, Bertie, Terrance, Trevor, and even Harold the Helicopter.

Toby and Percy had been lifted onto flatbeds, for they were not going to be able to make the long journey on the rails. Edward was coupled up in front, while Duck provided support from the back. On the other line, Gordon, James and Henry were coupled together, and were now growing more and more impatient. They whistled loudly.

"All right, all right, stow it!" snapped the Fat Controller as he examined his watch. "One more minute for Thomas. Then we'll have to go-"

"OH BLOODY HELL WHY'D I STOP TO GET THAT VODKA!?" Thomas rounded the bend at lightning speed, Annie and Clarabel rocking side to side as he braked hard! "Sorry! Sorry for the hold up!"

"Took you long enough." snapped Toby

"Oh thank goodness you're still here!"

"I hope we're not late, as it's just after eight!" said Annie, who was rhyming for some reason now. Don't ask. The guard blew his whistle, waved the flag and at last, the cavalcade set off. First Gordon, James and Henry, then Edward and Duck carrying Toby and Percy, and finally, with a great whistle, Thomas rushed after them.

The whistles faded away as they made their way over the Vicarstown Bridge, and crossed into the Mainland!

"LOOK OUT BIG CITY, HERE WE COME!"

...

Five minutes later, they were completely lost.

"How the hell do you manage to LOSE A CITY?!"

Hatt fumbled with the map, staring at it in bafflement. "Now, hang on a minute. I know that we were supposed to take that left turn at the junction, but how the hell did we manage to-"

Edward and Toby were not focused on the arguments going on. The former was listening to an audiobook of the Wind in the Willows to calm his nerves down, while the latter was trying to make sure that Percy didn't blow a fuse whilst sitting atop the flatbed.

Eventually, they started off again, only to stop an hour later to get some pies from Big Mike's Pie Shop, on the side of the road. That story will be told another time. Needless to say, the constant stopping and starting was rather annoying to the engines, and their morale was sapping.

But all of that changed once they entered London.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then, starting low, but rising up until there was nothing left, the cheers echoed across the city. And as Thomas's Anthem began to play, the engines were suddenly surrounded by children and even some adults all cheering and clapping and-

And it was all perfect.

Then, the eight engines were taken to a sort of roundhouse where important men gave speeches that were ignored by the crowd. Thomas, of course, was practically mobbed by the mass of children. Some were shy, at first, but soon Thomas had them chattering away and showing him their drawings.

Percy was brought almost to tears by all the fans who ran to him and told him that he was their favorite. Toby smiled for his friend, but couldn't help but feel a little upset that he wasn't getting the attention.

That was soon remedied. Some shyer children, children who hadn't the confidence to go up to Thomas and Percy, approached him. For a moment, he was struck with speechlessness. Then he smiled, gratefully. As they sat besides him, he asked them their names and their age, and was delighted to recieve several presents.

James, Gordon and Henry were also having a great time of it. Watching their language was tough, but it was all worth it to see the looks on their faces as they said the lines that they loved and had listened to for so long. Duck was also having more fun that he ever could have dreamed of, as the children insisted that he tell them the story of the Close Shave. He left some of the nastier parts out, but he had great fun. As to did Edward, who was telling stories left and right to the older children, and a few of the adults as well, who had engaged in chatting to him.

Soon, the food was served, and the engines had a great deal of fun singing Happy Birthday to any birthday boys or girls out there.

"Isn't it wonderful-" remarked Thomas to Percy, when a brief moment of peace ensued "-what happiness a letter can bring?"

The little girl herself shyly stepped up. She wasn't shy for long, as eight whistles brought out a massive smile across her face. And as she chatted and talked and sang songs with the other engines, she stuck close to Thomas most of all.

It was, Thomas thought, the happiest day of his life.

* * *

One hundred chapters, eh? Wow. Where did the time go? A lot of this is my attempt to sort of reach back to my style of the first two seasons. Which means a lot of peppy exclamation marks, a lot of talking and chatting and, of course, the scene at the beginning. It's an homage to the first episode or so. Starting from the next episode, the plot picks up again, I promise.

Having reached this milestone, which I'd never thought I do, I feel it only fitting to thank all who have contributed. To my good friend, **genericuser22** , without whom I would not have had some of the great ideas and a very lovely TV Tropes page, and to **MK Inst** , who gave me a great deal of help on the matter of TUGS Abridged. And to all the reviewers. These include, deep breath:

 **Rosie Angelina, Taryn, jriddle41, tate310, TheSuperMario, FLASHFAN123, TealSparkle, Dr.900, TheStationmaster, DrAveBat007, bigyihsuan, Terroroftherailway, trestonfortson2016, lololandlol, Trainmaniac, Game-Watch, Aaroncottrel97** and **Reality Rejection Service!**

If I have left anyone out, I deeply apologize.

And finally, to all those who have read this silly story for so long, I thank you as well. Without all of you, this really isn't as much fun. Here's to the next one hundred!


	101. Episode 23: Paint Pots and Queens

Ugh. This episode.

True story, this one is probably going to be my least favorite to write. Fingers crossed, you'll enjoy it a lot more than I am writing this. Mostly because it's just...okay, quick rant. The episode itself is a bit of an oddity. Chronologically, it takes place right after a Season 1 episode, but in the show, it's put slap bang in the middle of Season 4 without any changes, with several engines from Season 2 popping up in it. It's not like with Henry's Elephant, where there was enough changes made. No, this one is a genuine oddity.

For the record, it was either amnesia or this. I'm not sure I made the right choice. At the very least, it does introduce a important plot point for Season 5 and Magic Railroad, and it will give you a hint of things that might be in the future. Any questions will be answered next chapter, that you have, I mean. Put them in the reviews, and I'll try my best to answer them. I'm not surprised if you don't get this chapter at all.

CUE THE THEME.

...

 _1984._

 _"You know, for all our bickering, the two of us can really work well together. Shall we form an alliance for the time being? You help me and I help you."_

 _Thomas laughed "Don't think it'll last long"_

 _"No," laughed Gordon._

 _"But why not? Right you are" agreed Thomas_

 _"Well good. That's settled." said Gordon as he puffed forward, coupled up to Thomas, and buffer to buffer, the allies puffed home to their friends._

 _Hatt looked around. "Hang on...THEY LEFT US BEHIND."_

 _The men looked at each other and shrugged. "It's been a long day."_

"Got a bottle of whiskey in my office."

 _"Why not?"_

 _And so they departed in Hatt's car._

 _But little did they notice that the engines had vanished into a strange swirling mass of light._

...

PRESENT DAY.

"When was the first time you ever killed someone?"

Marklin looked up in surprise. Not that he showed it, of course. The quarry itself was silent, so any noise automatically made him a little uneasy. And coming from this bizarre creature besides him...well, it was more than a little interesting. **"Why do you ask?"**

"Want to see what kind of engine it is I'm following. That fellow in the hat, now. He's a real killer. Seen chaps like him in the war. You'd seat them behind some bloody desk, and you'd never think they'd have the gall to send all those troops to their deaths. But he looks like someone who isn't too afraid to kill. You, on the other hand, are a unknown quantity." Davidson sniffed. His bufferbeam crackled in the evening sky.

Marklin paused. True, they were allies, but he was willing to bet Davidson was holding something back. So why not do the same? **"You first, Davidson. What was the first kill you ever made?"**

Davidson grinned. It was unpleasant to look at, even by Marklin's standards. "One of the blasted inspectors. Silly little man. Always looked his nose up at me, did he. When I reported my work to him, as I was supposed to, he snapped at me. Told me that what I was thinking of doing was 'unsafe' and 'disturbing' and 'not fit for the war effort'. It was war. He was a fool to think that anything in war is clean. So one day, while that fool of a driver was away hiding in some whorehouse, we met. And when he went to check me over, I gave him a bit of the old one two. One being the electric shock. Two being my wheels over his face." Davidson chuckled, fondly. "I still have no idea which killed him first."

It was the accent, decided Marklin, that made him so uneasy. He had his roots in German mechanics, hence the occasions in the early days when his voice slipped back into his original mother-tongue. But he had watched a lot of old British war films and propaganda, and so on. He had seen the old stereotypical RAF pilot way of speaking in so much media, that hearing it come out of the mouth of Davidson was disconcerting. It was like hearing a voice like, say, Richard Briers, coming out of some muscle bound thug. You just wouldn't equate the two.

"Now it's your turn. What about you?"

"Sir!" One of the Fat Director's workmen rushed up. "Sir, we've picked some things up!"

 **"Some things?"** The ghost raised an eyebrow. **"Explain."**

"Well, sir, first of all there's a transmission from Mr Boomer-"

 **"Which can wait."** said Marklin, decisively.

"-and then there's some sort of...disturbance. We're not entirely sure what it is. But I think you should come and see!"

Marklin looked at Davidson, who revved up what electricity he had and began to move out. Marklin himself took control of Class 40 and moved after him.

"Here we are, sir." The workmen pointed a shaking finger.

The machine in the center of the quarry was a sort of scanner. It's construction had been to fill a rather important need for the Fat Director, to measure an energy that wasn't recognized by the rest of the world. But it was real. And the proof, as they say, was in the pudding. The pudding in this case being the screen, and the proof-

"What's that?"

 **"It, my dear Davidson, is a spike of raw energy."** Marklin was trying his best to restrain his excitement. He failed. **"Mein gott! Can it be?"** He muttered to himself in German.

On the screen, there was a scale to track the level of the energy they were looking for. At first, and if you were to look back, you woulds see only a single line, not moving, not rising or falling. But the part they were looking at showed a violent blue spike that reached higher than the scale and the scanner could go.

"What type of energy?!"

Marklin grinned savagely at Davidson. **"Time, my friend."** He let out a rattling laugh **. "Time itself!"**

...

While he was making this cryptic comment, Bluff's Cove stayed still. Silent. Tranquil.

And then, slowly, something twinkled in the air. Not in the sky, where the first stars were beginning to come out. No, nearer to the ground, a few feet above the rails. This twinkle turned into a sparkle. The sparkle turned into a flicker. And then-

It is a shame, really, that the only people who witnessed what came next were a few seagulls. For all of a sudden, there was a great sound like the tearing of something great, and where the flicker had been, there was now a vast and glowing portal. It seemed to ripple outwards, streams of some strange sort of energy reaching out and crackling with great ferocity. First blue, then green, then orange, then gold, then colors that no one alive or dead could define.

For this emerged two figures. Two figures from the past. But yet, two very familiar figures.

Gordon the Big Engine, and Thomas the Tank Engine were puffing buffer to buffer back home. Neither engine knew, for how could they, that home for them was ten years ago. It had been a busy day for both of them. First, Thomas had teased Gordon about the time he had slid into a ditch. That really took out of him. And then Thomas had fallen into a mine, and Gordon had came to the rescue. It had taken a lot out of Gordon, because Thomas back then was fat.

And now they were chatting away without realizing just how much things had changed.

"Remember Thomas! United we stand, divided we fall! Our alliance must be strong! You help me, I help you!"

"I'm still going to mock the crap out of you!" Thomas hissed as he continued to chew his gum. He missed his cigarettes. "I know, I know, okay? I'll remember. Just hope that Fatty decides to forgive and forget soon."

"Yeah, I really don't want to have to go begging to him again."

As they entered Tidmouth Sheds, they were surprised to see most of the main engines gathered there. That wasn't the most shocking thing either. Everywhere they looked they saw paint pots and painters, hanging up bunting and hurriedly slathering walls and doors alike with bright pastel colors. The engines were practicing getting their teeth shined.

"Bloody bust my blinking buffers!" said Thomas the Alliterative Engine. "What's happening?!"

"SSSH!" hissed Percy. "Fat Controller's going to tell us now! I hope. If he ever gets used to standing on Duck's boiler."

"WHO!?" shouted Gordon. He had never heard of such a silly name for an engine.

"Ha ha, you're hysterical." said Duck, who was getting rather peeved at the idea of being used for a public podium. Hatt coughed.

"Ladies, gentlemen, engines and whatever the hell James is."

"SCREW YOU, SIR!"

"I am honored, nay, humbled to inform you that Her Majesty the Queen is coming to visit us with the rest of the Royal Family. I was so humbled I stabbed myself with the letter opener while I read it." Hatt let the gasps of shock die away, before continuing. "Now with the preperations. We are going to be having one of you lot taking the train, and let me tell you, it's going to be a nightmare trying to work out the arrangements, so if you don't mind, I've got to drink a lot of coffee to keep me going."

As he left, the engines became very excited and chatted to each other at great speed, especially about who would pull the Royal Train.

"Too old to pull the royal train." said Edward glumly, for he was fond of the Royal Family.

"Won't be me." grunted Gordon. "I'm in disgrace."

"No you're not, you're on Sodor!" Percy laughed. No one else did. "Wait, aren't you supposed to be back in London doing a photoshoot?"

"The hell are you on about-"

"It'll be me of course!" gushed James. "Who else could it possibly be?! I shall be magnificent in the role that I was born to play!"

"You!?" snorted Henry. "Don't make me laugh. You can't climb hills."

"And you're a pri-"

"It'll be me! I'm the best choice. And I shall have a new coat of paint! So boo, and boo to you!"

"So who the hell is that guy?" Thomas nodded his head towards Duck.

"Hysterical." Duck gave a slightly mocking laugh, which died down the second he saw that both Gordon and Thomas were looking at him very strangely. "Come on guys, stop messing about."

"Messing about!?" Gordon bristled. "The hell is he to be making such crude remarks about my character! Pah! He's only a silly little tank engine, right guys?"

"Gordon, are you feeling well?" James said with some concern.

Suddenly, there was a crackle of something. Toby looked to the side, and frowned as his driver rushed over to grab hold of the old radio. As the static crackled and crinkled, one could faintly here voices.

"Hello!"

"We should have told them this sooner."

"Gordon, hush!"

Everyone stared at the radio. Then at the two engines. Then at the radio. The two engines were dumbfounded. For the two voices were, unmistakenly, Thomas and Gordon.

"All right, now listen up, you lot. Hi. We're still in London. So we probably should have told you guys prior to this, but, er, quite frankly, we're not entirely sure that we've got this right. Am I correct in saying that there are two engines claiming to be myself and Thomas over there?"

"Er, hello!" said 'Thomas' who was looking more than a little baffled.

"See, Gordon, I told you it wasn't a dream!"

"Stow it, Thomas!" Gordon, the one on the radio, cleared his throat. "All right, listen up. The engines that you're seeing right now? Those are us from about ten years ago, give or take. Not too long after the mine incident. In fact, I dare say that they've just come from that, right?"

"R-R-Right." said a very confused 'Gordon'.

"So. What happened was that we were on our way home, minding our own business, and then, er, well, we traveled in time." There was a pause to let that sink in for a second. "Yeah. So, listen, we remember what happened next. All you have to do is wait for the next few days, and while we're away in London, Past-Thomas and Past-Gordon will be doing whatever important stuff needs to be done."

"This is very confusing." muttered James.

"Don't we know it?" interrupted Thomas (the one on the radio) "But them's the breaks. Not too long though."

"Ciao!"

And with that, the radio flickered off, leaving the engines with many questions. The foremost being:

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?"

...

The next day, the rain came. This made everyone feel even worse, not least the very, very stressed out Past-Thomas and Past-Gordon who were feeling really out of sorts. There had been a great deal of screaming. And panic. And worse. As the engines got ready for the Queen's visit, the two engines from the past were shoved away to make sure that no paradoxes proceeded to break the universe in five.

Henry was waiting in the siding for the news about his taking the Queen to be officially confirmed. At the first sign of rain, his driver and fireman grabbed a tarpaulin to cover up their cab and keep themselves dry. They watched with amusement as the painter on the ladder above them struggled gamely to try and finish painting the arches of Knapford.

Henry's smoke blew high into the air. Not on purpose, mind you. The painter couldn't see, and somehow (SOMEHOW) managed to fall backwards, paintpot and all, off his ladder. Luckily, he hit the tarpaulin (Unluckily giving the driver a major concussion). His paint-pot, on the other hand, landed straight on Henry's dome.

Poor Henry. Poor dumb, stupid Henry.

"Well, you're not a pretty picture!" said another painter, who was secretly disappointed that his sabotage of his rival's ladder hadn't injured he in any other ways.

"WELL AREN'T WE COMEDIANS!" snapped Henry.

"You look like an ice cake, Henry. That's not going to cut it for the Royal Train. You're out, I'm afraid, mate."

"You're an asshole, sir."

"Time to make other arrangements." Hatt skipped off to behind the station, where Past-Thomas and Past-Gordon were waiting. Past-Gordon had convinced Past-Thomas that they needed to get the honor of becoming the Royal Train, even if they had little to no idea what was going on. Just like the readers at home!

"Please sir-"

"One at a time!" snapped Hatt. His head hurt from the explanation from the other engines the previous night. "Gordon?"

"Can Thomas have his branch-line, please, sir?"

"OH FOR-" The Fat Controller bit down his tongue. It couldn't go easily, could it? It just had to be a nightmare on a big scale, didn't it? Fine. Play along with it, Hatt old boy. "It's your lucky day! I think you're both very sorry, and you deserve a treat!"

"We're getting ice cream!" said Past-Thomas joyfully.

"Edward's going in front to clear the line, Thomas takes care of the coaches and, YOU, Gordon, shall pull the special train."

"...Can we get ice cream then?"

"Oh for the love of- YES!"

...

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of excitement, as engines big and small alike got all the jobs done as quickly as possible. There should be no distractions for her majesty and company. Past-Thomas shunted every single coach needed, and the many that weren't, just in case something should go wrong. Past-Gordon was enjoying himself enormously, it wasn't always that he got to get a huge pampering.

At last, the day came, and as the engines awaited, they spotted Edward. The mixed traffic engine was in a great to-do, looking for all the world like all his birthdays had come at once.

"PEEP! PEEP PEEP! THE QUEEN IS HERE!"

"That's not a nice way to talk about Gordon."

"Shut up, James. Get over it."

The signal dropped. And then HE arrived. Everyone knew the sound. As the train practically glided into the station, the big blue engine, who was looking even more smug than usual, beamed to the others. His coat was spotless, his brass shone like gold and even the weird tackiness of all of the decorations couldn't detract from the amazing look of him. As he drew level, the Fat Controller smartened himself up one final time, before opening the carriage door.

"M'am." he muttered as he bowed, nose practically scraping the floor. As she stepped out, followed by her family, Toby and Percy lost control of themselves and began peeping aloud.

"SSSH!" hissed Henry and James. But neither Toby or Percy gave a hoot.

"THREE CHEERS FOR THE QUEEN!"

And because Sudrians are a patriotic lot, they let lose a chorus of whistles and cheers that echoed around the station. The Queen gave her stately wave, while the Queen Mother immediately went off in search of some rum, and found a kindred spirit in Edward in that regard.

...

"The queen's here!"

"I've noticed, thank you, Drampf."

"But, look, can't we just-"

"Kill her? Now? Here? You want the bloody island to be crawling with boys in blue, do you?!" Davidson's expression was that of someone who had long since worked out that he was the only sane man in a crowd of imbeciles. "No, I think we need to take a look at where that energy comes from?"

And so, leaving the engines to celebrate with the Royals, Marklin and Davidson slipped away down to Bluff's Cove. And there they stood, right in front of the glowing portal, speechless.

But not for long.

"What happens next?"

 **"I-"** And here Marklin hesitated, for the first time in what felt like forever. **"I am not entirely sure."**

They stared once more at the great swirling vortex.

"Do you think-" said Davidson, very carefully "-that if we were to head into this, we would return to the past, or-"

 **"I don't know. I genuinely don't know."**

Silence reigned once again.

 **"Well-"** Marklin shrugged. **"-I've been dead before."**

And he entered the vortex.

...

The Queen had talked to Past-Thomas, who had fetched her coaches and had flirted with her, which now meant that he had to duel Prince Phillip or something. Then she spoke to Edward, who remembered her from a visit when she was a young woman, and finally to Past-Gordon, who took them home. And no engine ever felt prouder than those on the Fat Controller's railway.

The train had just departed, when two very familiar whistles sounded. With a sigh of relief, the engines saw Present-Thomas and Present-Gordon puff up. Past-Thomas stared at Present-Thomas, completely baffled.

"Hang on, IS THAT WHAT I TURN OUT TO BE?!"

"Oh man, I was an ASS back then, wasn't I?"

"Was?"

Past-Gordon rolled backwards towards the others. "Well, we had to cut the visit short, because-" He paused mid-talk, and looked at his future self, absolutely gobsmacked.

"Yes. Drink it in." Present-Gordon seemed to swell. "This is your future! You only get better with age! I cannot promise I can answer any questions, but-"

"When did I get so old?"

Duck laughed, and quickly moved in front of both Gordons before they could accidentally create a paradox. "Now, listen up!" His voice snapped into a slightly more authoritative tone. "We've got to get you two home before this day gets any weirder! So here's what I suggest. Carlin?"

"Yeah?"

"Once you pull yourself out of whatever drunken stupor you're in at the moment, you should get some of the crew to remove the decorations from our visitors from the past. Then, I'll take them back along to Bluff's Cove, get them home, and...well, that'll be that."

Everyone agreed. It had been a long and weird day.

Past-Thomas looked at his future self. "One question? Just, it's not a spoiler, I'm curious."

"Shoot."

"What happens? Does it all go well?"

"Not in the slightest. But you get through it. It gets a hell of a lot better."

...

And so, minutes later, Duck lead the past engines back down through Tidmouth Hault. But just before he hurried off into Bluff's Cove, he stopped, and quickly backed down onto the turntable, swinging around to face the two engines. "Hold up, I've got to do one last thing, quickly."

"Well hurry up, Goose, or whatever your name is! I have important things to do! Oh I can't wait to talk with Henry, tell him how much of a prat he still is in the future-"

"Say CHEESE!"

There was a blinding flash, and both engines slumped, knocked out completely.

Duck sighed. It had been a rather risky maneuver, all in all. He had quickly alerted Jinty and Pug, who had put about rumors that the Little Western had some sort of problem to be taken care of to block off anyone accidentally heading back into the past. And while they had done that, they had also managed to get a hold on some low grade weapons technology from the US. Apparently someone had decided to rip off some comic book called 'Men in Black' or something similar, except to make it somewhat less fatal. There was also some movie based on it coming out, Duck didn't think it would be that big of a deal. But the point was, hidden inside his buffers was a camera that had completely wiped the memory of the last week or so from Thomas and Gordon's minds.

"Sorry mates. Can't have you breaking the space-time continuum." All those years of watching Doctor Who had paid off, and so Duck found it easy to shove both engines through the portal and back to their rightful place in history. The wipe itself would officially break as the years went on, allowing Thomas and Gordon to record the message warning of the coming of their past selves and preventing more chaos occurring.

And so ended a rather complex situation that Duck hoped never to have to repeat again. And the audience breathed a huge sigh of relief because this chapter was one of the more tortured.

...

He saw...

The smelters yard, surrounded by diesels and humans alike, all watching a massive smelting kiln. And in the middle of the kiln stood a massive diesel, a powerful claw raised in triumph, a face that seemed to be comprised entirely of huge dark eyes that glowed with a powerful black light and roaring aloud. The diesel clawed it's way out, pulling itself onto the tracks like a hideous Frankenstein's monster.

All seven of those blasted engines, the ones they called 'The Steam Team' racing down a track. Different somehow, sleeker, shinier, older. Percy was pulling a strange looking yellow crane on a flatbed, and besides them all stood an eighth engine, a female, a Stirling that he didn't remember at all. And they were thundering, thundering to a place that hadn't even been built yet.

An Island rising from the waters like some great beast, a strange Island that was shrouded in mist and shadow and darkness, both man-made and nature, in some sort of strange and freakish amalgamation. And atop it, running along rails, through a hollow tree tunnel and over poorly made and nonsensically constructed bridges and tunnels, were three...three things, that looked like engines and sounded like engines but were all WRONG.

A very quiet siding, somewhere in Ffarquhar, and with a jolt Marklin realized that this wasn't the future, no, this was the past. And there he was, in his old and weaker form, eyes set in a cold and hard stare as he rolled forwards. And in front of him too, was the old fool who had been his first kill, the original Number One of the Island, the coffee pot named Glynn. He hadn't begged. That had been disappointing. And now his past self struck Glynn apart with great ease.

A valley, or what had used to be a valley, for all of a sudden the mountains seemed to vanish and the sea seemed to roll in, as rails sprang up, more and more of them, multiplying. Diesels were roaming all over the place, and there, standing on the platform of a station by the name of Shining Time, stood P.T Boomer, Captain Zero, Alistair Gotch and...yes, himself! And there was some sort of black energy that was flowing into both he and Boomer, and they were growing stronger and stronger.

Many, many engines, with nameplates in front of them. Ivan, Gina, Rajiv, Ashima, Vinnie, Yong Bao, Hiro, Carlos, Raul, Frieda, Axel, Etienne, Shane, Stepney, all arguing with each other, until at last, with a great thud, a far older and wearier looking Edward rolled forward, and how he spoke at length, at length! Of how they needed to be on their guard while dealing with Scotsman and his ilk.

The coast, where it had all began, where the Malevolence had fallen to Earth and had taken route, where the battle was in full swing. And even as the darkness reached forward to pluck the last humans from the beach, two engines, shining brightly, one with a lantern, one with her sheer smile, rose above the rest and struck the darkness with blast after blast after blast, until at last there was nothing left of it. And then he saw one of the humans, and stared in shock, for it was CARLIN!

And then...

And then...

Marklin victorious!

Marklin eternal!

Marklin triumphant!

...

Marklin awoke to find himself lying, for lack of a better term, back at the quarry. Drampf, Davidson (who had scuttled away at the first sight of Duck) and Class 40 watched him, curiously.

"What did you see?"

Marklin grinned. **"Our victory."**


	102. Episode 24: Fish

Fingers crossed, this one will go a little smoother than the last episode.

CUE THE THEME.

...

The man sitting inside the office was what you'd tend to imagine the stereotypical jolly idiot politician to look like. Which made it all the more remarkable that the Fat Director was actually somewhat on edge when dealing with him.

He was, not to put a point on it, rather plump, and the suit he wore always seemed to be a size slightly bigger to compensate for that fact. He had a face that looked like a friendly uncle's, covered in laugh lines. His eyes twinkled with some hidden joke that no one had yet to uncover, and his fingers were twiddling, giving the appearance of nervousness. The suit itself was a grey one, which seemed at odds with the rest of him. The Director had always thought that he should have gone into the circus. But yet, this man was still his biggest obstacle.

That he knew about.

His name, at least the one that he gave, was Hargreaves. It was a fake one, like the Fat Director's own title. Both men had at least a hundred alias's each, all to hide their rather familiar names. If their famillies could see them now...

"So, old man, how's tricks?"

"Oh you know. Can't complain."

"Good." Silence, the Fat Director felt that Hargreaves was curious as to whether or not that was it, but when it was clear that it was, he continued "Good. Well, I'll come straight to the point then. My people, and you'll laugh when you hear this, they're wondering why the bloody hell you're still in business."

The Fat Director tried to smile innocently. It was something he struggled with, even now. "Don't know what you mean."

"Of course, I suggested that perhaps, you know, they might be talking out of their arses. Bloody liberals, these days, you know. But then they raised a very good point, which is that we've never been allowed into your compound, have we? I mean, we keep organizing inspections, but the best we get is perhaps the entire outer layer. All that tosh with the hard working steam engines and so forth." Hargreaves fumbled with a pipe. "Which is great for PR, you know, and it's a dandy figure for us to put down, but there's a new school of thought rising that perhaps you should let us into your little secrets."

"There's a rather old school of thought that's not stopped rising that it's none of their bloody business."

Hargreaves smiled, a somewhat wintery one. "That may be the case, old man, in the old days. But then there's a lot of things that, in the old days, that we don't do anymore. Police aren't allowed to off on their own with their truncheons and whack anyone about anymore. We don't try people for what they do in public restrooms any more, although considering the state of our food, perhaps we should. And the public no longer has faith in our institutions, not any more, not after Guildford and Maguire. The shadowy organization that operates in the darkness, trying to keep the demons at bay through any means necessary? That's becoming rather frowned upon. The Other Railway is living on borrowed time, unless it adapts a policy of transparency."

"Your people, you said? But it's not, is it? I know secrets that could bring men to their knees, and your people know that. They know it very well. So it's not your people at all. It's just you."

"One man can do anything, if pushed far enough."

"There, Hargreaves, we agree." The Fat Director stood up, placing his hat on his head and turned to go.

"Lovely to see you again, old man."

"Likewise. You'll not get anywhere near the railway, mind you. I'll tie you up in so much red tape that you'll be colorblind to anything else. Until the next time."

Hargreaves waited until he saw the Fat Director enter his car and begin the slow drive back to his compound, before sighing and picking up the phone.

He had a call to make. It was time to start moving into action.

...

"It worked?"

"Like a charm." Duck frowned. "Admittedly, the memory wiping process probably hasn't been fully perfected, so there's no reason why the memory blocks won't be removed as they get older. That way, it keeps the timeline intact."

Jinty sipped her ale. It was warm and bitter. As they rested besides the Endowed Mermaid, she looked out across the sea. It was a foggy and moonlit night. She had a nice enough view of the Lakeside area from here. Rheneas and Skarloey were making their nightly rounds as they did, and the massive paddleboat known as Lakesider III let out a blast on it's horn.

"Can't believe that that's OJ."

"It is." She coolly looked back. "Apparently falling the fall of Bigg City, he was left behind while the Star Fleet spread out a little more. Another of the Fat Director's experiments took away his face, his ability to move on his own, any signs that he was anything other than a normal steamer."

"You're a barrel of laughs, you are, Jinty." Duck shivered. "Anyway, I've got the Kipper run to do in a minute. I just wanted to drop by and see what was going on with you."

Jinty looked at him for a moment. She turned the idea of telling him what was going to happen tonight over in her head. No. No, he really was too close now. "Nothing much. Ask me tomorrow, and I might have a rather interesting answer for you."

Duck was taken aback. "Right...er, I'll...be on my way then."

As he puffed away, Jinty finished her ale, and joined Pug. The latter was growling as threateningly as his namesake. "You ready?"

"Ready. Good luck, Pug."

"Good luck, Jinty."

There was a moment's pause to take a deep breath...and then they moved off.

...

On this night in particular, you can hear the sound of far away ships and distant, maniacal laughter, which echoes over the hills and deep through the valleys, down calm canals and sleepy inlets. Every engine, and a few human, know that this is the sound of the workmen going on another bender.

But tonight, it was different. It was the sound of the busy work going on at the big station near the sea, Tidmouth Harbor. On this night, the calmest of the year according to most seamen, a special delivery of fish had been ordered. There had been more than usual, and as it was of vital importance that this fish was delivered as soon as possible (roll with me on this), the Fat Controller decided that extra vans should be added to the train the workmen call the Flying Deathtrap.

Sorry, wrong script. They call it the Flying Kipper.

And because Hatt was a cheap son of a gun sometimes, the only vans he could bother to buy were the old ones that were put out to pasture a long time ago. They had not been used since the days of the Second World War. This, in retrospect, was practically asking for trouble.

Of course, no one would learn until later that two engines matching Jinty and Pug's description had picked these vans out for Duck to shunt, which he did. They were coupled on to the end of Henry's train.

And oddly enough, no one bothered to put a brake-van on. Where's the campaign for that, eh, Thomas fans? As Duck puffed back, planning to make his way to Wellsworth to get a quick pint in before his proper job started, he saw Thomas passing by with the mail train. The blue tank engine looked weary, but cheerful. The campaign was drawing to a close, and so the infamous 'bicycle' speech would be done with soon enough.

"Hello Duck. Going fishing!?" Thomas chuckled at his rather unfunny joke. "I'd take care of you! Duck's may be fond of water, but-"

"Why?!" snapped Duck, who was in a rather tense mood considering the job ahead of him, and the little jibe at his name was, in his opinion uncalled for.

"Well, if you must know, Mr Huffy Pants-" Thomas growled right back, drawing on personal experience. "-for one thing, fish get into your boiler, you're going to feel sick as a horse for a few days. Trust me, that happened one time, and I was constantly rushing for fresh coal every hour or so to make sure that I still kept what passed for my stomach. And for another, they are awfully smelly! The other engines kept making fish and chip jokes for weeks afterwards! But, since you're in a shit mood tonight, I'll be on my way doing actual important work! Goodnight!"

And with that, Thomas steamed away. Duck felt bad, but he shrugged it off. He had work to be doing.

...

"Mr Boomer, glad to see you."

"You took your sweet ass time getting to me!" Boomer looked angry, his mouth locked in a rather nasty combination of a scowl and a sneer (A sceer, if you will) and his calloused hands clasped together anxiously.

 **"That is because I have had excellent news!"** Marklin practically beamed. **"The time anomalies have started up again!"**

"What?!" P.T sat upright. "Son of a bitch!"

 **"Indeed."** Marklin looked excited, more excited than he had in years. **"And I saw something! I saw us winning, Boomer! We win!"**

Boomer suddenly grinned. It was maniacal. "Well then, my news almost seems to pale in contrast!"

 **"What news is that?"**

"Ah, well, it has to do with Lady. I've worked out that perhaps we're not doing it correctly. We've been spending all this time and money canvassing the places where we're sure that Old Ones visited in the hope that we'll find her. What we haven't done is looked for where her driver has visited. I've just bought myself a brand new house down in this hick town, er, Shining Time Station. The people here are ungodly cheerful, but it's probably the best place to start looking."

 **"Good on you."** Marklin's smile dropped. **"How is the Fat Director?"**

"Well, so far, he has yet to feed any more of his employees to the Fakers. So that must mean he's on the up and up. He's been spending a lot of time away from the Other Railway lately, I'm beginning to think the government's putting pressure on him. So Zero's in charge for the moment. The time anomalies mean that we can begin moving things along a great deal more, doesn't it?"

 **"Oh yes."** Marklin grinned. **"Definitely. I'll be leaving here soon enough. Davidson's got all he needs to take care of things on the Island. Drampf won't be a problem anymore."**

"What a shock, you're betraying him."

 **"I know."** Marklin chuckled nastily. **"I'm terrible."**

...

Henry grunted dreadfully. Not in that kind of way, let me assure you, but in a way that indicated great strain and stress as he waited for the couplings to be checked, all boxes loaded onboard and all the little details that bugged him.

"Almost done, chum." remarked his driver. "Grin and bear it. It's a shorter run tonight. At least the extra load gives you another engine to help you up Gordon's Hill and take any of the stress that this might cause."

"Small comfort." growled Henry. He didn't want to be doing this. He still had knightmares about the last bloody Kipper run.

Eventually, the guard waved his flag, blew his whistle and panicked because he realized that there was no brake-van to climb aboard.

"At last!" growled Henry as he puffed away.

...

"So I said to the tailor, I said-"

"Duck, fascinating as this is, don't you have a job to do so I can please go back to sleep?" whined Edward, who looked as though he was about to drop dead from sheer exhaustion. The ticking noise that seemed to follow him everywhere was driving him up the wall.

"Fair enough." Duck was at Edward's station waiting for the Kipper to come around. He was the back engine for the night, since Edward had thrown a hissy fit and argued about why it was that he was always the one who had to buffer up behind and do the dirty work while the big engines sat up front grinning madly. So Duck was going to help Henry by pushing the heavy train from behind. His lamp was attached, and he was checked a final time.

The workmen, who had been hired by someone matching Pug's description for the special purpose, grabbed the tail-lamp and waited for Henry to arrive, which he did with much grumble and bustle. He had been making good progress as he rushed along Bluff's Cove, thankfully devoid of any time portal, and drew into the platform in good time.

His driver stopped the train beyond the platform, and opened up the water tower to give Henry a quick top off before he headed off. Henry gave a special signal, which was to bellow aloud his demands. It was a Gordon style warning.

"Peep peep! I need help, please! Move your arse!"

"Peep, peep! I shan't be long! Get a grip!"

Duck buffered gently up to the van, and was not yet coupled on. This way, when he was finished giving assistance, both engines could roll down their respective sides of the hill and finish the job. Henry would have a nice clear run back down to his final destination. The workman hurried forward, checked the tail-lamp and covertly swapped it, before stepping back and letting the train set off once more.

...

At the quarry, Jinty and Pug waited outside. Their black paint meant that it was almost impossible for them to be spotted by any guards that may be watching. There was a faint hum as Davidson rattled around, muttering darkly to himself. And in the siding, stood the Stunt Double. He had been mute and unmoving since droppng off the Fat Director to the meeting at the quarry. For whatever reason that was.

They had a decent enough view of the hill. All they needed to do now was wait.

...

Both of the engines had approached Gordon's Hill in good time. It was a beautiful night, and the moon shining down gave Henry a confidence that he hadn't been feeling before. "Push hard, push hard!"

"We're doing it, we're doing it!" called Duck.

From the hill, the tail lamp could be seen by those who were keen of eye. Henry was pulling the train harder than he realized, and had thus pulled a little ahead of Duck as he did so.

Duck felt the weight of his buffers slacken. Henry's either lost weight, he thought, or something's happened.

And then, with a sudden crack, the lamp vanished from Duck's line of sight. The keen of eye would (and did) notice that, and instantly, Jinty and Pug moved ahead. But Duck was instantly panicked beyond capable thought. The moon may have been shining but it wasn't on he, and it was becoming harder and harder to see. "I can't see a thing!" he shouted to his driver and Henry, but only the former heard him. He whistled, but again, there was no reply.

Henry was having problems too. "My train's getting heavier." he remarked, a side-effect from reaching the steeper part of the hill. "I'm slowing down! Duck, what are you doing back there-"

"Hang about, I think we're almost-"

There was a rather nasty crunching sound as Duck smashed through van after van. Henry braked to a sudden stop, and proceeded to shut his eyes tightly and repeat in a madness mantra "Not again, not again, not again, not again-"

No one was hurt, but a strong smell of fish hung in the air.

Duck had been in many tight spots over the years. This was probably the most unpleasant. And that was saying something. He tried not to inhale, else a kipper would go right up his nose.

...

The quarry was in chaos. If anyone had looked out that night, they would have seen fireworks going off. Literally.

Jinty had rolled straight in and smashed through a long line of trucks. Workmen scattered and ran for their lives like Linford Christie as the Flash. But they didn't get far. Pug growled at them, his crew rushing off and smacking them around like they were putting down a nasty riot.

But there was no sign of Class 40 or Marklin. They had caught a brief sign of Davidson, scuttling off down one of the tunnels, and Jinty had given chase. She had rushed through the dark and dingy place and came out on the other side to find...

Nothing.

It was a labyrinth of tunnels and various different holes in the ground. He could have gone down any one of them. He had lost them. But the important thing was that they had made a statement of sorts. We're onto you.

As the crew dragged the workmen off to be interrogated in an old coach, Pug shifted up and pulled the Stunt Double out viciously. "All right, mate, you're about to start talking!"

The stunt double gazed at him with deadened eyes. There was nothing there.

Nothing that is...except for a second later, where he suddenly let out a rattling gasp and shook from buffer to funnel in...something or other. Fear? Shock? Whatever it was, it was rather disconcerting.

And then suddenly he stared at Pug with actual emotion.

"Who...who are you? Where am I? Where am I?"

"Do you recall your name?" Jinty asked.

"Yeah, it's...it's, er...Hugh. Ivo Hugh. Why?" Ivo Hugh looked at them in genuine terror. "Where am I?! Please!"

...

The following day, the breakdown train was still clearing up the mess. At the bottom of the hill, two workmen found the remains of a broken tail-lamp lying in the ditch. They kicked it, just for good measure.

Henry had been taken away to have some intense counselling over yet another Kippastrophe, as the media was now calling it, and Duck was left to stare miserably at all the sodding fish. The Fat Controller looked at the lamp and tutted. He spoke kindly to Duck.

"The accident wasn't your fault, we should have checked that this tail-lamp was fixed on properly. We should really have gotten some vans that don't crumple at the first bash. We'll get you fixed up in no time, don't worry."

"Thanks sir." said Duck wearily. "Thomas told me to be careful about fish. They put me in a right pickle now, didn't they?"

"It's a, heh, fishy situation and no mistake."

"...Really?"

"Too soon?"

"You think?!"


	103. Episode 25: Special Attraction

CUE THE THEME.

...

"Who is Ivo Hugh?"

St Eustace puffed on a pipe, which made a difference from what engines usually puffed. He had the look of an engine who was deeply contemplating many, many things, and only when he had decided you were worthy enough would he tell you what those things are. "I have had my contacts do a little research. Interesting fellow, by all accounts. Apparently he was one of the lesser known Mid-Sodor Railway engines. Helped about a bit, you know. Anyway, once the mines started to close down, he was transferred off to a number of various other railways, like the Talyllyn, until eventually our fat friend got his hands on him. He tortured him, stripped his body down to look more like Rheneas, managed to use our method of brain washing on him and then sent him off to be his spy in the Island's camp."

Jinty stared. "And you know this...how?"

"I pulled his history. And made a few guesses, I'm not going to lie." St Eustace looked grim. "How is he?"

"Not good. Well, mentally. Physically he's fine, there's no sign of any damage, I managed to stop Pug going on a rampage and doing something that we'd regret."

"That boy is a loose cannon waiting to go off, Jinty. You pick some odd engines to give loyalty to." Eustace waited for a moment, let the silence descend like a shroud before continuing. "Now, Montague-"

"Sir, don't get me started." Jinty sighed. "He's...gotten too close."

"You sound surprised. It was in the briefing. To be expected, really, I mean we have abandoned him for so long with only minor updates on what's going on. If he hadn't, that would have been cause for concern."

"He's angry at me. At us. For the stunts we pulled the other night."

St Eustace was well aware of that stunt. It had been quite complicated really. Several of the drivers and fireman that were in their employ had been dragged off of their day off, to head to Sodor and make a few adjustments. That had been the real reason why there was no brake-van that night, and the creation and destruction of the far brighter tail-lamp to act as a signal. It hadn't given them much. A few arrests of really, really low level criminals, a steam engine who couldn't be prosecuted for anything given that his mind had been irreperably damaged and a renegade electric engine on the lose.

"He's saying that we don't have anything for show for an accident that could have killed innocent people. He's more angry that we risked the life of the Number 3 engine than his own damage. Pug said some things, there was a fight, and now we're not on speaking terms."

"He's not wrong, you know."

"But...but you were the one who-"

"Oh don't worry. I'll take the fall, little Jinty. But that was a complete cock-up, really." Eustace growled. "We're not closer to finding out what the ultimate plan of Davidson's is, we can't arrest Drampf as of yet, we're making the locals suspicious, and worse of all, the one link we do have has been severed."

"What?"

"From what I can gather, the Fat Director went overboard on the brainwashing part. He wiped everything from Ivo Hugh's mind aside from his name and his purpose as the Stunt Double, perhaps to have a convenient patsy to fall back on. And then Marklin severed his control over him, and now we have absolutely nothing to go on."

There was silence for a good long while. No one was quite sure what the next move was. Jinty watched as a large parade began to move away from the edge of Vicarstown and towards Bluff's Cove.

Perhaps things would have gone a lot smoother had she noticed that, intermingled with said parade and giving rides to children, was a very, very angry Davidson.

...

Toby the Tram Engine was in a really good mood that morning. Of course, he didn't advertise this fact, for he was aware that speaking aloud was inviting the wrath of the gods down, and more than likely would end up with him floating out to sea to be used as a place for seagulls to do their business. But he was happy. He had recieved a present for his birthday, or whatever was close enough to it, in the form of a bright new bell that shone like gold.

It was very tempting to start ringing it at every person he saw, but he had had complaints about that, and he didn't want to get arrested on such a nice looking day.

And anyway, he was off to the seaside. Not to build sandcastles or have a paddle, though there were some nights where he did entertain such thoughts. No, he had no earthly idea what this was about, and he tried to listen to his driver's explanation as they passed through Elsbridge. Tried being the word here, as this driver was sometimes very long winded early in the morning.

"There's a Seaside Village near here-"

"What's it called?"

"Er...Pentref-glan-Môr."

"...That's just Welsh for 'seaside village' isn't it?"

"They were very uncreative were the townsfolk. Every year, they hold this big and massive parade thing with a special attraction for all the visitors. I'm pretty sure that Trevor played the part last year. He, er, enjoyed it."

"You don't sound too sure of that."

"Oh he definitely enjoyed it! He said he'd never seen anything like it!" The driver didn't tell Toby that Trevor had mentioned this after ten drinks and had proceeded to rant at great length of the complete lack of gratitude from the villagers. But a bit of extra cash was a bit of extra cash no matter how you spun it, and he needed cash fast.

A few lies to the missus about how much he actually had in the bank account that they shared and she had somehow had the nerve to put down money they didn't have for a bloody pool. So, anything went.

He continued onwards as they rattled over Gordon's Hill. "And this year, Toby, because I put in a good word for you and the Fat Controller thinks it'll do you good, you get to be the special attraction!"

"Thank you sir." said Toby, warily. "But what does a, er, special attraction do? Exactly? I mean, I'm pretty sure that this is a job that suits James much better."

"Oh, he just smiles and blows whistles at everyone, as you do."

"Definitely more of a job for James then-"

"LISTEN TOBY!" said his driver, loudly. "We must be almost there! You can hear the seagulls!"

"Aye, and smell them too."

"Shut up, you're only a fireman, what do you know?"

As Toby approached the station (and stared in complete bafflement at the palm trees that seemed to grow near it) he noticed that instead of a big welcome, there was just one man.

"Ah, see, they were expecting James."

The driver hopped off, chatted to the man and snarled, while the man himself sadly turned away before he could get his throat ripped out. "Well if that doesn't take the bloody biscuit?!" snapped his driver.

"Who'd want to take a bloody biscuit? Sounds disgusting."

"That arse masquerading in human form was one of the townies in charge! They've run out of room in the parade and they don't need a special attraction after all! Some trumped up nonsense about a new fangled stream-lined engine or some stupid stuff like that! We've got to go home, Toby! Sorry old boy!"

"So am I." said Toby, sadly. Or at least, he pretended to be sad. He hadn't really gotten that invested in the idea, and he was rather of the impression that his driver was the one who was going to harp on about this for years to come.

...

As Toby arrived back at Elsbridge, he met Percy who had just finished shunting around another load of trucks. His was a charmed life full of excitement. He was greatly surprised to see Toby again. He had been prepared to not see the tram until tonight, where they were going to run through the final draft of Thomas's final big speech before voting started.

"Toby!? What are you doing back so soon?!"

"I lost a contact here."

"Hysterical."

But before Toby could tell him what was really going on, the Fat Controller waddled up, looking officious as per usual. Percy rolled his eyes, hiding it as best as he could. "Leave these trucks, Percy! There's an emergency at the harbor and we need you there ASAP!"

"My name isn't Asap, it's Percy! And if there's an emergency, wouldn't you rather have a fire engine or the police or-"

"Oh for f**ks sake, Percy, come on! It's Bulstrode, he's acting up again." snapped Carlin. He had had to come to work on a bicycle today. It had been rough and bumpy and painful, and had only solidifed the hatred that Carlin felt towards two wheels transport. Therefore, he was particularly angry today.

"Who and or what is a Bulstrode?" Percy wondered. He was still in surprise about Toby turning up, and now he had two puzzles. As much as you can call the former a 'puzzle', really.

"Bulstrode's a disagreeable old barge, and don't make any smart comments about taking one to know one, thank you very much. He never stops complaining, whining or bitching, and thus is kept at the harbor solely because no one else wants to deal with him or his crap for longer than is necessary."

...

He wasn't wrong. Bulstrode was in an especially foul mood on this particular day. The heat had begun to get to him, and the rusting old tramp steamer (A distant relation of someone called Izzy Gomez, and looked it too, minus the offensive stereotype) was beginning to smell.

"Come on! Come on!" he snapped to the trucks. "Why aren't you where you should be?! This is MUTINY! That's what it is! Disgusting!" And he continued in this vein for a further three minutes before the trucks could get a word in edge-ways, which was somewhat impressive.

"There's no engine, so we can't go! We can only go where we are put! So, if you think about it, you are in the wrong place, you great silly bastard!"

Bulstrode growled impotently. Aside from a steamroller, being a barge was probably the worst thing to be brought to life.

"Well 'e's cross." muttered Fred Pelhay, the orange truck. The other three agreed. "But Bulstrode's always been a bit of a nag, 'asn't 'e?"

"A frightful one." agreed U.L.P, the pink box van. "But what can you do about it?"

"A great deal." creaked the one who had taken up the title of the Spiteful Brake-van. "If you know how."

"How, boss?" gabbled Rickety, the blue truck who was rather quick of tongue and short of actual intelligence. The Brakevan gave an odd little noise that sounded half like laughter, and whispered their plan to the three. It was a good plan. A very good plan, as a matter of fact.

And it was lucky that at that moment, Percy rolled up. The word was passed amongst the trucks rather quickly, or rather, part of the word. It was best, thought the Big Four, that the 'front line' trucks, for lack of a better term, knew little to give away the endgame to the engines. So all they merely said to Percy was:

"Our stone is for Bulstrode..."

"Any reason for that big, confusing pause there, mate?" said Percy, as the lead truck appeared to be processing how to think.

"Please! Put us in a siding where he can get said stone and be done, we're sick and tired of having to deal with him!"

"Don't have to tell me twice, I want to get off home. There's a repeat of Colombo on tonight, looks great!" And so Percy buffered up to a rather long train of trucks. All so far was going according to plan for him.

But what Percy didn't know was that another message had been passed along, this time directing the trucks to turn onto a siding for a bit of fun. And what the trucks didn't know was that the Spiteful Brakevan had picked THIS siding in particular because it was faulty. They were being careless as well, which was what the Big Four had intended.

As Percy shunted them, they broke through the nearest set of buffers before they realized what was happening. Carlin had jumped clear the second that he had realized Percy had been unable to stop, and therefore was now watching helpless as Percy prattled on off the rails for a good thirty seconds.

"OO-ER!"

"I DON'T LIKE THIS!"

"HELP! HELP!"

"What's going on up there!? You sons of a-" Bulstrode looked up and saw the trucks moving at a speed which indicated that they weren't going to be stopping at any time soon. His face promptly drained of what little color there was and his mouth flopped open.

Percy, meanwhile, had jammed his eyes so tightly shut that they'd need a crowbar to pry them open. He knew this was the end.

One truck fell.

"OW!"

Followed by another.

"OW!"

Followed by a third.

"OW!"

And a fourth.

There was a pause...and then the last truck toppled over slowly.

"OW!"

Percy slowly, very slowly, opened his eyes up. He looked down, and then wished he hadn't. It looked a little bit dizzying from up here, and watching Bulstrode bubble repeatedly with both pain and rage was somewhat weird to behold. Not least because the trucks were all moaning in agony and were repeatedly asking "OH GOD, WHY WAS THIS A GOOD IDEA? GOD, THERE GO MY INTERNAL ORGANS."

The fireman, who was responsible for Percy coming to a rather sharp stop, let go of the brake-lever, made sure Percy was all right, and then walked back over to Carlin. The driver looked somewhat sheepish. "Now, now listen to me-"

It was an impressive right hook. If Percy was brutally honest, it was even better than the one that had occurred followed Sir Handel and George's race, which had been memorialized as a photograph replacing that of Duke's in the engine shed.

"We're done here." The fireman informed Carlin, and walked off in search of a telephone.

"OUCH!" wailed Bulstrode. "I'm sinking!"

"Shut up." muttered Percy, He had a headache.

"Serves you right!" giggled Rickety. "You were always barging in where you weren't wanted!"

"Ohhhhhh that's not funny." groaned Percy. It took a very long time for them to clear away the mess, and most of the trucks, who were now sans wheels, were not making it very much easier. Bulstrode, however, had stayed remarkably quiet throughout the entire exchange. Percy watched as he was towed away towards the beach. The little green engine sighed. It had been a long day.

On the beach, angry workmen surrounded the barge and groused at it endlessly. Bulstrode felt as though this was what it meant to get a taste of your own medicine, and it tasted foul.

At last, the head foreman remarked "There you are, then! You're going to be staying here for a while, so I hope you like the bloody view! Children can play in you at all times, and at long last, perhaps there'll be a really useful spark in your body! I doubt it, mind!"

Bulstrode sighed. "Ah well. Today can't get any worse."

Then he spotted a rather antsy bunch of seagulls, who settled on his body. He groaned, and waited for the inevitable.

...

When Percy got home, after a long and thorough interview with the dockside foreman and after several expletive filled rants at Carlin, who was rather subdued after the fireman had told him point-blank to his face that they were done, he and Toby chattered away as they rested at Elsbridge.

"Rough time of it, old chum." said Toby fondly.

"Our drivers have both been through the mill, haven't they?"

"Mine's going between elated and devestated at the moment. It's rather painful to watch. But in his happier moments, when he isn't trying to move to Luxemborg, he told me that me and you, we're both special attractions really. Every time we go on our own lines."

"How's he figure that out?"

"Well, apparently, all we do is smile and blow whistles."

Both engines considered this for a moment.

"He's talking balls."

"He is that. Still, I agreed just to get him to shut up for a bit. Fancy a quick run to Tidmouth. I want to get front row seats to Thomas's speech reading."

"Why not? Exactly half an hour, did he say?"

"Oh yeah. That should be rich."

...

Davidson was angry.

So. Bloody. Angry.

It wasn't enough that he had to endure the agony of being alone for almost forty odd years. It wasn't enough that he have a spineless wimp for a driver, who was turning out to be making a right dog's breakfast of politics. It wasn't enough that when he had finally gotten something resembling a plan underway, he had been saddled with a bunch of turncoats and traitors. It wasn't even enough that they had abandoned him, left him alone with Drampf on this god-forsaken island.

No, what really made him steaming mad was the fact that he had had to spend all bloody day hiding in a goddamn carnival just to get a fix of the electricity.

Oh well. Couldn't grumble. At the very least, he had more than enough now. It had gone on for too long. It was time to end things. Permanently.

Drampf was nervous. "So, what's the plan?"

"I have told you the bloody plan, you bloody nuisance." Davidson stopped, and took a deep breath. "Fine. Here's the plan. Everyone gathers at Callan. They start making their ridiculous speeches, right? Now, at this point, a representative has said that you are late on your way there because of a traffic accident. You'll be nice and far away from anything dangerous. Then, while I am hidden away in a safe location, I activate the bomb inside Number 2's tender. Then you get the Mayorship, we get any agents off our back, I get to be free and bob's your uncle, they'll feel sorry for messing with us. Got it?!"

"All right, no need to shout."

"Right, now get ready!"

Drampf scampered away. Davidson grinned, unhinged.

There was no possible way this could fail.

...

"There is every possible way that this can fail!"

"Thomas, breathe."

"YOU BREATHE!"

"Yes I do, thank you for mentioning it."

"See, do you like the new song, Toby?" Percy grinned at the look of happiness on Toby's face. "See, it was meant to be a surprise after the election, but considering the day you had-"

"It's perfect! Wish they'd have given it a jazzier title than just 'Toby' though."

"Will you just FOCUS!?"

And so Thomas began to speak again. Everyone listened and gave advice, and passed comment, and overall spent the night working together, which was a miracle at this point.

It was almost over, anyway.

It was time for the big day.


	104. Episode 26: Mind that Bike

Whew. It's been a slog at times, and some of the chapters are not my favorite, but we've done it! Season 4 is done with, and now I can focus upon Season 5 and Magic Railroad...and OH BOY WHAT I HAVE PLANNED FOR THOSE. Mwhahahaha.

But, might as well thank everyone again for sticking with this story and reviewing. I do see your reviews, and if I don't respond to them, I apologize, it's just been a really busy time in my life. To answer the question of Reality Rejection Service, the Magic Railroad thing will be taking place after Season 5.

Oh, and stick around until the end for a special 'trailer' for Magic Railroad! This one's a biggie, and that has everything to do with the fact that I wanted to round off this season as well as I can.

One last note. At the bottom of this chapter, I'm going to be adding a few more notes of my own, to discuss some of the choices I've made.

CUE THE THEME.

...

Opening his eyes, Thomas the Tank Engine had to admit that this was probably one of the weirdest things he had ever seen in his long life on the Island of Sodor.

He had been informed, as in someone had told him and he had completely ignored said person, that a kind fan had apparently gone the extra measure and given him something to make the day more memorable. He had smiled, and insisted that his personal secretary write a thank you letter back (A bad choice in actuality, Douglas had terrible penmanship, even worse than the other engines who only gave autographs when they found the right pen and had enough control over their mouth to make the words legible) and then moved on to more important things.

In retrospect, that was a bad choice.

"GREAT BALLS OF FIRE, WHAT IS THAT?!"

"It appears-" said Edward, somewhat more calmly than Gordon "-to be an inflatable Thomas. A giant, inflatable Thomas."

Thomas stared at the giant monster that lay in front of him. Somehow, the fan had managed to transplant his nose from the middle of his face to just where his chin would be. One eye was lower than the other, and his mouth appeared to have been placed at a vertical angle.

"We can't have that flying at Callan! It'll terrify all the children!"

"Not as much as their new Mayor will."

Thomas didn't answer. He was busy thinking. Really thinking for the first time in what felt like a proper year.

He had a rather odd feeling. He wasn't sure quite how to say it aloud.

...

"Hello there! Are you new?"

The red engine looked a little nervous. Ivo Hugh had been restored to his original shape once St Eustace had taken a closer look at him. His original hypothesis, that Ivo Hugh's change into a Rheneas stunt double was down to torture of a physical nature soon changed once he noticed some strange markings on his person. Magical runes, meant to delude the eyes, which were easily breakable by those who knew how. St Eustace knew how, and he had done so. Thus, he looked different from Rheneas. Far different. He smiled, awkwardly. "Hello, my name is Ivo Hugh. I was wondering if you had a place for me here."

"Course. This way. As long as you don't mind two engines arguing about the Communist Manifesto." Rusty grinned at the baffled look on Ivo's face. "Yeah, I know, but if you stick around, you get used to it."

...

Now, if you should ride in Bertie the Bus one morning for any old reason, you would follow a winding road that seemed to have been created by a rather over-eager jogger, cross over stone-walled bridges that passed near the railway, try not to lose your lunch as the inevitialbe suggestion of a race would be put to both Thomas and himself and then stop at the cricket pitch.

There, Bertie mocks the ever-loving hell out of Bulgy, who regularly accuses him of being a Quisling. Look it up if you don't know what it means. And then he'll often honk his horn when one of his friends passes by. His name is Tom Tipper The Postman.

No, seriously. That's his full name. His parents (Who worked in postal), his grandparents (who had worked in postal) and his great-grandparents (who were greengrocers oddly enough) had been rather...unoriginal with their names. And they had been slightly naive in thinking that naming their son 'Tom Tipper' was going to in no way effect his social life.

He drives a bright red mail van which is apparently important enough to get it's own nameboard in the opening, or whatever reason, your guess is as good as mine. Before you ask, no, he does not have a black and white cat. He's allergic.

He does, however, like Ken Barrie. And he listens to it as he trundles around the Island of Sodor doing his job. The engines all know Tom, even though he hasn't come up in conversation before, for whatever reason. He stops usually to get the mail from Thomas and Percy's mail train, and does this all the while using the slowest possible van ever created.

Bertie grinned at Thomas as Tom trundled away. "Looking forward to the big day."

Thomas began to laugh uncomfortably. Now that he was getting closer to his final debate, he wasn't going to dismiss the fact that he had doubts about it right now. Maybe it was a sign. Thomas the Tank Engine never got doubts! This must be serious.

Elsewhere, Tipper was delivering the mail to cottages far and wide. And, er, delivers a few other things to a few bored housewives, if you know what I mean. I'm not apologizing, it's a very lonely life being a postman. The engines know that anywhere their rails can't reach, Tom Tipper will collect the post and deliver it safely come rain or shine. Unless it's sleeting, in which case, you were on your own.

"Morning Old Man Henshaw!"

Old Man Henshaw, leader of the Drunken Sailor, murmured something in what seemed like stereotypical fisherman language, took his letter (which smelt of fish, which indicated that the silly old coot had mailed himself a nice haddock) and slammed the door in Tom's face.

"Well! Back to my van! You're the only one that understands me, van."

...

That night, Thomas and Percy were busy chatting away as Tom gave a hand loading on mailbags at one of the stations. Well, that was a lie, Percy was chatting away. Thomas was being remarkably quiet.

Tom finished placing the last mailbag in the back of Percy's carriage and wiped his brow. "That's it! Time to be getting off to the wife!" He looked lovingly towards his van. He had missed his van. So much.

"Thanks, Tom!" said Percy, who was of the opinion that Tom and his van had a rather...unique relationship and was best not to be commented on.

"Yes, indeed. Really useful postman." Thomas was still distracted by many thoughts, many, many thoughts that didn't involve postmen.

"Ah, but where would I be without my van?!" Tom said, getting onto his favorite subject, which everyone on the Island knew about. "We make a cracking pair, we two! Without her, my life would be empty and I'd probably shoot myself on the spot!"

There was an awkward silence.

"Well, quite." remarked Thomas at last.

...

The engines were chatting away as Thomas and Percy arrived back at the sheds. Toby was also there, resting on one of the sidings and listening to Henry and Gordon's 'I've got a bigger tender than you so there' contest.

"You know-" remarked Toby as Thomas settled back into his berth "-the important part of these things is to react to bad news with calm. Grace. Tranquility."

"So what would you engines say-" remarked Thomas, trying to sound casual "-if I was to suggest that I'm having second thoughts about showing up for the debate tomorrow?"

"ARE! YOU! SHITTING! ME!" howled Toby.

"W-what happened to calm, and grace, and tranquility?"

"SOD THAT FOR A GAME OF POLITICS! You mean to tell me that after all that stuff we went through, all the trials and tribulations and the mud-slinging-"

"Oh the mud slinging." muttered Henry, and James gave a sympathetic whistle.

"-YOU'RE BACKING OUT!"

"It was an idea, Toby, that's all! I didn't think you'd react this badly!" Thomas would have raised his hands up in a placating manner, but he didn't have hands. So he had to stick to wiggling his eyebrows.

"No wonder, considering how much he's been running about the last year or so doing stupid stuff that'll get you an edge, any edge over your opinions." Gordon grunted. "And if he wouldn't have done it, I would have. Don't bloody tell me that Thomas the Tank Engine, Mister Personality, who once insisted that he could go for ten hours on the subject of himself, and suceeded, is getting a case of STAGE FRIGHT!"

"Come on now," Edward chided. "It's a little bit of pre-speech nerves. Nothing'll go wrong. We'll get through this, and then-"

"And then what?" Thomas looked panicked. "Never mind if I lose, Edward, what happens when I win!?"

No one could give him an answer.

...

Duck was angry.

More angry than he could say.

Which was why he had ignored Donald, Douglas and Oliver's pleas to come back to bed and had instead gone for a nice long run. He fumed over and over again.

Jinty had betrayed him. She had risked his life. Worse, she had risked Henry's life, and the lives of his crew and Henry's crew. And then she and Pug had the gall to get angry at him!

He frowned. The rails felt different tonight.

This was another mystery. He growled. Terrific.

...

The next morning, Percy was surprised to see that Tom wasn't there, nor was his van. A postman they didn't know dropped the bags on the platform and walked off in search of the nearest bar.

"What happened to Tom!?" asked Percy.

"And his van?" said Carlin. He sighed. He missed his fireman, but he was still in a sulking mood after the incident with Bulstrode. And worse, the Fat Controller had finally decided that enough was enough, and issued him with an official warning. Glumly, he kicked around, flipping off the nearest bicycle. He never forgot. "No wonder that postie looks miserable. That bicycle is clearly the product of Satan! Carrying letters must be a pain in the arse."

That night, the postman passed Drampf, who was walking his way over to the nearest fueling port. There, he sat down upon a post, nearby a old rusting hulk, and waited. And waited. And waited, for a good hour or so, before at last, Davidson trundled over. "You took your time!"

"Shut up. Get in the ship I'll make sure that everything's taken care of. Your driver is under orders?"

"To keep the car moving, to take the longest route to Callan possible, and above all else, to not let the paparazzi get anywhere near the car."

"Good. Now, here's the deal. This ship may look grim and grotty...because it is. But this way, you get to watch the fireworks safely, and you get the satisfaction of getting a little show of your own. BANG! There goes Edward, Thomas, Bedella and Sir Flaming Topham Hatt!" Davidson chuckled. "Ah, it's a pity I'll be elsewhere. But after that's happened, I shall find you. It docks on the other side, around Tidmouth Harbor, and when I pick you up, you can play the grief stricken politician and ride a wave of anger that you and you alone will control!"

...

The morning came. Thomas was nervous, very nervous, so nervous that he appeared to be shedding paint. He was standing alongside the two other contenders who had bothered to show up, the erstwhile Old Man, and Bedella.

The two shook hands, or rather, a hand shook buffer. "Good luck, Mr Thomas."

"Likewise Mr Bedella. May the best man or engine win." Thomas didn't add that he hoped that in this case, it was the better man who won this election. He looked over to see Percy come up. There, on the platform, was Tom.

He looked glum, and was holding a rather rickety old bike that Carlin was shooting daggers at. "Postmaster said that my van was too expensive to keep! They wouldn't let me pay for it out of my own money! My only true love in the world and they took her away from me! It takes twice as long anyway on this bloody stupid bike! But oh no, it's Callan, they've got to have a bike! Blow actual efficiency! Sorry, I can't stop to help you. Good luck, Thomas."

"I'll bloody need it."

"I wish I could help Tom Tipper." Percy remarked.

"When I become Mayor, I shall make sure that the budget for the post offices is increased." Thomas agreed.

Their thoughts were rudely interrupted by a call "OI! TOM! Fat Controller wants to see you in his office right away! Some important papers to sign, or something like that! I don't know, I'm off to see the show!"

"Oh dear. This is going to make me even later! And do they care?! No!" He was in a hurry, and being careless, and so tossing his bike right near Percy's mail carriage seemed like a good idea.

Leaving it in the sight of Carlin seemed like an even better one.

Both would turn out to be not so good ideas.

Bedella had just finished his speech, and all the engines had gathered together in the yard to listen. Some whistled in approval, and others honked their horns. Edward and BoCo were right in the thick of the throng, next to Duck, trying to calm down the two China Clay twins. Duck was uncomfortable, and Edward noticed.

"Something wrong, Duck?"

"Ah, it's nothing."

"No, go on."

"Something about the track doesn't feel right. Does that make sense?"

"Oh yes, I quite understand. There are a few bumps that shouldn't be there, and one or two areas where it's a bit higher than usual." Duck nodded, and Edward continued. "Perhaps it is another prank."

"Another?"

"Oh yes, I didn't tell you, did I? That ticking noise? I figured it out! It's one of these two little rascals playing a trick on me! It's quite impressive really. They even went to the trouble of making this fake tender, did it up all nice and fancy, and while I was off having a funny five minutes, they swapped it! Quite ingenious, even if I do say so myself. The ticking was probably some horrible surprise or what not. Ah well, got my old one back, and I had the other tossed away."

"Ah."

Duck didn't start connecting the dots together until about halfway through Thomas's speech praising the strength and amazing technological skills of the bicycle.

"-and furthermore, let me not dismiss the fact that, er, there are some really nice bells on bicycles, and that, er, these bells make a pleasing sound to the ear, no mistake about that, and, er, well, you all know, don't you-"

...

Drampf was cold. He could see a slight bit of mist fading in around the Island. Already it was getting harder to see. He shivered, stamped his feet and walked up and down like a soldier. Soon. Soon he'd have the power. Soon it would be he who made the place run. And then-

And then...

And...then...

It occurred to Drampf suddenly that he had no idea what it was he actually was going to do with the power once he had it. That had somehow managed to completely skip his mind until this very moment.

Almost to distract himself from the distressing thoughts, he walked over to one of the items the boat was carrying, and pulled off the tarpaulin that was covering it.

 _Tick_ went the fake tender.

 _Tick._

 _Tick._

The last recorded words of John Drampf have never been written down for posterity.

 _Ti-_

But for the record, it went something like this.

"Holy shi-"

...

"EMERGENCY, EMERGENCY, CLEAR THE AREA IMMEDIATELY!" came the alert. Duck looked wildly around, as people ran as best as they could, trampling over each other in a mad scramble to get out of any potential harm. Everyone rushed for the station, crowding in even as the Fat Controller began to make sure that the anti-air guns were readied.

The engines were in a terrible state.

"DUCK! WHAT'S GOING- Duck?! DUCK!?"

But Duck was gone. Racing away from Callan, he rushed over bridge after bridge, over hills and through stations also packed to the brim with struggling people. He had finally put two and two together. The assassination, the sudden lapse in retaliation from known agents of the enemy, the complete abandonment of Davidson and Drampf-

"Montague! An update on the situation would be nice right about now!"

Duck looked around. St Eustace was leading Jinty and Pug forward, drawing level with him. Swallowing down his anger (This was no time to let his personal feelings cloud his judgement) he took a deep breath and told them what Edward had told him. "Guessing that what Drampf and Davidson intended to happen was that the bomb itself would wipe out every political opponent that Drampf had in this election, and get rid of several of the engines who have caused trouble in the past into the bargain." Duck swallowed, wetting his dry lips as they took a turn. "But the thing is, I think they've been played!"

"Who?"

"I don't know yet! But this all seems really out of sorts!"

"How? We know that Marklin and Davidson were working together under the Director's orders!"

Duck was about to answer when a sudden crack, like thunder, echoed across the Island, and a warm blast of heat tickled his face. He looked, horrified, towards Knapford Harbor. "Bloody hell! Another one!"

"But according to you, there was only one bomb in Edward's tender!"

"I know!"

...

 **"What's he doing?!"** Marklin roared, as the news crew focused their cameras to catch the devastation of the harbor. **"This wasn't the plan! We didn't agree on this!"**

"What the hell is he playing at?!" snapped Captain Zero. "He's trying to bring down the whole Island with him?!"

"We have a slightly more pressing concern, gentlemen!" shouted Gotch over the intercom. "Look outside! It's like the Fourth of July out there!" Everyone hurried to the windows, and ghost and humans alike gasped in shock.

Outside, pandemonium was reigning down upon the Other Railway. Engines were being tossed into the air and slamming back down to earth with enough force to cause several craters. Others were cooked alive by the heat of explosions and by some of the more high risk areas of the railway that were catching alight. And still there were more engines exploding into tiny pieces.

 **"What's happening?!"**

"Marklin, what did you say the little beetle did during the war?" Gotch looked horrified, though more by what he had just remembered than what was going on in front of him.

 **"He worked with the Ministry of Defense, to take of-"** Marklin froze, his lips moving for a second without making any noise. **"-taking care of munitions! Get me over there!"**

...

"How?!"

"It's clever." Duck was grim. "It's really bloody clever. You told me yourself that the Ministry of Defence sent Davidson here in the first place to make sure that munitions were stored away from anyone who might want to steal it. Where better to hide it than in ground that would soon be covered by rail?!" Duck frowned. "Actually, don't answer that, there's probably quite a few places that would be better. But Davidson must have gotten his hands on the controls for the detonation devices. The bumps are a result of the explosives priming themselves! Well, he's going to sink us one way or another."

"Which means that we need to get down there and stop him! Where do you think he-"

There was a bright flash of blue and Jinty fell to her side, volts coursing through her body. She twitched occasionally, but otherwise remained totally still. Davidson smiled, in a deranged manner, and let out a hysterical laugh as he rushed towards the flaming Knapford Harbor.

"Is she hurt!? I'LL KILL HIM!" screamed Pug.

"Calm yourself, Pug, she's a bit singed, but she'll live! I need you and your crew to get rid as much of the explosives as you can!" Eustace looked at Duck. "Montague, get after him. I want him stopped. By any means necessary."

Duck understood. "Right. Good luck."

...

Back at Callan, Carlin timidly poked his head from out of Percy's cab window. He looked left. He looked right. He looked up. He looked down. No one was looking. They were all still in the station, trying to calm down. The engines were all in a tizzy, Thomas and most of his political team trying to stay positive, and Bill and Ben arguing furiously with Edward as to why they couldn't just start burning shit if the world was about to end.

"Oh no, don't do it!" said Percy, seeing what was about to happen before it did. But Carlin didn't care. He'd later argue that he had no idea that Tom Tipper had placed his bicycle near the mail train. He was lying.

He started off.

"Oh here comes trouble." said Percy over the crunching of metal. Funnily enough, this got all the engines to focus their undivided attention as Carlin stopped the train, a wild glint in his eye. And also funnily enough, everyone rushed out and stared at the shattered remains of the bicycle.

"HA! IF I'M GOING TO DIE, I'M GOING OUT ON A ******* HIGH NOTE!" laughed Carlin maniacally.

"No, that's wrong." said the Callan stationmaster far too calmly. "You're going to go out screaming like a banshee."

It was quite impressive, reflected Percy, how fast the human being could run when under threat of death. And it was even more impressive that the Callan people had such easy access to weaponary befitting a mob storming Frankenstein's castle as they rushed after the rapidly retreating Carlin. He turned to Tom. "Sorry, Tom, I didn't mean to."

"I know. Don't worry. It's not your fault. Just have to make my rounds on foot."

But as he said this, Duck rushed in. "Lads! Lads listen to me! They're saying that there are bombs underneath the rails! One of Marklin's associates has gone mad and-"

"That's all we need to know, thank you, Duck!" snapped Thomas. Already he seemed a great deal older. "Listen to me lads! We've got to make sure that everyone gets out all right! There's no Mayor and there's no way for us to contact Hatt, which means that as the Number One engine, I am in charge, temporarily."

"Is that how it works?!" muttered Henry to James.

"Listen up! We're all going to do our bit! We need to evacuate as many people from here as possible! Duck, any idea how these bombs work!?"

"Well..." Duck considered. "My guess is that this associate is a bit of a psychopath, he enjoys taking his time. So as he's started his attack near the harbor, that means you'll have plenty of time to get everyone away from here. But it's the Great Western way to not leave anyone behind! I am heading to Knapford. Anyone who wants to come, come."

There was a split second pause, then Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, BoCo and both sets of twins sounded their whistles and horns respectively. Thomas cut in. "Okay, but all of you can't go! Gordon, I need your speed to get the people from both Knapford and Callan to somewhere safe."

"Fine!" Gordon would have snapped a salute if he could.

"James, Donald, Douglas, the trucks here need to get out of the way. They may be bastards, but they don't deserve to be blown up."

"I disagree with you on that, but sure." James scowled. Thomas whistled once, and everyone began to move into action. Trucks, coaches, even some non road vehicles were moved out of the way by the engines. People crowded into the express coaches pulled by Gordon.

"Come on lads!" Duck whistled, and together, they set off.

"You're not coming!"

"But Edward-"

"-we have to! We can be really useful, can't we Bill?"

"We can, Ben!"

"Listen, it is not safe for you!" Edward looked to Duck for back-up. "Right, Duck?!"

"Actually, they might be able to help." Duck grinned. "I have...a plan."

...

Davidson had officially crossed over the line into cloud-cuckooland. So furious was he at the sight of Drampf's ship going up in flames, and of the lack of death at Callan that he had resorted to his final plan. A plan so secret that he himself hadn't known it until a few minutes ago. And now, he was being beaten down by four trucks, viciously attacking him. He was still winning, but he couldn't land a solid blow to save his life.

The Spiteful Brakevan waited a moment, then called U.L.P, Rickety and Fred Pelhay off Davidson and made their retreat. Davidson had no idea why, and he didn't care. He may not have had a driver, but he had just enough control to gently ease one of the buttons on a control panel inside his cab.

Knapford Harbor shook, and the great crane from Bigg City, known as Big Mickey, wavered for a moment, and then, slowly...collapsed backwards. The wharf itself was shaking itself apart, pieces of concrete splashed into the water as the front began to crumble, the foundations sinking back into the water. There were shouts from workmen who hurried as best they could away from the chaos. Some weren't so lucky however.

And into this madness came, on one side of the harbor, Duck and Edward. The two recoiled at the sight of so much destruction.

"Ah!" Davidson smiled, desperately. "You have come to witness me in my hour of victory!"

"Hour of vic-Listen to yourself! This?! You are not victorious. Not in the least. You're desperate. You're losing, and you want to drag everything down with you." Duck looked around. "You can't even get that bit right, can you? Because I'm guessing that whatever doo-hickey you've got rigged up inside your cab only works when you're in range of the bombs! You're the most incompetent terrorist ever...Beetle!"

Davidson's eye twitched. "Don't call me that-"

"Beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle beetle-"

It was coming from all around him. From Edward, from the trucks that were escaping, from some of the workmen who had cottoned on to the scheme, and from Bill and Ben, who were now on the other side of Davidson. He was trapped. There was no way out of this!

Very well then.

There was a very soft clinking noise. Suddenly, like an iron skirt, sideplates clattered down to cover the wheels of the small engine. They too glowed a bright and dangerous looking blue. The twins backed up, and with a grin, Davidson advanced towards Duck. "Come on then, Great Western! Let's finish this, once and for all!"

"Duck, don't listen to-" Edward's words were in vain, for Duck had took off the second that he had seen Davidson make the decision that right here, right now, was going to be his last stand. As he raced, the ground beneath his wheels began to crumple. Both engines were effectively walking on air, with only some loose rails supported by stilts, a tightrope.

For a moment, neither did anything.

Then they were on each other!

...

"Come on, come on!" The crew were digging up the munitions as fast as they could. Henry and St Eustace watched with nervous tension as more and more of the explosives were removed and deactivated.

"So, why are you on Sodor again?"

"Needed some repayment. James's digging up of Drampf's info didn't come cheap." It was a good lie.

"What?"

"Oh, didn't you know? To get the public back on your side, James asked me to dig up some old documents. To get Drampf off your back."

"HE DID WHAT!?"

...

Sparks flew as the engines locked up. Davidson's entire body was glowing, electricity rushing down towards the buffers of Duck. But Duck was no ordinary engine, as has been previously discussed, and his buffers didn't conduct the electricity. No, it just made them very, very hot. He winced and tried to work through the heat, slamming all of his wait down upon the smaller engine. Davidson was buffered back, snarling. Bill and Ben increased the shouting of the derogatory term, and Davidson seemed to be foaming at the mouth in response to this.

"You know something, Beetle? When I heard of you, I began to think you were a challenge. But you're not. You're just a very lucky thug. You're not special, you're not powerful, you're not even that smart. You got created into a position of high-power, and that has made you think that you are unstoppable. But you are not! Not even close!" Duck grinned.

And that was when Davidson flipped.

"I'LL SHOW YOU THUG!" he screamed. And so saying, he charged at Duck once more. The Great Western Engine readied himself, but this time Davidson did something different. He turned, twisting his weight around, and at the same time, his wheels popped suddenly, changing form, from flanged to tires, and he off from the rails, dodging from side to side of the swaying bridge. And he got lucky, with a single blow from his buffers that managed to slip past Duck's own buffers and smack him right in the face.

For a moment Duck knew nothing but searing hot pain.

And then Davidson fell backwards, yelping in agony. Duck couldn't turn around, the pain was too much, but had he turned he would have seen Charlie Sand and Sidney Heaver taking control of one of the Fat Controller's anti-aircraft guns, shooting at the undercarriage of the beetle's body that had been left open to attack by his lucky shot. Screaming in pain, Davidson staggered back, then with a roar slammed Duck backwards. The thin support under him began to sway and topple.

"I heard ducks like to swim!" snarled Davidson.

 **"I hear beetles are not too fond of it, really."**

That voice...everyone froze, Davidson turned his head and-

With a great deal of force, the truck possessed by Marklin slammed into the smaller engine, sending him head over heels towards the water. With a final scream, Davidson tried to shut his eyes.

There was a massive blue flash that blinded nearly all who remained. Davidson jerked and spluttered and wiggled like a fish on a hook for a few seconds. And then, as everything shattered and smashed...the circuit was complete. Water and electricity didn't mix.

And he was gone.

Marklin grinned and looked up at Duck, who was swaying from side to side. " **I'd say that was rather shocking."** He paused. **"No? Nothing? I thought that was a good one."**

"I laughed." offered up Ben. He didn't notice Henry shoving BoCo as fast as he could through the harbor until he was right besides him.

 **"Know this. It's a temporary thing. Nothing more. Nothing less. And one day, you'll-"** Marklin was sent hurtling through the air from the momentum of both engines smashing into him at high speeds.

"Are we late?" asked BoCo, innocently.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." moaned Duck.

...

With the controls having shorted the second that they had hit the water, the munitions had ceased to be a problem. Even so, the Fat Controller had ordered that certain areas be put off limits for a time so that they could remove every last speck of explosive devices there was. They took no chances with Bill and Ben on this Island.

As the police took statements, and the new breakdown truck, name of Butch, began to clear the mess away, Henry stole away to pull up next to James. The latter looked at him with clear concern, and Henry laughed. "It's, er, minor injuries."

"Oh."

"I punched Marklin in the ass."

"Wow."

"I mean, I was pushing BoCo at the time, so he actually got to be the one to send him flying, but I was there, so that counts, right?"

"Right. You did good."

Both were silent for a moment. Then Henry spoke again. "For the record, St Eustace told me what you did."

"Son of a-"

"Thank you. You didn't have to hide it from me, you know. I am eternally grateful for you trying to help me out and make it a...non issue. It means a lot to know that you care."

"Ha, well, er, don't...don't expect this to change anything. I'm still busting your arse ever single time you screw up. I just didn't tell you because I thought that they'd give me grief. Trying to steal the spotlight again- Not that it needs stealing, it's firmly mine, by the way. Just forget about it, you don't owe me anything other than a pint. Really. I mean it."

Henry grinned. There was a few seconds of silence. "You know, no one ever says this enough to you. So I'm going to say it now. James, you're my friend. And you're a good engine."

James looked away, as if trying to make sure that Henry didn't see his eyes watering. "Yeah, well, don't go telling anyone."

"Secret's safe with me."

Not too far from that, Duck was getting checked over by the Works Diesel and the crew. Jinty, Pug and Eustace looked at him. They had given him a rough debriefing and a promise that yes, they would be in contact sooner than the last time. And then they slipped away. Duck sighed. He had wanted to talk to them, to at least try and make peace. Clearly that wasn't happening any time soon. He watched as the two new diesel shunters, Arry and Bert, took away what remained of Davidson, minus the bufferbeam and sideplates, which Toby's driver apparently wanted to hawk online for a mint.

"You know what, Edward?"

"What's that, Thomas?"

"I feel confident. Did you see me back there?! I slipped in the zone so easily, I was awesome! Was I not? I tell you, this Mayor thing'll be a cinch. And of course, I'll have my good friend helping me."

Edward grinned. Thomas was right. Everyone was cheering for him, the threat was over, and now there was no doubt in his mind that Thomas the Tank Engine was going to come-

...

"-THIRD?!"

Everyone stared at the newspaper. The headline: BEDELLA BEATS THOMAS. The man himself went on to praise Thomas extensively, admitting that it was a close run thing, and that he would be happy to continue working

"Are we sure that this isn't some Harry Truman, Thomas Dewey stuff?" asked Toby, desperately.

"No. We're pretty sure. We came third. Apparently the ones from Callan didn't appreciate Carlin trashing the bicycle, and effectively mocking their culture. So they gave all their support to Bedella. And apparently the Drunken Sailor party was quite eloquent when making their speech. Somehow." Edward's tone was calm, but judging by the fact that he appeared to be blowing smoke from his nostrils, it was only a facade.

"Well, at least we beat Drampf." said James, in a desperate attempt to give some optimism back into the conversation. Drampf's entire phony business deal had been exposed, and most of his party had quietly disassociated themselves from such a maniacal idiot. They had fished what remained of his body (which consisted of a few bits of tissue and one soggy looking rat's nest of a toupee) out of the sea. Luckily, no one else had been hurt. "And we didn't come last!"

"Well, considering that Drampf didn't actually make it. we kind of sort of did." glumly noted Duck.

"Sorry Thomas." said Percy, with great shame. "If stupid Carlin hadn't ruined that bike, you'd have won for sure."

"Oh, stuff and nonsense, Percy." Thomas looked around and sighed. "You know what, I've realized something doing this. I'm...not cut out for this. At all. And I think it reflects well on me that I realized this. Because if I actually did make the full thirty minute speech, I was thinking of just admitting that I had made a mistake. The truth is, Bedella's better in every way. He has his skeletons, probably, but his skeletons aren't engine sized and won't crush someone when they fall over. So...I think I should be the bigger man and congratulate the guy. He's in for a hell of a time of it."

"Well said, Thomas." Edward remarked.

"Plus, I get to be the one doing the criticizing instead of the receiver!"

"And there it is."

Tom Tipper rushed up to Percy. "Hey! Guess what, buddy!?"

"Peep peep! Is that a smart new van I see?"

"It's my old van repainted, made as good as new!" proudly exclaimed Tom. "She's a beaut, isn't she?! That accident gave me a good turn, Percy! Manager realized that a good old fashioned van would do the job far better than a smelly old bike."

"Don't say stuff like that here, mate." moaned Carlin, applying an ice-pack to his head.

"Now I can always be on time again! Ta guys! See you round!" And as Tom Tipper took off in his bright new van, he loving caressed the gearstick with great affection. Freud would have had a field day.

"Well, I did help! But by accident as you might say." Percy paused. "Hey, er, Carlin, where's our next job?"

"Ah. About that, Percy." Carlin scratched at his beard as he stood on the platform facing the engines, who all looked at him. "There's...er...damn it, why is it so hard to say? ...There isn't a next job. Not for me."

Gasps rang out.

"After I got back home, I got called in to see Fatty, and he, well, was very kind about it all. Said that he'd pay for any expenses and would help with my recovery and so on. And then he...well, he said that he thought we'd come to the end of the line." Carlin shrugged. "He'd been getting complaints from Callan all morning, apparently. And he was really angry at them for making him do it. I get the feeling that he didn't like what he had to do. But that act of vandalism means I wasted my last chance. I've been here for nearly ten years and I end up getting fired over a bicycle."

"But...where are you heading?"

"Well, if I stay here, I'm likely to get into trouble with Callan again at some point. Angry mobs, molotov's through my letterbox, you know, that sort of thing. So I've decided to head back to America for a bit, see the sights, think about it." Carlin smiled. "But you better ******** believe I'm coming back to see you again." He stepped down and patted Henry's boiler. "It was...interesting being your driver, Henry. Having to stay up all night, listen to you moan, nearly die in a freak accident-"

"Good times!"

Carlin smiled. "Don't take anything I wouldn't. Which in my case, isn't much." He stepped back and grinned at Percy. "And you, you little green caterpillar...we had a good run, bud. You better damn well send me a Christmas card."

"I think we're supposed to call it Winter Holiday's now."

"Screw that noise." Carlin paused, and after a brief hesitation, the fireman got out and shook hands with him. "Thanks for putting up with me. All of you. I would not have traded my time with you lot for anything."

He looked. His taxi was waiting. "Got to go. We'll chat. Good luck, lads! Living on this Island, you'll need it!" And then he darted across, paused to give a final wave, and was gone.

In the silence that followed, Thomas looked to Percy. "Are you okay?"

"Ah. I will be. Give me time." Percy smiled, and sniffed a little. "I'm going to miss him."

"You know, I think we all will." Everyone sighed. There was a long pause.

"Well." remarked Thomas. "Back to work, then."

...

Hargreaves had sent him a letter officially giving him condolences for the loss of over forty engines and god knows how many crew members. It had also officially declared that the future of the Other Railway was under review, and that his team would begin to look into it at some point.

The Fat Director washed his brow, and frowned. It was...It was a sobering experience learning that he wasn't invulnerable. It was a sobering feeling to actually know that he had lost a battle. Before there had always been something, some little victory, some little piece that he could snatch from the jaws of defeat. The first time, it had been the fact that they had gotten Marklin onto the Island. The second, that he had been able to secure Stepney.

But now?

Stepney was gone. He was officially on the watchlist of a high ranking government official. And they had lost several good workers because of a stupid decision made by Marklin and himself.

They should have swept every diesel who went there, who worked with Davidson, who set up the machinery. Because that had been when he had planted the munitions on them. That had been responsible for their destruction.

As he sat down, the Fat Director took comfort in only two things.

The Malevolence was coming. And he had two very, very good agents working for him now on the Island.

Arry and Bert had better not screw this up.

...

Carlin sighed. He looked across at the rapidly disappearing Island with some melancolia. What was he going to do now? He could always try stand up again, but apparently someone else named Carlin was doing that sort of thing at the moment. Gimmick-stealer.

He strolled to the front of the ship, where barely anyone was. They were all sea-sick. Carlin had a strong stomach, he had to, working on a railway for so long.

Perhaps Shining Time would have him back. He still had his house for rent there, even if there was a long line of relatives baying at the door to try and get their grubby little hands on it. Little being literal in this case.

He ran his hands over the whistle in his pocket. Still enough gold dust in there to last him a rather long time.

"Oh Mr Carlin?"

Carlin turned.

A shot ran out and there was a dull thud, followed by a body-sized splash.

TO BE CONTINUED IN SEASON 5.

* * *

WOW. I have written a lot of stuff, haven't I? But then again, this has been my most ambitious 'season' yet of the story, and I felt it was only fair to bring to a end a few things before we get into the more continuity heavy Season 5, which is...oh boy. It's going to be weird. Season 5 is a weird season in and of itself, so I've adapted the story to do so as well.

Carlin's departure was meant to reflect the final season of his narration in the real world, and while I don't hold a particular fondness for him, he does a good job and clearly is well loved by many. So that little bit at the end was paying tribute to him. But as to whether or not he's dead? Well...season 5'll set the record straight.

Ivo Hugh's arrival at the Skarloey railway is actually meant to cover up something that occurs in Season 5, in that I feel more emphasis is put on the Skarloey crew working up in the mountains. So he'll be working down with Sir Handel and Duke at Crovan's Gate, for a time. And it gives me an excuse to keep writing Sir Handel for another season while I decide where he goes for the next episodes.

Davidson's death was originally meant to be a much bigger affair, with Duck and he battling all over the Island, and Duck being the one to land the killing blow. But then I figured out that it felt a bit...wasteful not to have Marklin included in there. Plus, there was originally going to be a scene that i'm moving into Cranky Bugs where it's explained what the deal with Davidson's changing wheels were (Think Flynn's wheels from Season 15 onwards) and other stuff. The munitions stuff was actually a addition at the last minute, because there was no real threat otherwise, and I figured I could work with it more. Marklin is, by the way, still in the story. He just got sent sailing back to the Other Railway.

The destruction of Knapford Harbor, apart from providing a way to write what I think is a really nice way to get rid of Davidson, is also to excuse the fact that it doesn't appear after this season and gets replaced by Brendam from here on out.

All in all, thank you so much for reading, and if this chapter is too long, I apologize. I wanted to give you the best chapter I could. Oh, and I believe I owe you a little teaser of what's to come. I slammed on the music for the first trailer for the Jungle Book for this one, so that might get you in the mood. Or might not. Hope you enjoy, and see you very soon! We're almost there, folks!

* * *

 _It's a beautiful night at Knapford. As the lights go out, all goes still._

Unknown: _**He's always up to mischief.**_

 _The wind begins to blow across the Island, along Thomas's branch-line. Some trucks shiver, and a shadow passes over them._

Unknown: _**That cheeky little train.**_

 _The Vicarstown Bridge lowers down. More shadowy figures cross it, on all available lines, all heading towards the mainland._

Unknown: _**He chugga-chugga-chuff-chuffs everywhere. He's always playing games.**_

 _At Tidmouth, every engine is asleep. They don't notice as Oliver pass by with the mail train. Nor do they notice a diesel rushing after him._

Unknown: _**The Fat Controller scolds him...**_

 _The Fat Controller is still writing at his desk. As he looks up, he stares in horror, and quickly scribbles something...just before he completely vanishes from sight._

Unknown: _**But loves him just the same...**_

 _The engines all gather. Every single one of them, at Crovan's Gate, as Mr Conductors steps off and awkwardly smiles. He's met with accusatory glances from nearly all._

Unknown: _**Our favorite little engine.**_

 _A claw snaps. And we see the speaker._

Diesel 10: _**Thomas is his name.**_

 _And he begins to laugh. Cut to a screen with the following names on it:_

 **Peter Fonda**  
 **Mara Wilson**  
 **Alec Baldwin**  
 **Didi Cohn**  
 **Russel Means**  
 **Cody McMains**  
 **And Doug Lennox as P.T Boomer.**

 _Over a black screen:_

 _Duck: It's time I told you everything. You can't stop him. No one can._

 _Toby: ...Well, you clearly haven't met us, have you?_

 _And now we see more of what's going on. Edward dragged off screaming by diesels, watched over by Marklin. The Island in flames, Ten bringing down a shed upon himself and his cronies, Arry and Bert watching over a trapped Duck in the smelter's yard, truck on truck violence, while bombs explode everywhere, Splatter and Dodge watching the magical buffers and George and Butch going at it like cats and dogs. We see Gotch, Zero and the Fat Director, shrouded in black, watching as P.T Boomer and Marklin reign down hell upon Shining Time Station. But before he can do any real damage, Lady finally appears and unleashes a wave of white energy that clashes with a wave of black directed by Ten. And on that note, the title fades in._

 **THOMAS AND THE MAGIC RAILROAD.**

 _Edward pops his head up, looks from left to right, and then makes an addition to the title via writing with his mouth._

 **ABRIDGED. WITH 100% MORE EDWARD THAN ACTUAL MOVIE.**

 _Finally, we cut back to the shot of the windmill, turning as it always does, from the intro. Thomas, Annie and Clarabel pass by it. The opening notes of the theme play. The last one is distorted._

 **COMING SOON.**


	105. S5 Episode 1: Cranky Bugs

So.

This might be a bit controversial.

CUE THE THEME

...

 _It's time._

 _The pieces are almost all here. The board is nearly set. The game will be starting sooner than they realize. And it's up to me to guide them all into their correct places. Those little engines...despite what they may say and do and think...there is goodness in them._

 _Goodness that is under attack._

 _It is up to me._

 _Very well then. The battlelines have been drawn._

 _Your move, Malevolence._

...

The first thing that he remembered was that there was a tune in the background. Playing over and over again, like the record was permanently stuck on a loop. There were no lyrics, just a brief instrumental verse. It took him a while to work out what it was. The theme song to the Magic Roundabout. That somewhat innocent, yet also somehow demented song that perfectly matched the show that had accompanied it.

The second thing that he remembered was the smell. It was an odd smell, the kind of smell that suggested that the place had been cleaned a great deal. You could almost taste it as well. It had the feel of cleaning fluid and long hard nights making sure that the place was clean.

And the third thing that he remembered was opening his eyes and seeing a man pointing a gun at his head.

"Hello, Mr Carlin." said the man, reasonably. "Welcome back to the land of the living. It's only taken you three years."

The fourth thing he remembered was shouting aloud at the top of his lungs "MOTHERF*****!"

...

1997.

The engines were bored

So very, very, very bored.

Most of them had been dragged out of their sheds at the crack of dawn to trundle down to Knapford and listen to the Fat Controller give another one of his speeches. Since the events of Callan, most of the engines had shied away from any public activity outside of the Island itself. There were no music that was attempted, no attempts at chat shows and certainly not a single run for any political office was made. They were, to be bluntly honest, bushed. They stuck to doing their work, and arguing over a pint or two at The Sidings. To be bluntly honest, the fact that there had still be munitions under the rails even up to a few months ago had rather gave them a sober perspective on things.

Hatt stood there, in his proudest uniform, next to something that was covered by a tarpaulin. Just looking at it, it was a bit taller than him, though not as wide. His wife, grand-children, bodyguards, butler and most of the railway staff were scattered along the platforms. They all looked just as thrilled as the engines were, i.e. not very.

"It gives me great pleasure-"

"Well I'm glad you've got some!" hollered a voice that sounded like Oliver.

"-to announce the following exciting new developments to our railway!"

"YOU'RE RETIRING?!" shouted someone who sounded a bit like Gordon. A drunk Gordon.

Hatt paused, took pains to make sure no one noticed the slight throbbing of his temple and continued. "First off, we have another series coming up of the influential documentary series, and stop groaning, it totally is a documentary and not just footage re-narrated over by some Liverpudlian chap. Britt and David, though not as involved as they once were, are very excited to be doing this again."

Someone yawned.

"Secondly, I am also over the moon to announce that we are bringing a record number of newcomers to be helping out on our Island over the next year or so. Trust me, this is going to be very interesting, and I hope you're as excited as I am!"

Thomas snorted.

"And thirdly, if you will turn your attention to this behind me, I'd like to introduce you to the latest addition to our little railway, something that will make the hassle of having to work late nights a thing of the past for all you workers." Hatt reached out and tugged the tarpaulin away to reveal...

The engines stared in shock. No one was mocking now.

It was a very long, mechanical arm. At least, that was what it looked like. It was bolted to the floor, with thick and heavy bolts that seemed to be for the engines's sake. It was completely black, a dull black, the kind of black that indicated that it had been in use for some time. Dust seemed to streak it, and the hand...well, it was built like a human hand. Four fingers, a 'thumb' for lack of a better word and several joints that made it look like it could squeeze either softly or hard depending on the situation.

It made the engines uneasy.

"What...is it, sir?"

"That, Edward, is the future. Got these fresh from Japan. Industrial Robots. According to my, very limited, knowledge of technological terms, these are referred to typically as Factory Automation Infrastructure. They're a way of making sure that I don't have to fire anyone, but on the plus side, we actually get some work done around here."

"I don't trust them." remarked Henry, later, once all the humans had left. "They don't look right."

"They don't look that bad. I mean, it's less hassle, like he said, right?" Mavis said, cautiously.

"Ha! They'll be hassle all right." Toby said with a weary contempt. "Doesn't he know that he's asking for a lot, having things go right on this Island?"

The engines soon got used to the arms, which they called Pinchers, as time went on, but even so there was a great deal of tension going into 1998. Where one day, the new harbor was readied for work to begin in there. Brendam Docks was Knapford's superior in every way. More room, the best cranes (including the Big Mickey crane salvaged from the remains of the old place), slightly less smelly...so most of the engines, while not over the moon to work there, got on with it in comparison with Knapford, where it had just been Duck and Percy for the most part.

...

Now, Thomas and Percy enjoy working down by the docks (There's a catchy song title for you) probably the most out of all the engines. They like the sea air and the sound of the gulls. Why is beyond me. I just narrate this stuff.

But one day, the friends were feeling hot and bothered. No, they hadn't been looking at PlayEngine again, they had some standards. There was a crane that was causing trouble, and it was even harder than usual to deal with this crane because he had a face and actually talked. His name was Cranky, and, well, you can gather most of his character from his name, really. It was his first day at the docks, and he was a trial run for a new breed of crane that the Fat Controller had been considering transporting to the Island.

It was going to be a very experimental year.

"You're useless little bugs!"

"And a good morning to you, too!"

"I tell you, you little things are just idiots! It's frigging obvious that if you put the trucks on the inside line, then I wouldn't have to reach so far and then you wouldn't get your arses chewed off by an angry fat man! Do I have to think of everything for you fools!?"

"Rabbish!" said Thomas, and somewhere James screamed aloud, and had no idea why. "We've always done it this way, even back on the old harbor, and no crane has ever complained before!"

"Well, I am complaining now! SO THERE!" And Cranky banged his load down on the keyside (STOP SNIGGERING, I CAN SEE YOU BACK THERE) causing both engines to jump. Cranky got a sick amusement out of seeing them jump, so he continued on with his charming personality not changing an iota. "NOW LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO, YOU HORRIBLE LOT!"

"You ever get the sense that it's going to be one of those days?" remarked Thomas to Percy.

"Yep. All the frigging time."

"...Frigging?"

"It's what the cool kids are saying."

"Is it? Well they won't be cool for very long."

...

Later that day, Thomas and Percy met Gordon and James and began to complain about the crane. Both engines were doing their normal level of hard work at the dock, which was to say, not a lot.

"Cranes are airy-fairy things, they need a lot of attention, like me in fact." Gordon bragged. Thomas looked at Percy and mockingly gagged to show just what he thought of Gordon's stellar advice. Clearly the workmen had thought similar, as they had managed to bend his buffer somewhat during his speech.

James agreed, and added "You should see the situation from Cranky's point of view!"

"Yeah, but can anyone see a situation when you have your head stuck up your own arse, like he does?" Percy asked, innocently.

James snorted. "That's just the sort of low-brow humor I expect from you smaller engines. I think I shall like this Cranky. He's up in the air coping with wind, rain, baking sun and whatever nasty stuff the seagulls have plans, and then he has to look down and see you little engines darting around being smart arses and annoying everyone you meet. No wonder he calls you bugs! I shall meet this Cranky, and we shall compare notes!"

"Well, that achieved much." remarked Percy. "We've learnt that Gordon and James have a replacement for Henry should anything happen to him for mocking us, and that we are, in fact, stupid for thinking they'd give us any actual helpful advice."

"You're not wrong, Percy." Thomas sighed, and licked his lips. "God, what I wouldn't give for a ciggie right now."

When Cranky heard that the big engines agreed with him, his pride swelled to dangerous levels. He grew more and more bossy and demanding. "COME ON COME ON PUSH THOSE TRUCKS CLOSER YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE COCKROACH!"

Percy was more than a little put out by this. So upset was he that he ended up accidentally pushing the trucks a little too far. Now, this can be excused. What can't is Cranky slamming his hook down so fast that the box, filled with sneezing powder, smashed into Percy's face with brute force.

Poor Percy.

"YOU'LL- ATCHOO- PAY FOR- ATCHOO- THIS, YOU- ATCHOO- SODDING FOOL! ATCHOO!" He wailed as he puffed away to get his nose cleaned out. Then Thomas rolldu p to get a trick played on him.

"Move these trucks to the other line, you silly great berk! It'll be easier for me to load them up."

Thomas looked at the trucks, then at Cranky, then at the trucks again, before reluctantly heading over to the outside track. He knew he was being played, but as of yet, there was no witty comeback in his mind for what was going on.

Cranky left the loads besides the trucks. Thomas's expression, a cross one that showed just how tired he was of this, didn't change a bit.

"You must have known my arm can't reach you there!"

This mix up caused confusion and delay. As did the fact that Thomas attempted to throw Cranky back into the depths of the sea where he belonged. His words, not mine.

The Fat Controller was most upset, as Thomas and Percy headed over to see him with faces like thunder and attitudes to match.

"Thomas and Percy-"

"Those are our names."

"-this crane has an important job to do. I have heard that you, shock of all shocks, haven't been making it easier for him. You will go to your sheds and consider how you can improve your attitudes and help him out, tomorrow!"

Neither engine argued back. They just wanted to get the day over with.

...

Duck was busy shunting coaches ready for Oliver's next train down to the beach. He looked around, sighed, and had his driver pour a quick sip of something that was most certainly not water into his tank.

It had been three long years of waiting, and once again there had been little to no contact. He had briefly encountered City of Truro one evening, as he had passed by on his way to a railway enthusiasts club somewhere, but the most he had gotten out of him was a congratulations for a job well done and an assurance that there was some sort of problem with communications on their end.

The same excuse they had given him several times over whenever driver or fireman went to ask.

As the last coach slid into place, Duck glanced back and let out a cry of surprise he was unable to stifle.

"Montague."

"PUG! The bloody hell are you even-" Duck paused, took several deep breaths and led Pug down a rather secluded area of the docks. "Listen to me. I understand that the nature of our work isn't exactly the kind that you can shout out about, but at least do me the common courtesy of giving my crew a ring first! You did that last time as well."

"Montague, shut up, and listen." Pug was breathing heavily, and for the first time, Duck noticed something approaching fear in his eyes. "There's...there's been an accident. There was a convoy heading towards the Island, not to stop, you understand, but just to refuel and then head off again. And, well, there's been an attack and...it's best if I show you."

And so Pug lead Duck back towards the very edge of the Island. Through the skeletal Vicarstown Station, in construction and already looking far bigger than Knapford, and across the bridge to a rather sandy section of the track, similar to Bluff's Cove.

"God in heaven!"

The scene was one of carnage. Complete and utter chaos. There were fires, small ones, that were being put out by tense looking firefighters. The line itself was buckled, as if the heat had affected it. There were scattered bits of metal here and there, but the most disturbing thing was that, on the outside track, lay an engine. The fire had almost blackened his paint so much that it would have been impossible to see what color it had been. But there was just a hint of green that could be seen. Duck puffed further up to get a glimpse at the front.

"You recognize him?"

"Recognize him, why would I-"

And then Duck knew why he would have.

The smoke deflectors were twisted, one hung off loosely, on the verge of just falling down, while the other had shattered into smaller pieces. And the face was no better. The fire had completely stripped it of most of it's grey skin, leaving only a horrid mixture of black, scorched tissue, ash and burnt bones. But Duck recognized that face nonetheless, just in the way that it seemed to settle.

It was St Eustace.

"What happened?" he asked, trying to contain the trembling.

"We were on our way-" said Jinty, as she puffed up "-on a mission that only St Eustace knew about. I was at the back, making sure no one could take him out from there. We were diverted onto this section of track by some sort of problem on the bridge. We slowed down, and then-" She sighed. "Something happened. I don't know. I blacked out. There was an explosion, I remember that, and I think it might have been from behind. So I shielded him from the blast."

"What about the others?"

"Dead, I'm afraid."

"You all right, love?" asked Pug.

"I shall be. I get the sense that St Eustace wasn't just killed. Usually attacks like these target the boiler and the more sensitive areas. But according to what the experts tell us, they went for his wheels, cut off his means of escaping." Jinty looked around. "Judging by the fact that there are more than three other bodies here, I'd say that he fought them off as best he could. Then they tried to get at him for information."

"Think he told them anything?"

"Not a chance, Pug. Look at the way they took out his face. That's not pragmatically executing someone once you've finished with them, that's straight up fury at a lack of information given."

Duck was silent. He had never liked St Eustace, but he suddenly felt a great deal more respect for the big engine. He had given his life without telling his attacker a single word. "What about his crew?"

"Fireman was killed instantly. We're assuming that the attacker used some sort of detonation device hidden in Eustace's fire. The driver, if he's extremely lucky and that is a big if indeed, will have to have imnmuerable skin grafts, broken legs...he was thrown from the train shortly after the blast and the loss of wheels."

"Who are we talking about for the murder?"

Jinty and Pug looked at each other before the latter answered. "We don't know. We will by tonight. Will you be-"

"I'll be at the new docks, with the three tender engines, but I can get away at some point, probably. I'll see you there?"

"Same."

Duck looked at Eustace's smoldering remains. "Poor sod." he muttered, and left.

...

That night, a big storm raged across the Island of Sodor. Wind buffered everything it could find, several engines had to duck into sheds just to avoid getting swept away, rain sprayed into the faces on anyone hapless enough to stay out...it was chaos. The weather had never been so bad before, not even the storm that had wrecked Henry's Forest.

 _That's it. That's it. Let us make sure that our enemies get no chances this time._

At the docks, Duck, Gordon, Henry and James shivered greatly as they took shelter in one of the makeshift and slightly ramshackle sheds at the end of the line. James let out a rather loud shriek as one of the lamp-posts blew it's bulbs.

"Calm down!" snapped Henry, trying to make himself heard over the storm.

"Look at Cranky! Look at how calm and dignified he is!" agreed Gordon.

"OOOH ER I DON'T LIKE IT!" wailed Cranky.

"We're sure to be safe in this shed." argued Duck. He was wrong. Very wrong. They had no idea that they were about to be put in great danger by an old tramp steamer. This ship was old, and it's crew were drunk off their arses watching Eastenders. They had come from the Other Railway, supposedly, on a mission to bring supplies to the Smelters Yard.

Clearly, it was hard to get the staff nowadays. It was out of control, and as it ran aground, it smashed through one of the piers with great force, heading towards the sheds.

"OH BLOODY HELL!" Henry shouted.

"MOTHER!" Gordon screeched.

"SAVE US!" James wailed.

"Oh, well this is a right pickle." said Duck.

It slammed into the sheds with such force that the load bearing pillars swayed and lurched for a moment, rocking the roof back and forth, and even as the ship continued on it's way, it forced the shed against Cranky's leg. And as the shed crumpled in around the engines, Cranky let out a terrified "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGHHH!" and toppled to the ground with a tremendous crash.

It took the engines a few seconds to make sure that they were, in fact, still alive. "HELP!" they cried.

"I can't!" wailed Cranky, pathetically. "Ah! It hurts! Someone kiss my boo-boos!"

When the storm was over, the Fat Controller rushed to the scene of destruction alongside Butch the breakdown lorry, to examine what had happened. "Great Godfrey's Bell! Why does this stuff always happen? We'll get Thomas and Percy to help you, and then you can help the other engines!"

"Or, you know, the other way around!" asked Henry, hopefully.

"Tell them to hurry! And if it sweetens the deal, tell them I'm sorry I was a jerk to them." Cranky paused, realizing halfway through his mistake.

"SO IT WAS YOU!" bellowed the Fat Controller. He groaned. "And now I owe them an apology. That's...going to be embarrassing."

...

"So, what's six down, do you reckon? Five letters. spiritual explanation for cause and effect, comes from sanskrit?"

The shed door opened rapidly, and their crews climbed aboard. "Come on lads! Cranky's fallen over, and he needs our help!"

"Karma, Percy. That's called karma."

As they arrived, relatively quickly, neither engine could resist themselves and began to mock the ever-loving tar out of the fallen crane. The Fat Controller made a rather grovelling apology, as insisted by Thomas, and then upped their pay somewhat. It wasn't too long before Cranky was upright and clearing away the wreckage, tossing the top of the shed away so as to free the four grumpy, and by now very cold, engines.

"Thank you." said Gordon through a bleeding lip. "What would I have done without you?"

"Oh, do we not exist, Gordon!?" snarled James and Henry. Duck slipped away, hoping to meet with Jinty and Pug.

"Well, I had to be rescued before I help you, but I suppose your thanks will suffice. But I'd never thought it'd be by a couple of bu-bu-" Cranky was on the verge of putting his one massive foot in it once again and calling the small engines bugs again, but quickly recovered "-er, small engines. Ta. I'll never be rude again-" and here Cranky crossed his hook behind his back "-but you two mites are in the way, so if you could just scoot aside?"

Percy growled. "PAH! He's back to bugging us, the little son of a gun!" And he jerked back.

"DON'TMOVEYOU'RESTILLATTACHEDTOCRANKY!" said Thomas, panicked beyond words.

As per usual, it was too late.

"Ow." moaned Cranky.

"I'll...get the breakdown train." muttered Percy. Cranky still looks down on other engines, but he never calls them bugs or mites because he knows they might bite back. Also, because Thomas can be very scary when he wants to be.

...

"We've found out who it is." Jinty gave a slight inclination of his head, and the driver handed a surprisingly clear photograph. Duck blinked twice in shock. The engine was almost impossible to make out. It's entire body was armored extensively, with thick, grey metal. It was as long as Gordon, and it was clear from what little could be seen of the wheels that the armor was certainly very wide.

"It puts one in mind of the James Bond film, Goldeneye, when I look at it." remarked Pug.

"Who is he? Or she? Or they?"

"We don't know. For simplicity's sake we'll call it a him. He goes by a simple name. The Juggernaut. That armor is specially modified from an old Russian armored train, just given a far thicker feel, somehow. It's impervious to bullets from what we can tell, and there are arguments about what it is actually made from."

"But who is he?"

"As we say, all we really have is his name. There are rumors, apparently, that he was formerly a rather tough engine in his own right, but he turned on his own kind when the orders started coming through for scrapping. And so, to catch runaway engines, they vastly upgraded him, as you can see. He has guns attached to him, somewhere, like the armored trains, and we're thinking that's how he managed to cripple St Eustace."

"Bloody hell."

"Indeed."

"So, what's the plan?"

"We believe he's preparing to attack the Island. And when he does, we spring into action."

Duck groaned. "More waiting around for something to happen?!"

"Yep."

"Oh terrific."

...

"THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

Carlin stared at the man in the doorway, his mind already trying to calculate how fast he could grab the gun and threaten his way out of this place. Even if he did appear to lack any actual underwear, his dignity was slightly less important than the fact that he was about to be shot. The man stormed forward, slapped the man standing by the door, walked up to the man with the gun and slapped him too.

"OW!"

"You're damn right, ow! Is this any way to react to- Mr Carlin, allow me to apologize!" He glared at the two men, who appeared cowed despite his somewhat plump body and his affable attitude. "Are you feeling well?"

"Apart from having a gun thrust in my face, sure. How long has it been?"

"Three years."

"Oh, I se- THREE YEARS?!"

"Listen, if you feel better, head outside, there's some fresh clothes waiting, and once I've finished giving these two a shakedown, I'll come out and explain everything." He kept smiling encouragingly as Carlin walked out, somewhat nervously. As he closed the door, he could hear the man shouting furiously at the men, who responded by muttering meekly.

Carlin quickly put on a rather snazzy looking outfit, reminding him of his old Conductor uniform from a few years back, and sat down in the 'office' of sorts. He was rather impressed. It seemed to be a tribute to British animation as a whole. On the walls were signed autographs from the creators of shows like Roobarb and Custard, Huxley Pig, Postman Pat, Magic Roundabout, the Herbs, Fireman Sam...

But something else caught his attention. Something that made him get up and examine it more closely.

It was a map. But not an ordinary map. It seemed to be a map of a fictional area. For example, in the place where Carlin knew existed the Bermuda Triangle, on three points were lands labelled 'Misterland', 'Timbuktoo' and 'Merrytwit'. He knew that these were places from other British TV Shows that he had seen, but why were they on the map? He looked to the section of the map discussing the UK. There were all the familiar places, but also were more fictional areas. Trumptonshire, consisting of Trumpton, Camberwick Green and Chigley, Nutwood Forest, Silverhatch, Greendale, Pontypandy, Pogles Hill...

"Ah, you've found it then."

Carlin looked to see the man who had come to his...rescue? He wasn't sure yet. "Er, yeah. It's a bit...odd, isn't it?"

"The map? I suppose it is, in a way. But I've always had this great affinity for the old cartoons, you know. The old ways of doing things. They're dying out a lot, aren't they?"

"Aye, well, you'll not see the likes that we got when we were kids again. But...what's going on?"

The man sat at his desk. "Truthfully? I'm not entirely sure. My agency and I have been looking into it since you got shot. From what we can gather, you angered some people from a rather nasty side of the tracks. They sent an assassin to kill you. He failed. You were fished out of the water quickly, or else you'd be dead. As you lacked any actual family, and you were pretty far away from Sodor at the time, we ended up taking you in and making sure that you were looked after. Those two goons that I hesitate to call employees of mine just thought you could help us with information, and that you would be more likely to co-operate if they had a gun to your head."

"Information?"

"Mmm. The men who want you dead, see, are...well, not to put too fine a point on it, dangerous. They have information on certain high ranking members of government's across the world. No one can touch them, really. Save for us. We're so secret even the secret service barely know we exist. Oh, my name is Hargreaves, by the way, do excuse me."

Carlin looked around, baffled. "Er, fine, just...can I go?"

"Of course. But I would like to put an idea to you, if I may."

"...Okay."

Hargreaves steepled his fingers together. "What were you to say if I told you that every 'fictional' place on that map exists?"

Carlin's smile froze. He had the feeling that this was usually where most people's lives either went on as normal, or ended up finishing. He chose his next words very carefully. "I'd say you were out of your f**king mind, but I get the sense that you're about to to tell me that it does, right?"

"The Island of Sodor, Carlin, to most people, is a fictional place. That's the image presented by the TV show. The same goes for the Bigg City Port. But you know, and I know, that it's a real place. Why not the others? Postman Pat, Fireman Sam, Camberwick Green, it's all happened somewhere. And the reason I tell you this is because...well, we have a problem." Hargreaves reached into his desk and pulled out a photo. "Do you know what this is?"

Carlin peered. "It's that portal thingy that happened last...I mean, in 95, right? The one that sent Thomas and Gordon from the past into the present?"

"Wrong. It's the portal thingy in Liverpool. And this one's in Yorkshire. And this one in London. Cardiff, Edinburgh, Glasgow, Swansea, Dublin, these are popping up all over the place. Nothing has come out of them yet, but I believe that it is only a matter of...well, pardon the pun, time. There is a disturbance somewhere in history that is causing these mistakes to happen, and I need someone brave enough to venture forth, no matter how far back it takes, until he finds the fault and corrects it so time can go on as usual."

Carlin looked around, hoping to find some sort of other man who was hidden away. He didn't find one. "Me?"

"You."

"But I'm a drunk! I'm a foul mouthed idiot! I'm a yank!"

"And you're also a Conductor. I found out a couple of things, about you. You're not the real George Carlin, are you?"

"No."

"Of course not."

Carlin walked back and forth for a moment. "So, let me get this straight. You want me- ME -to go into a big swirly time portal, go back in time, go through all the history, find a problem that I have no idea how to handle, solve said problem and save the world."

"You'll also have to fight the causer of said fault, make sure you don't adversely affect the timeline in anyway possible and also make it back in time before you effectively get wiped out of history."

Carlin paused for a moment. Then he walked over, took a large bottle of scotch, and drank it all in one gulp. "All right. I'll do it. What do I do first?"

Hargreaves considered for a moment. "Have you ever heard of Mr Benn?"

* * *

So, um...yeah.

Let's start off with the obvious question. Why? Well, for the record, I've actually been seeding this revelation about this world having connections to most British cartoons for quite a while now. Postman Pat, the Trumpton Trilogy, Roary the Racing Car, Joshua Jones, Fireman Sam, Jimbo and the Jet Set...I've referenced and included most of these primarily because I've been leading up to this moment. And if you can accept the fact that Tugs and Theodore Tugboat were set in the same universe, then hopefully you can accept the fact that in this weird world I've created, some of the weirdest characters from British Children's TV inhabit it as well. Trust me, once he starts going back in time, you'll start to see why I've done this. Most of this stuff will only appear in this season. Think of it as a tribute to British Animation as a whole. Considering that this is the last season in the twentieth century, I felt it was only fair to include a little tribute to what I feel has passed on.

St Eustace's death was always planned. He was literally included so that I didn't kill off a random character and write in a connection that hadn't been hinted at. The Juggernaut is my own creation...well, sort of, it's hard to explain now, but you'll see.

Hopefully I haven't turned you off the story.


	106. Episode 2: Horrid Lorry

Okay, first off...thank you all for the kind words! Glad to see I didn't totally flush away any fans of this story I might have. Now, to respond to reviews. Thank you to Game Watch, the idea was to have this sort of a weird universe where anything could happen. Funnily enough, just like the weird world of British cartoons! To Reality Rejection Service, writing that entire 'karma' exchange was a ton of fun. And the Juggernaut is...eh, you'll see soon enough. And finally to the new reviewer MattPrice01. Thank you for reading, and I hope I can keep up the good work.

You'll be seeing a lot of references to British kids shows in the coming chapters, so at the bottom, I'll be detailing what they are and why I've used them.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

'Emily's' was a rather small shop located somewhere in Blean, Kent. As Carlin stood on the outskirts of the shop, he wondered, not for the first time, what it was he was looking for. Hargreaves had, on this point, been rather vague. "Go to Emily's" he had said "And you shall find what you are looking for. People always do."

As he entered the shop, he was suddenly taken aback by the sight in the corner. As if in a trance, he walked over and stared at the strange collection of things on the shelf. The carved wooden bookend in the shape of an old woodpecker, a female rag doll, a toad holding a banjo that looked as though it might have been a hand puppet at one point. Near it, but not too near, was a mouse organ, despite it's age, maintained perfectly. And besides that was-

"Bagpuss." Carlin mouthed. He looked around, but there was no one to be found.

And then the shop door swung open, the bell startling Carlin, and a youngish girl appeared. She didn't look surprised to see him. "Ah! Good morning, sir! Can I help you at all?"

"Er..." Carlin was transfixed by the pink and white striped cat, fast asleep, on an old rug. "Er, yeah, do you have anything for a Mr Carlin?"

"I'll just check now!" And as the woman moved to the front of the shop, Carlin returned his attention to the cat. "You can stroke him if you want!"

"Er, okay." As Carlin stroked the saggy old cloth cat, he suddenly felt very odd. This was another world he had stumbled into. It all felt odd. Like walking back into another century. And yet everything still seemed new and fresh, despite it's old appearance.

"Ah, here it is!" The woman handed him a shoebox. "Open it outside, and if there is any problem-"

"Er, thank you. How much do I-"

"Oh no, we don't expect money in return! No, the reward is returning lost things to you." The woman smiled, and walked over to Bagpuss. "It was my idea, back when I was a child. And my father, bless him, helped me make it a reality. And of course, Bagpuss here helped. He's the most important, the most beautiful, the most magical cat in the world."

Carlin looked at the cat one more time. "I can tell. He's baggy. A bit loose at the seams."

"But I love him."

Carlin nodded. The nostalgia was all running back to his head, and he feared that if he stayed in this bizarre shop any longer, he himself would not be able to leave it at all. "Well, thank you very much. And thank Bagpuss for me." And so, as he stumbled out, he could have sworn that he had heard the cat _yawn._

As he sat on the pavement opposite, Carlin went through the box. Inside was his whistle, freshly cleaned and polished, his old Conductor's hat, an old photograph with him and the other engines, a knife (Odd, he didn't think he had ever owned a knife) and finally, a single piece of rather crinkled and old paper.

He looked back up at the shop, to ask whether or not he had gotten the wrong parcel.

The shop was no longer there.

Carlin decided it was time for him to head off to his next destination before he hurt his head by thinking about this too much. He hurried away, and looked at the piece of paper in his hands.

"TRANSYLVANIA?!"

...

It was a busy time at the docks, and all the engines were working hard pulling and pushing trucks about. They weren't happy about it, obviously, but they painted on fake-ish smiles for the cameras.

Percy was having a great deal of trouble. He was late again that morning, thanks in no small part to a bunch of rather bad driving from Bertie the Bus. Cranky the crane was quick to critiszie coolly and creatively. Alliteration is fun when you don't do it all the time, take notes, future writers. "You HORRIBLE LITTLE GREEN CATERPILLAR! THESE SHIPS CANNOT BE KEPT WAITING! They have important cargo and if they miss their tides because of you, you little spotty oik person, they shall be late! And it shall be all your fault! Look up ships, for you are, after all, only a small little engine!"

"It's the bloody work! We've got too much of it. And didn't we just get through a episode where we learnt about not insulting people to their faces."

"I'm not doing it to your face! I'm doing it to your bunker, you green arse! And if the work is too much for you itty bitty weaklings, then perhaps a lorry should take over! Be more bloody useful than you!"

Percy was shocked! Lorries were usually the first sign that a railway was beginning to, pardon the pun, run out of steam, and would soon be supplanted. One did not invoke the threat of lorries on a whim! "Yeah, well...YOU SMELL!"

And on that stellar insult, Percy returned to the sheds.

...

"Hey, so, Edward."

"Hmm? Hold on a mo, BoCo, I just have to shunt these into place."

"It's kind of important." BoCo cleared his throat, and looked around, clearly uncomfortable. "Er, this is...god, this is harder than I thought-"

"Come come, BoCo, we are friends! You've helped me out of tight spots before, and you've always been there for me when I've needed a pal who doesn't mock the hell out of me and bring up my age at every possible opportunity. Least I can do is return the favor."

"YOU LOVE IT!" shouted Gordon from the sheds.

"SHUT UP GORDON!" called back both Edward and BoCo at the same time. BoCo turned back and cleared his throat. "Er, well, my driver was looking up some new ways to get some cash, and it turns out that there's a new job that's opened up that should be really good for me, career wise."

"Oh, that's great! Where is it? Kirk Ronan? Callan? Maron?"

"The Mainland."

Edward stared for a second. "Oh."

"It's, it's not like a job that I'll be in forever, it's a temporary thing, really. It's just that, well...it looks really good. Pays a lot of top dollar, as the young kids say. It's two years, and I'll get as much time as I can to come back and help around...I won't go if-"

"No. No, you should go." Edward clearly had to swallow back a bit of disappointment, but smiled anyway. "Hey, at the very least, you'll get some quiet for a bit. Wish I was coming with you."

"Trust me, it won't be long! A few years, tis all. And then I'll be back, and you'll be bloody sick of me. Don't worry, I've still got a few months before I have to head off."

Edward smiled weakly. "I'll tell Bill and Ben- WOAH, PERCY!"

And the moment was broken, as Percy rushed into the yard at a rather breakneck speed. He told the other engines who were gathered around the turntable what Cranky had said.

"Ha! As if!" sneered James. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"We engines run this Island!" snapped Henry "And if they tried to take us away, they'd have a pretty bloody hard time of it!"

"But what if lorries do arrive?"

"Then we'd best find a way of getting rid of them!" Gordon growled.

"Oh trust me, if Cranky means the types of lorries that I think he does, they'll be exiting quite fast under their own steam." Duck remarked, knowingly.

...

TRANSYLVANIA.

"Hello?"

Carlin felt exceedingly stupid. Following the instructions on the piece of paper, he had used some of his gold dust to transport him to Transylvania, and then had headed to the place that the paper indicated was where he was supposed to be. He had gotten some odd looks from the locals at first, but at last, he had found one rather old and grizzled man in a pub that had told him where to go.

No wonder they had looked at him weirdly. To them, Castle Duckula didn't exist.

But he was standing right in the hallway of it at this moment.

Silence. Complete and utter silence that was somewhat overwhelming. There was something to be said about how the creepiest thing about this castle was that it _didn't_ make odd creaking noises or make eerie whistling sounds as the wind blew through cracks in the walls. There was just nothing.

"Morning."

Carlin jumped five feet in the air, did a spin that would have made a ballerina gasp and fell flat on his bottom. He scrambled up, reaching for the knife, only for the figure in front of him to offer a hand up. This figure was dressed in a rather smart looking black jacket over a white shirt and blue tie. Lower down, he wore blue striped trousers and black, smart shoes, a black bowler hat perched atop his brown hair, and a face that looked both young and impossibly old at the same time.

"Sorry to startle you, old chap. My name is Mr Benn."

"Oh. Of course. Don't ******* do that again, mate! You scared the crap out of me!"

"Again. Sorry. You must be Carlin."

"Yeah, well, how do I know you are who you say you are?"

"You don't."

This statement could be taken as a threat or just Mr Benn being a smartass. Carlin decided to take it as the latter, and shook his hand. "Fair enough. So, why are you here?"

"Two reasons. Primarily, because that is where I was instructed to make your acquaintance, and secondarily, because I wanted to confirm a hunch of mine. You know the history of this place?"

"I've watched the TV show. Does that count? ...Heh. Pun intended."

"Humeorous. The creature that lived here, Count Duckula, eventually grew bored of living in this dark and dreary place, and so decided to head out on the road and try and find fame. He took most of the staff with him, but if you follow me down here, I've found where those who remain are."

Following Mr Benn down the stairs was an experience akin to that of a horror movie. Carlin knew he was going to be shown something bad or something nasty, he just didn't know what. At last, they reached the bottom, and Benn opened the door. Carlin flinched backwards and covered his mouth, as the smell of the corpses wafted towards his nostril. "Shit! What happened here?!"

"Zombies. Meant to staff the place until the master returned, but someone managed to get here first and remove what they were looking for, as well as stop these poor souls in their tracks."

"And what were they looking for?"

Benn pointed to a spot on the wall, which looked slightly different than the others. "There. This castle, you see, has the power to move anywhere in the world. It can go to Egypt, Scotland, Spain, the Arctic, Australia, any place which the host desires. The enemy, the Fat Director, ordered his men to attack the castle to take control over the mechanism that allows this castle to move through space to whatever location it fancies, and judging by the fact that it is no longer there on the wall, we can summise that he has gotten it."

"So, what do we do now?"

"You teleport us to our final stop before we begin our adventure through time." Benn smiled. It was a smile that wasn't emotionless, but was somewhat off a little. "To Festive Road, England."

...

I'm sorry to say (No, I'm not actually, I love a good bit of drama, me) that three lorries arrived the next day on a rather large cargo ship. It was the Other Railway's second ship, sent out with most of the cargo recovered from the wreck of the ship that had crashed into Brendam previously. And as these lorries were unloaded, they growled at anyone who came near them.

It won't surprise you to learn that the owner of these lorries was a man who went by the name of Gotch.

Cranky was delighted, and took joy in rubbing it in Percy's face as the little green engine, worse for wear after a night of drinking on the town, entered the yard. "Hey, you little shite down there! Job's done, go home, take a cold shower, these lorries are taking over now! One of them wants to talk to you before you head off!" He chortled to himself.

Lorry 2, as we shall call him, was very rude. He and his brothers spoke in thuggish voices "What's that steaming lump of scrap iron doin 'ere?! Be orf with ya, before I give you a kick up the arse!"

"SCRAP IRON!?" shrieked Percy. The hangover was making even the most minor of insults sound like Hannibal Lecter's cutting remarks. "STEAMING SCRAP IRON!? PAH!"

With this killer insult, Percy departed from the yard, passing Lorry 3, who was staring off into the distance with a dazed look on his face. The journey had clearly taken it's toll on him most of all.

A little later, the little green engine met up with Thomas and James, who were both looking as though they'd rather deal with another election attempt than have to listen to one of the other lorries talking to them. Lorry 1 then noticed Percy, and turned his virtriol on him. "Oh, look. It's a little green goblin on wheels. You'll be scrapped, just you wait and see. Right after the fire engine and copper over here." And he hurried away to do some work, leaving three engines very angry.

"Copper?" Thomas frowned. "Was that an insult? And if it was, bust my buffer. What a horrid little shit."

"DESPICABLE!" spluttered James. "I don't sound like a fire engine!"

"Oh, no, he was right on the money with you, James."

"Shut up, Thomas!"

...

Meanwhile, at the quarry, Toby and Mavis had just finished putting all the trucks in order, when above them, one of the lorries clattered along the new cliffside road.

"Odd." muttered Mavis. "No one uses that road unless they have a death wish."

"Must be newcomers." Toby suggested. "Anyway, you clocking off?"

"That's me done for the day. Think I'll hit up the Sidings with BoCo, see if they've got any of that new batch of oil coming in. Might be nice. You done?"

"I've got a couple more jobs to do, you scoot off." Toby smiled as Mavis tooted farewell. But as he waited for his driver to finish conversing with the yard manager about how divorce proceedings worked (His wife hadn't taken it well that they had little money to go on their vacation), Lorry 2 drove up, and stared at the tram in shock. Toby had been warned about these ones, and so greeted him with a cool grin.

"Well, well, well, no wonder this railway is in a mess, you belong in a museum!"

"Oh, going for the Indiana Jones reference, I see. Nice going. Mind you, at the very least, I'm not as damaging to the environment as you are. Anyway, I might look old, but I'm still as useful as ever. You look like you wouldn't know the meaning of hard work if it sat on your engine and smacked your face with it's massive...hands." Toby very quickly substituted the word he was going to use for the more PG equivalent.

Lorry 2 was shocked. "Useful!? Pah! Pah, I say! Just you toodle off!"

"TOODLE!?" snarled Toby, fuming with rage. "I'll toodle your balls in a minute if you don't-"

"Woah, easy there grandpa, you haven't even bought me dinner!"

"You'll be eating a knuckle sandwich in a minute, you slob!"

"Come along, Toby, don't bother to argue with him. We've got work to do at the Flour Mill, and I need to wash my face." The driver climbed aboard, and Toby, still glaring daggers at Lorry 2, headed off.

Karma, meanwhile, began casually notching arrows in her bow.

But the second that they reached the flour mill, Toby was floored to see yet another lorry waiting there, the load already placed in his back. "Wha-WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!?"

"We three are doin your work now, so shove off!" snapped Lorry 3, having recovered from his mild state of concussion earlier in the day. "You're too slow and too fat, so there!"

"Scathing, coming from a-"

Before Toby could let loose with a range of rather expressive insults, the miller spoke to the driver. "I'm sorry, times are a-changing, I'm afraid! Ooor ar!" He even chewed a piece of wheat just to make his point more obvious.

"Toby may be old, and occasionally slow, and a little bit rusty, and in need of a good speeding up, but he's reliable, far more than that idiot pig of a lorry you have. Come on, chum, we'll go the farms. They might be expensive sons of bitches, but they won't abandon us!"

"Thanks for somehow insulting me and praising me at the same time." Toby muttered under his breath. And so he set off, leaving Lorry 3 to sit there, very, very smug.

Karma was very carefully making sure that her arrows were sharp enough.

Now, this part of the branch-line has been given to Toby primarily as a thank you for all the hard work that he's done over the years. It runs through a narrow gorge, where vehicles have to go incredibly carefully along the cliff face for fear of dropping off and hitting themselves smack on the rocks below. Now, most vehicles, like that of Butch, are often very careful of doing this, because they actually like being alive.

Karma fired once!

When Toby arrived, he suddenly braked in shock. For there was Lorry 2, the one from the quarry, riding along the road with a swagger that would have made Duncan remark "Okay, yer're getting a wee bit cocky there". Made worse, the Lorry was loaded with rocks. Too many. He swayed and lurched and lurched and swayed back and forth the road.

"Oh, that's going to be trouble." thought Toby aloud. And it was.

No one knew quite how, but somehow, Lorry 2 managed to completely miss the road, skid forward and slide completely off the mountain. It was a rather impressive piece of stupidity.

The driver, impressively, managed to throw himself clear. Apart from a rather nasty lump on his head that rather ruined in his hat, he was miracalously unhurt. "Rotten roads!" he muttered rebelliously, as Lorry 2 spat out the rocks.

"You're going to jail, pal!" snapped Toby's driver, and practically frogmarched the hapless lorry driver into the cab.

...

The wrecked lorry was taken to the docks, where it was unceremoniously dumped on the side of the line in a heap. Percy puffed up, and began to crow very, very loudly to anyone who would hear. "What's that steaming lump of scrap iron!?"

"HOLD ME BACK! I'LL WIPE THAT SILLY LITTLE SMUG SMILE OFF YOUR FACE!" screamed the Lorry. His attempt at salvaging his pride was dashed instantly as Percy wheeshed him with great force. Then, Butch arrived, towing a second lorry, the one from the Flour Mill.

Butch also appeared to be missing something.

"HOLY CRAP, BUTCH, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!" shouted Toby in shock.

"Oh it's just a minor problem!" remarked Butch, cheerfully, even if he was having a hard time breathing at the moment.

"What happened?!" asked Toby's driver, as Butch's driver wiped his brow next to a barrel of quality diesel oil.

...

EARLIER ON.

Karma smiled, and placed her second arrow in the bow. She pulled back, and...fired.

"BLOODY NORA ON A POLE!" snarled Lorry 3, as his wheels spun helplessly. There was a loud bang as his engine promptly gave out, and a soft thump as the flour began to pour out of his broken back. Donald, or possibly Douglas, laughed hysterically at the sight.

Mostly because that wasn't actually flour.

Apparently the miller bought from the same place that the Sodor China Clay company did.

...

"So yeah. That was fun."

"Not very useful now, are you!?" mocked Toby. The lorries responded by making grr sounds at the engines, which was about as threatening as anything that doesn't have sharp claws and teeth going 'grr' at you. Then James whistled from across the harbor.

"They're only gone and brought the third lorry in on a barge!"

Lorry 1 looked wet. Very wet. Karma patted herself on the back for that shot. James grinned and asked the dock manager "What happened?! Was it painful? Please say it was painful!"

...

EARLIER ON.

Karma's third shot was a lucky one. It connected all right.

"So, you wanna talk me through what just went on right here?" asked Sir Topham Hatt, massaging his temples. "Cause, I don't think I can even begin to guess what exactly was going through your mind right here."

Lorry 1's driver grinned stupidly. "I done turned my lorry into a submarine!"

"Of course you did. Of course you did."

...

Later, Thomas arrived to put the cherry upon the cake that was filled to the brim with lemons and other sour stuff. He grinned and began laughing maniacally. "Well well! The three brothers grimm! Smashed, broken and sunk!"

"WE'LL SMASH, BREAK AND SINK YOU IN A MINUTE!" howled the lorries, as they were shipped back to the Other Railway with a demand for the railway's money back and a warning that if they didn't, then there would be a great amount of trouble. The Fat Director wasn't about to waste perfectly good troop fodder, and so put the lorries to be repaired so as they could be used again.

But once the lorries had left, the engines worked twice as hard to make sure that the lorries never did return. Of course, they did.

But that, as they say, is another story.

...

Speaking of other stories, on Festive Road, two men walked in conversation. Or rather, one American frantically began questioning the Brit about what the hell was going on and the Brit stoically answered every so often.

"So, what's the plan?"

"We don't have one.

"Can I please change my mind?"

"You've come this far."

"Is it at all possible that this is all just one big hallucination?"

"Odd way to view life."

"...Are we there yet?"

"Yes."

And they were. They stood outside a rather odd looking shop. There was one window on the shopfront, through which could be seen a long line of costumes of all sorts. Gladiators, knights, prisoners, clowns, cavemen...and all of them looked bright and sparkling new. As they entered the un-marked shop, Carlin looked round, unsure of what was to happen next.

And then, as if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared.

"SON OF A *****!" declared Carlin. The shopkeeper, a rather portly man with a fez and a neat suit, ignored him, and turned to Mr Benn.

"Hello sir. I believe you will be in need of rather a lot today."

"Indeed." Mr Benn walked around, picked out a few costumes seemingly at random, and then smiled at Carlin. "Come on then."

"You know the way." said the shopkeeper. And all three turned their attention towards the dressing room at the back of the shop. Carlin gulped, and followed after Mr Benn.

Both men changed rather quickly into the first costume, this one being something that resembled a sterotypical viking. Mr Benn laid his clothes down, neatly on the floor. Mr Carlin threw his clothes rather roughly on the chair.

"Now what?"

Mr Benn said nothing. After looking himself in the mirror a number of times, he turned towards the door. Not the door back to the shop, but to the other door, that went...well, anywhere.

Carlin hesitated for a moment...and then followed.

...

In the darkness of space, all was silent and still. Nothing happened. Nothing.

And then, suddenly, across the heavens, came an all mighty light. Then, through the blackness, a meteor cycled over and over and over and over again and again, and as it entered the atmosphere, flames began to lick at it, burning away chunks of it, changing, moving, arcing towards the large land mass beneath it.

With a collosal explosion, the land shattered, splitting apart. But one part in particular spun out of control, rolling and rocking and spinning until at last, it came to a rough stop a good ways away from where England would eventually be created.

The Island of Sodor came to a stop...and there was silence.

And on the Island, in one of the sections of the meteor that had ended up embedding itself in the new land, something crawled from behind what looked like a door. It was a man. A very small man wearing a uniform that wasn't to be created for millenia He wiped his brow, looked around at what remained of ancient roadkill and remarked "Well shit."

The first Conductor had arrived.

And then, from the meteor (Or to give it a more accurate name, the ship) came two pieces of pure, white light. The first took the form of a female, the second a male that was shorter than his companion. Together, the spiritual forms of Lady and Proteus surveyed their new lands.

Unbeknownst to the three of them, however, a very large amount of dark energy began to move away from the craft. The Malevolence was smart. It knew that attacking right now would not be a good idea.

No. Wait until humanity has come around.

And that was how it all began.

Carlin saw this and more.

...

He awoke to find Benn standing over him. "Ah, good, you're up." said he, briskly. "Get up, we need to get moving! It's time for action, and unfortunately, this next part is a rather tricky one."

"Oh please, I just saw the birth of my Island and a couple of Gods, how tricky can it get."

Benn pointed up. Carlin looked up.

There was a very large, very angry, black dragon staring down at him. He was currently chewing on viking bodies.

"Oh." squeaked Carlin. "That's how tricky."

* * *

For the record, if you don't know where they are exactly, this is the battle between Lady and the Mightiness that Stepney told the engines about back in Train Stops Play. I figured that it would be a good first stop on this magical mystery tour of sorts. Fingers crossed, it's not too bad.

Writing for Mr Benn was fun, not least because I actually enjoyed his show as a kid, and getting to write some of the beats from said show was great. Also included in here are references to (In case you can't tell) Duckula and Bagpuss. The reason I chose that place in Kent for Emily's shop is because that is where the creator of Bagpuss, Peter Firmin, lived.

Hope this was okay!


	107. Episode 3: A Better View for Gordon

Oh you guys are awesome! Thank you for the kind words, I will respond as best I can in a moment, but first, a quick few notes. Firstly, this chapter was a blast to write. This has always been one of my favorite episodes from Season 5, and this might actually be one of my favorites so far. Second of all, usually, I would write what shows I've used at the bottom, but because the actual story section of this takes up very little of the content of the chapter, I'll just list it here. And for the record, I've actually had these characters in mind for the specific roles here planned bac since Edward, Trevor and the Really Useful Party. You can go back and check, I actually included these characters there. Fact, it was the fact that there was little to no fuss about my referencing them that lead me to embark on this crazy journey. Anyway, here we go.

Alias the Jester from the show of the same name. Basically, his deal is that he's from the far off future and gets trapped in the Middle Ages, along with the wizard Meredith who is also included here for fun.

Catweazle from the show of the same name, who is not a cartoon character, but was included solely because I needed a reason for why it is they create a steam train of all things. He's a reverse Alias, he's from Middle Ages, and gets shot forth into the future and back again twice. That and because it's a good show.

Willo the Wisp, again, the show name, who is basically...well, clue's in the name. He was actually played by Kenneth Williams in the original version, and it's really offbeat humor is actually one of the inspirations for this series. Go watch it some time, it's short, but fun.

Noggin the Nog from the show of the same name. He's a viking king leading his tribe of Nogs around and doing good stuff. I included him because I frigging love Smallfilms and all the wonderful work they do, plus it gives me a nice army of cannon fodder for the Malevolence. Next time we'll see more of the actual battle.

Also, yes, as if it isn't already clear by now, I am a huge nerd for old British shows. Wait til you see what I've got planned for the Clangers and Button Moon! (I'm joking. Or am I? Have to wait and see!)

And now, onto reviews. My thanks to the very kind words of MK Inst, who makes a fair point about changing the name of this fanfic. XD. To TrainManiac and Aaroncottrell97, I'm glad you liked the references, and the intention was to make you feel nostalgic for all these great shows we used to have. And to Game Watch and Reality Rejection Service, I am very glad I entertained you with the whole karma deal. Writing the lorries was great fun, despite their somewhat limited characters, and I hope I continue to write as well as I have thus far!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

 _The dragon was the size of the Empire State Building, and was about as wide as a bendy bus. Possibly wider and taller, Carlin didn't really stop to measure him. The scales were black as the blackest night you can ever think of, his underbelly was the color of the deepest purple. It had the biggest eyes you'd ever seen, like headlamps that had been enlarged by some machine, with a snout that curled in a horrific grin, like that of a skull. It's teeth were about the size of rather large haystacks, and were as sharp as a Welsh mother's tongue (which was very sharp indeed). The claws were like very wide rapiers, that swished and slashed with such speed and force one would think they were no more than cocktail sticks. And the wings were massive, leathery, bat-like things that, when sufficiently beat hard enough, could create a hurricane the likes of which the world had never seen._

 _Needless to say, Carlin's mind immediately shut down as he tried to process all of this. Perhaps this was not helped by the company in which he kept._

 _To his left, Mr Benn. And also, a rather ramshackle looking wizard whom Carlin immediately identified as Catweazle, from the old show of the same name back in the Sixties. Besides him was a rather ordinary looking reverend, for the time being, who looked just as nervous as Carlin felt and also just as baffled, so baffled that his hair appeared to have molted off and revolted in protest of being here._

 _Behind him, stood an army of Vikings, all dressed in similar garb, whom Carlin could tell even while his eyes were fixated directly upon the dragon were the Nogs, lead by their leader, a man dressed in a red sort of sack, with green stockings, brown ramshackle shoes and a golden helmet rammed upon his head, who could only be Noggin the bloody Nog._

 _And to his right, stood three other figures. One was an old man, who appeared to be the arch-typical version of Merlin, save for the fact that he clearly had no idea what he was doing. Guiding him was a smaller man who resembled a rather stereotypical jester, well, until the moment where he changed halfway through into a futuristic space man outfit with a ray gun. Alias the Jester was very recognizable. And the third fellow was a ghost who looked like Kenneth Williams. Willo the Wisp._

 _And at this point, it all became too much for Carlin, who fainted._

...

One day-

Okay, I'm actually going to stop right here and admit something. The following statement may shock you. It may stun you. It may shake the very foundations of what you know and love. But it must be said.

One day, Gordon was grumpy.

I shall give you all a moment to catch your breath, make sure that everyone around you is still alive, and then continue despite this shocking revelation.

You good? Okay then!

This was making James cross. "James? Cross?" I hear you ask. "Surely you are not referring to that lovable rapscallion whom always has a smile on his face!?"

"OH SHUT UP!" shouted James to the omnipotent narrator, who flipped the red engine off and went about doing his usual work. James glared at Gordon, who had not stopped muttering and growling under his breath. Everyone has a threshold that they will eventually cross when it comes to certain things, and the large amount of complaining that Gordon had done over the fourteen years James had been living with the big engine had finally just broken through James's threshold for putting up with it. "Why are you complaining all the time?!"

"Why Mr Pot, what did you call Mr Kettle!?" gasped Henry in mock astonishment.

"Shut up, Henry, or I'll lock you in the tunnel again!"

"Because I'm a big blue engine, and I know everything!" Now, none of the other engines was entirely sure what being big and blue had to do with knowing everything that had ever happened ever, but Gordon didn't let their ire stop him. "I should be allowed to complain whenever I want! You're just a silly little red engine with ideas above his station!"

"Gordon, you frequently complain whenever you want. Whether we like it or not." muttered Toby, who was a bit sleepy.

"I can't see any! Any what?!"

"Oh, dear, are we going to get another Percy zinger?" muttered Thomas to Toby. The two sniggered, for Percy had begun to feel the affect of many of the crashes he was involved with. This meant that he often became a little too literal at times.

"Any what?!"

"Ideas above the station! We're not even at a station, and even if we were, the sky is empty!"

"Like your head!" crowed James, pleased that for once he had found a comeback line that was actually somewhat decent. It got a few chuckles, mostly out of the engines who were pitying him. Gordon was still his usual cheerful self, however.

"ONE DAY! One day I shall show you what a big engine can really do!"

"So what can a big engine really do?" asked Percy, the very picture of innocence.

"Not speak to silly little green bugging tank engines like you, for a start!"

"Bit strong, isn't it, Gordon?"

"And at least, I have a personality, Toby!" And with that rather stinging little remark, Gordon puffed away, leaving the sheds to return to relative peace and quiet once again.

...

"I have a personality, right, Edward?"

"Of course you do, Toby." Edward finished ordering the next lot of trucks for Henry's slow goods. "You're brimming with personality!"

"Am I, though? I mean, I know Gordon usually talks a lot of balls, but even so...even a broken clock with no understanding of the word 'time' is right every so often." Toby moodily made sure that Henrietta was ready to go. "I mean, when they write songs about the central group who gets to do all the fun stuff, what are they going to write about me? That I'm square?"

"Oh come on, you have way more to you than that."

"Oh really? Yeah, you're right, I'm the straight man, aren't I? And the nice one."

"See!"

"Yeah, but you've already covered those bases, haven't you? I'm not exactly covering new ground, am I?"

"How long has he been like this, Henrietta?"

"Hard to tell, pet." Henrietta would have shrugged, would she have a face. "I mean, he gets maudlin like this every so often. Next thing you know he'll be writing poetry, painting himself black and calling himself Doomzdaye or some other fancy stuff like that."

"I just...I don't know, does it ever get to you? When you think about what your role is in the narrative of life?" Toby paused, and shook himself. "Dear god, I sound like a right loonie, don't I?"

"You spend time in the quarry, and considering that both me and BoCo have been busy setting up things for him leaving, you've spent more time with Bill and Ben than we have. Trust me, you're entitled to the occasional nervous breakdown. And hey, think yourself lucky, you're not on a political campaign from hell this time."

"God, do you remember when Thomas becoming a mayor was actually a thing we actually considered letting happen?!" Toby laughed. "By god, I'm all right with being the straight man all things considered."

"That's the spirit."

While the two engines bickered back and forth in a friendly way., Gordon was sulking on the siding, preparing his next rant about whatever it was he had planned. The Fat Controller came to see him, and stood upon yet another barrel of Best Quality Diesel Oil. Which seemed to be invading the entire Island considering how it kept seeming to teleport all around said Island.

"Gordon, you'll be making a single stop today, so hopefully even you won't have anything to whinge about! It's with an empty express to test out our newest station at Kirk Ronan. And afterwards, you can make up time however you want." Hatt yawned. He had had little sleep that day. Gordon's complaining carried across the Tidmouth area and into his own house. Alice had been very annoyed at this, and for good reason.

"Why can't Henry do it?!" moaned Gordon the Ungrateful Engine "He loves idling in stations, especially ones that were made on the sly so that you could squeeze money from the pockets of the public!"

Hatt rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to sock Gordon in the face. "You will do as you are told! For once, without anything going wrong, I hope!"

Gordon snarled, and started off with a very aggressive jerk forward.

"There'll be trouble." remarked Edward to Toby.

"There always is."

...

Gordon, shock of all shocks, was still unhappy. He made it known. Vocally. As he rushed through Wellsworth, he shuddered at the feeling in his boiler. "Ah! Sickness! I don't feel well, and I can't get up to speed! Death has finally claimed me!"

"It's time for a visit to the works! Looks like your pipes are clogged. Pity it's not your mouth!" smirked his fireman, immensely proud of his own joke. The driver, not for the first time, considered throwing himself out of the cab.

At last, they approached the new station, and Gordon was actually temporarily impressed. Kirk Ronan wasn't the size of Knapford, but it was bigger than Tidmouth, and while not totally complete at the time, did have railings put into place to stop unfortunate accidents from happening. Admittedly, these railings were up front, where the accidents were less likely to happen, but it's the thought that counts.

Gordon's mood, however, didn't last. In front of him was a blank wall and huge buffers.

"DISGRACEFUL!" declared Gordon, frightening several small children. "Look at this blankness! No style! No class! No bloody panoramic view! It's so boring, and important engines like myself and...like myself should have the best bloody panoramic view there is! I want to see people and people shall want to see me!"

"I'm not sure about that." muttered the driver, who was gazing at some of the passengers, who looked a little peeved off at having this great blue berk come in and insult their lovely station. Not helping a minute later was Gordon's aggressive wheeshing aloud. The fireman prepared the newly put in place riot shields just in case.

Eventually, it was time to leave, and when the guard blew his whistle, Gordon could barely hold back a gleeful cheer.

"Right then, old boy, that's us out of here! You've got a nice long run for you to cut loose, so enjoy yourself! If you still can that is. As long as your pipes will let you!" said the driver, who not for the first time, admired his nice new mustache in the mirror that he kept in the cab just for such an occasion.

"Ha! My pipes know better than to fail me!" declared Gordon, giving karma a nice big blue target to aim her next arrow at.

And off he went, through the countryside at tremendous speed. But still the big blue fool wasn't satisfied. "COME ON! COME ON! I CAN GO FASTER THAN THIS IN MY SLEEP!"

"Oh shut up, oh shut up." grumbled the coaches.

"SICK!? ME!? NEVER?!"

And right on cue, there was a loud hiss and steam promptly escaped through one of the valve's, straight into the eyes of the fireman. The driver slammed on the brake, and made a rough sort of gesture to the signalman, who diverted them onto a set of points. Gordon felt feeble, and soon, he came to a complete stop, his wheels having made a horrible squealing sound as he knocked against the buffers. "What happened?!" he wailed. His driver and his very shaken up fireman examined the damage.

"Something's broken inside you, Gordon-"

"Ain't that the bloody truth!"

"-I mean, now you'll really have to go to the works whether you want to or not!" The fireman wiped his brow. "And my nice, crease-free uniform as well! Ruined!" He wept for the loss of his wife's hard work, while the driver headed off in search of a phone.

"We'll need to get someone to collect the coaches." the driver muttered.

"Well, just so long as it isn't-"

...

It was.

"Take a look who's coming, down the track, make way for James, hooray for James!" sang the lesser spotted red arse as he drew level with Gordon, who was trying to be invisible and failing quite impressively. James's smirk was filled with such smugness that if converted to electricity, it would power the National Grid for twenty years. "Well well well well well well well well well well well well-"

James would have quite gladly gone on saying 'well' for the next three years had not his driver the sense to smack him on the boiler and finally get the broken record to start playing again "-well! So, you know everything, do you? You tosser, you're so puffed up in the boiler! Serves you right!"

Gordon communicated his distaste for James in a rather verbose manner.

He did, however, get a rather nice letter from one of his cousin's, a Miss Dominion of Canada, in which she begged that on no account was he to do anything stupid, silly, moronic or crap.

In retrospect, that was like waving a red flag to a bull.

...

Now, most engines after such an event would maybe slide back into things with perhaps a bit of calm and decorum, feeling their way back into the swing of things before returning to their normal routine.

Gordon did no such thing. The second he returned, he trapped Thomas, Percy, Henry, James and Duck in their sheds, stole the turntable and got onto his favorite subject, as he was feeling much better. His favorite subject was, of course, himself.

"LET US OUT!" wailed Percy.

"YOU CAN'T KEEP US HERE FOREVER!" snarled Henry.

"I am the finest engine on the Island of Sodor, as has been proven as a scientific fact by several universities! And I am probably the finest engine in the entire world as well! The only reason I have not been given such a honor and knighted by her Majesty the Queen herself is because Flying Scotsman won't shut up! I do hate those kinds of people, the ones who can't shut up going on about how great they are!"

"Must be nice and warm in that glass house of yours."

"WHAT WAS THAT, THOMAS?!"

"I said nothing."

"That's what I thought. Now, I'm off to open a station! Ta-ta!" And Gordon raced away.

The turntable swung around until both ends of the track on it rested in a horizontal direction, away from the engines. They were, in effect, trapped.

James took a deep breath, and shouted. "FU-"

...

"Come on Gordon, you're giving me a ride to Kirk Ronan! Let's open us a station!" Hatt clutched three bottles of champers in his hand as he wobbled like a jelly upon Gordon. As the big engine pulled away, he felt as though happy days were ahead.

Oh, how wrong he was.

For then, as always it is, there was trouble.

As Gordon sped through the towns and countryside on his way to Kirk Ronan with dangerously happy bravado, the driver decided, for the hell of it, to try the brakes, just to make sure they could check their speed as they entered the busy station.

He found that he could not. "Er..."

"Problem, lad?" asked Hatt, who had started to make short work of the first bottle of champagne. The driver grinned maniacally and waved off the concerns discreetly, at which point the fireman tried in vain to also apply the brakes. Something had jammed, and even the driver's attempts to reduce steam failed to stop Gordon, who was going far too fast.

"Er...problem. We may or may not have no way of stopping Gordon." The driver looked around. "Er, is there a way to-"

"Oh you're just not tugging hard enough!" Hatt walked over, grabbed the brake lever and yanked it hard. He stared in dull surprise as it came off in his hands, dull surprise which turned to panic as they entered Kirk Ronan at a great speed. "OHGODWHATAREWEGOINGDOTO?!"

Gordon, who by this point had worked out that there was a minor flaw in this plan, was racing towards the wall at record speed. Luckily, most of the passengers gathered had worked out that a speeding train rushing towards you is something to be avoided, so they jumped clear.

"How about we pray?" said the driver, completely deadpan in the face of death. Gordon let out a bellow and shut his eyes in terror.

...

This narrator wonders how many people remember the film Free Willy.

Aside from having a rather funny name which endless amounts of people have mocked since it came out, there is a scene where Willy, the titular whale, leaps over the young boy who has befriended said whale to freedom. It's a rather iconic moment, you can probably find a photo somewhere if you look hard enough.

So imagine that scenario, but replace a few key details. Firstly, the boy on the rocks are the people in the town of Kirk Ronan down below, who are in fact just going about their ordinary business and not really sure what to expect when the following happens. Secondly, replace the whale with the Fat Controller, a driver and a fireman clinging for dear life atop a riot shield.

And thirdly, and keyly, replace the idea that this is in anyway a triumphant scene with the image of these three men shooting through the cab of Gordon, across his boiler, out of the air (still clinging to the riot shield, by the way) and across several rooftops with such force that the amount of tiles dislodged goes into the hundreds, all the while trying to recite the Lord's Prayer as fast as can humanly be done.

It was quite a sight. Which is impressive given that they left a completely stunned blue engine behind, having somehow managed to get a banner wrapped around his front with great skill, and his front wheels hanging from his chassis like a condemned man from a noose bleating "HELP ME! PLEASE!"

Eventually, workmen arrived to try and fix the mess, and they even provided a handy scissor lift for the three men to visit Gordon. For the record, they had managed to reach the part about forgiving those who trespassed against them, which was handy because they had stopped their flying lesson by slamming into an unfortunate woman's bedroom mid coitus.

The Fat Controller had miraculously managed to escape with a black eye and several large bruises on his person which had come about mostly because his slightly larger physique had absorbed most of the blows. The fireman had his arm in a cast. He had broken it, not during the fall, but when the angry woman's husband/boyfriend/fling/boytoy had stamped down hard on it. The driver had escaped with little to no external injuries, and the only real problem was that he apparently seemed to have lost an appendix, or else it and one of his kidneys had swapped places.

"So, Gordon, I appreciate that you wanted a panoramic view, but this is the strangest way to go about this."

Gordon responded meekly with a "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." but was gratified immensely by the sight of the scissor lift breaking down, leaving the three humans stuck there for another hour until the firemen had finally managed to get them down, having sustained several injuries in their attempts to get off.

Funnily enough, getting off was the last thing on the poor woman's mind when she saw the hole in the roof.

Sometimes I am wasted here.

...

When Gordon was repaired and given a large bill for therapy, he took the Fat Controller to the second official opening for Kirk Ronan. Hatt even insisted that they give him his own coach so that if something did go wrong, he'd not be shot out of the cab like a cork out of a bottle.

This time, he arrived on schedule and with no problems, and all the people clapped and cheered. Mostly because they were glad that they hadn't needed to use the large rubber sheet just behind the buffers to send him hurtling back, just in case. And before the party got underway and everyone got very, very, very drunk, the Fat Controller spoke to him from a large window, shaped like Gordon's head, by which it was given the name of 'Gordon's View'.

"Your panoramic view is here to stay, because we really didn't have enough materials to cover the entire wall's rebuilding. I hope you will view it from the safety of your rails, because I do not want to have to go back to that crap hospital again!"

Gordon heartily agreed!

Unfortunately, Hatt and Gordon didn't have a choice in the matter, because it took them until they were halfway back to Knapford to realize that they had left all five engines trapped at Tidmouth for a good solid month since the of the accident. Upon release, Hatt was nearly run over and had to briefly have counselling, and Gordon was sent back to the works for the third time in less than two months because of the severe beating he had received. He wondered if this was a sign of God to start looking at an alternative career path.

There's probably a moral to this story, but sod me if I know it.


	108. Episode 4: Lady Hatt's Birthday Party

Hello all! Just before I get to the reviews, let me just state that this is a literal transcript of my reaction to learning what episode is next. Consider that for the first two seasons, and then the fourth, I had a general idea of where each episode slotted in.

"Well, that's A Better View For Gordon done, I've got a comedy episode done with, now, fingers crossed I've got a nice dark episode next so the storyline doesn't clash- Oh bugger, it's Lady Hatt's Birthday Party."

Hence the reason why the Bertie scene is probably the most bizarre decision I've made thus far, and I'm counting the fact that we're currently in a storyline whereupon George Carlin has encountered Bagpuss. Because at the very least, I understand why I included that! My mind boggles. On another note, a rather short bit of story at the beginning to be got out of the way, before a big chunk of it next time. The Trouble with Trees is a good mix of comedic and dramatic, so fingers crossed it won't clash as much. But, for the record, writing for Willo the Wisp is amazing. As a fan of Kenneth Williams, trying to write his voice is hard, but very rewarding! I also have referenced two characters who I wanted to reference, but struggled with. And yes, most of the people mentioned in the 1996 flashback are real, and are known for their work in kids entertainment. I am a geek. XD.

Reviews now!

TrainManiac- Ah, I'm glad someone got that! It was an idea I had looking up Gordon's 'brothers' as it were, and how Spencer is technically the cousin of Scotsman and Gordon. Therefore, I think it's canon that Mallard and the remaining A4 class engines are also related via Gresley, as cousins. Plus, it gives me more of a chance to introduce some real life engines into the mix, and considering what I've written of Gordon and Scotman's relationship thus far, I thought it'd be nice to give Gordon a relative with whom he has a good relationship. Thanks for the kind words!

Game Watch- Probably! That is a very fair moral. Ooooh, the Clangers! I am rather excited to reference them, even if I am still trying to work out how. But they will be referenced! Again, thanks!

Reality Rejection Service- The Island of Sodor keeps karma in business! Hope you're enjoying!

MattPrice01- Aw, thanks! It's lovely to have nice feedback, and that one line is probably my favorite of anything I've written thus far. I hope I don't let you down in the later chapters!

CUE THE THEME.

...

"Good morning, sir! Happy birth-"

"Ye finish that sentence and I feed ye to the Fakes."

"Understood, sir." sighed Reginald, Captain Zero's first mate. He had tried on several occasions to engage his employer in some sort of conversation other than 'Making Money' or 'Taking Over the World' or 'Judge Judy' but to no avail. And above all things, the Captain loathed the mention of his birthday. Rumors were that he was rather sensitive about how old he actually was.

"Happy birthday, Captain Zero."

Zero turned around, about to give the person who had dared to make this flippant comment right to his back a fist...when he turned very, very pale.

The Fat Director stood there, giving what could be considered a smile. Somehow it didn't quite seem like one, though. Zero was no expert on positive human emotions, but he was pretty sure that smiles were supposed to be positive things.

"You were about to tell me something, weren't you, Captain?"

"I...maybe."

"I see. What were you about to tell me?"

"I was about to say...t-t-thank yer."

"You are welcome." The Fat Director somehow managed to take this sentence and make it sound positively threatening. It was a sentence that sounded so genuinely wrong that it sounded like it needed it's own restraining order. "Now, I was wondering what to get you for a birthday present-"

"Oh sir, ye really needn't have bothered-"

"I thought long and hard about it-"

"Oh did ye!?" bleated Zero. He had the feeling that the Fat Director's considered presents included a very large contract that required the signature to be in blood, a sheep's head and an invitation to head to the Bermuda Triangle for a holiday.

"And I wasn't quite sure what it was I was going to find. But then, of course, I figured it out."

Zero waited for a few minutes for the Fat Director to finish his sentence.

At which point, something very odd happened. In one of the burned sections of the Other Railway, where no-one went anymore, there was a bizarre sound, like the crackling of a great fire, and before the eyes of all, a portal began to open up. This was similar to the one that Marklin had seen back in 1995, but bigger, and judging by the way stray tendrils of the energy was lashing out, a great deal more unstable.

The Fat Director clasped Zero's shoulders and began to walk very fast towards the portal. "Come now, Captain! How about it?"

"I'D MUCH RATHER A CAKE-"

And then they were gone.

...

Once Carlin had recovered his nerves, and had awakened, he was surprised to find Mr Benn in deep conversation with their strange party. Benn quickly explained to Carlin that he had convinced Noggin that both he and Carlin were the last members of one of the old viking tribes, similar to the Nogs in that they too had shunned William the Conqueror as their king, and had preferred to return to their own land, away from the prying eyes of the world.

"So why are they here? Why are all of them here?"

"You've got to understand, Carlin, that this isn't too long after the Battle of Hastings for them. Now, there's a great deal of arguing over who should be king. They're all over the place, pretenders to the throne. When they spy someone even more powerful than them, I reckon that's the only thing that can get them to work together."

They turned, to see the strange jester who leaned on the door casually. He grinned and gave a little wave. "Sorry. I'm, er, Alias. Trust me, I know what it's like. Skillful lying, by the way. You've got Noggin and the priest convinced all right. Not sure about Willo, but I'm pretty sure that Catweazle knows about you lot. You can tell, sort of."

"Who are you?"

"Your sort." Alias scratched his head. "A time traveler. Farther on, mind you, than I think you are. I'd say...90's? You have that look about you." Alias smiled. "I came here for the same reason. Strange time disturbances. Unfortunately,y my ship got stuck in the magnetic poles and it scrambled me a little. Trapped me back here." Alias glanced back towards the Island. "Funny, isn't it? It's not attacking. Don't think it even knows we're here."

"Oooh, are we talking secrets!?" Willo drifted through the wall, with a very maniacal leer etched upon his face. "I do say, I wasn't expecting it to be so fun!" He grinned rather sharply.

"That's rather hard of you."

"Oooooh, matron, stop." Willo shrugged. "I'm rather used to horrid stories of dreadful folk. Gallows humor, you know." He sniffed, through a rather magnificently large nose. "Besides, I am envious of the living, you know. Very envious. If it weren't for the frightful din, I'd probably be cheering on this dratted Malevolence."

"Was there a point to this, or are you just here to mock?"

"Ooooh, I'm always here to mock, Alias. No. That Meredith of yours, queer chap that he is, insisted that I inform you of some harebrained scheme to take down the brute."

"Oh yes?"

"Yes, he and that crackpot of a sorcerer, Dogferret or whatever his name was, have come up with this thing that, he claims, is all the range in the future." Willo tutted. "It'll all end in tears."

Far away from this, watching from the sidelines, the Fat Director and Captain Zero waited. The latter was rather chilly, but the former gave no sign of any discomfort. He gave a rather odd smile.

The first move was about to be made.

...

One summer's day, Thomas and Percy were idling in the station, doing very little as per usual. Percy was wondering if maybe he could earn some sort of pocket money going back to work as a bartender at the Sidings. The technology had improved a great deal since the 80's, so all he had to do was push a button with his buffers to pour the beer. It could work. Thomas was wondering if it was too late to see if he could go and run for Prime Minister.

Bertie the Bus pulled up, shocking everyone because Bertie had been on the piss for most of the previous year and had only just started going to alcoholics anonymous for an unfortunate incident when racing Thomas once again. All that oil abuse had finally caught up with him, and many had been surprised when he had run down that gaggle of nuns, rudely declaring "PISS OFF, I'M MORE POPULAR THAN THE HOLY GHOST!" in a very John Lennon-esque manner. And after a night of being locked up in a bus-shed, Thomas had ended up paying for him to go through rehab.

No, none of the other engines understood what the hell was going on either. Point was, no one was expecting Bertie to be back out so soon.

"Have you noticed something?"

"Yes, Bertie. I've noticed that the sun is shining, the birds are singing, you're here, Percy's here, no one's died yet- Be more bloody specific! What sort of something!?"

"The Fat Controller! He seems different!"

"Does he?!" Percy frowned. "I did see him staring at the clouds this morning. I just thought he was remembering that charity skydive he did a few years back."

...

1996.

Sir Topham chewed his nails rather nervously. It had been the idea of someone or other to invite some of the most memorable children's show presenters to raise money via plummeting to the ground at extreme heights. So far, Rick Jones, Valerie Singleton, Peter Purves, Charlie Chalk and, via unpopular vote, Mr Blobby had made the jump. There now remained just three left, including Hatt himself.

"So, for the record, you'll be going first, to show me how it's done?!"

"Of course!"

"Would we lie?!"

Hatt looked concerned, but turned back to gaze at the ground, very far away. So he didn't quite notice Rod Hull and Matthew Corbett look at each other, then at Hatt, then back at each other, then to their respective hand puppets, before shoving Hatt out of the plane.

"So..." remarked Matthew. "Back to the ground?"

"Back to the ground."

Luckily, Hatt managed to land on something soft. That being Mr Blobby, who had to be rushed into intensive care. And nothing of value was lost.

...

"I wonder why?"

"Perhaps he's trying to remember how he landed safely?" Thomas suggested. "I mean, how he isn't dead is a blooming mystery. He's probably just upset because the bun shop is closed for the week."

...

The reason, like Percy, was simple. It was Lady Hatt's birthday, and no, I don't know her exact age. Sir Topham Hatt had therefore spent most of the morning wandering around in a deep, deep panic because he hadn't actually remembered it was her birthday until the night before, and had thus had to rush out and find her a present as soon as he could. He then had to wear his fancy, non-railway related clothes around the house as it had rained viciously the night previously, and he didn't want to get his nice new suit wet.

"It's perfect for my party!" gasped Lady Hatt. She didn't tell him that it looked exactly like his old suit, because that quite frankly would get her a rather sullen Hatt at the party. "You'll look splendid, Toppy!"

"Er, thanks, dearest." Hatt could have sworn that this was his old suit, just with a bit more of an effort put into ironing it. But he shrugged, and gave the brightest smile he could. "And I shall wear my finest hat just for you!"

"Not the jester hat with the bells on it?"

"...No, darling, my top hat. ...What's wrong with my jester hat, anyway?!"

"Er..."

She was saved a rather awkward talk by a loud bang, indicating that Bill and Ben had somehow managed to accidentally blow another fuel tanker up, right next to his car. Swearing, Hatt reached into his pocket and used the new fangled cell phone to order the operators of the Pinchers to arrest the twins. This was done by the large hands grabbing hold of the twins and refusing to let go at all costs until BoCo could arrive.

"Your birthday is a rather special occasion"

"Indeed! So don't be late, like you were last time, Topham!"

"I shall be spick, span and right on time!" Hatt grinned, feebly, aware that he had just damned himself. He left for his office in rather a hurry. So much of a hurry in fact, that he failed to check his car for any problems that might have been caused. He put his new suit on, admiring it in the mirror.

"You look fine, sir!"

"Alonzo, you know I'm taken. But I'm promoting you to Head-Stationmaster for sucking up to me so well!"

"YES!" said the stationmaster. "You'd best be going!"

"Indeed! Right, okay, so the engines are all busy, or they should be. I'll take the car!" He swaggered out, whistling cheerfully.

"Is it reliable!?"

"Certainly!" called the Fat Controller, over his shoulder. "Why wouldn't it be!?"

In retrospect, this was a really bad decision.

...

With Duran Duran blaring in the background, the Fat Controller was loving life as he belted out the tunes at high speed. He floored it as he rushed past James, who was taking the express, and past all of his engines. Most of them put on the appearance of hard work the second that they spotted him, only to slacken off as he vanished into the countryside, where the rails didn't run.

Up the hill he went, cheerfully mangling the words to 'Hungry Like The Wolf'. It was only then that he spotted a large hole in the road. "OH SOD IT!" He declared in loud tones, hitting the brakes so hard that his foot went through the floor. He was too late. The wheels skipped into the hole and rocked the car so hard that, combined with the damage done earlier, it wouldn't move for anything.

"Bother!" said the Fat Controller. Well, he said it much stronger, actually, but let's not split hairs. "Puncture as well! And if I bother trying to change it, which is a fruitless effort in itself, I shall get my suit dirty and that would never do!"

Just then, with a loud blast on the hooter, Caroline trundled up, being driven by a new driver. He wiped his brow and stood on the side of the road, hoping to attract their attention. The driver would have just tried to ignore that Hatt was even there and go past, but Caroline was looking to improve her lot in life, and she saw Hatt as her ticket to a more high class and deserving owner. So they stopped.

"I've got a birthday party to attend! It's my wife! Can't be late, so can I please budge in?"

"Well sure ya can! I will try mah best, sir!"

The driver gritted his teeth. He had the awful feeling that this wasn't going to end well.

It didn't. Caroline didn't like going fast, and made it very clear. "I'M HOT!" she bellowed. Not helping matters was that Hatt was, er, a very taxing weight to have to manage atop of going fast. "Mah engine is about ta overheat!"

And it did. Very loudly. The driver sighed, and buried his face in his hands. He had only had Caroline for a fortnight and this was already his seventh time he had had to call for assistance.

"Told ya'll so!"

"BOTHERATION!" said the Fat Controller, again, in much stronger terms. "Well, that's me done. Think I'll just go lie down in a ditch and wait for the vultures to start-" He frowned as a rather high pitched whistle sounded. They were nowhere near the rails at the moment, so where that was coming from, he had little idea.

And then, coming up from behind, came a very familiar and very cross steamroller. George looked to Caroline and let out a loud scoff. "Call yourself a car!? You're a bloody disgrace to the road and the cause!"

Caroline gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she wasn't yet capable of disintegrating people with merely a withering glare.

"Find yourself a scrapyard, princess, and do one!"

Caroline spluttered, and told George exactly what he could do with his roller. It sounded very painful indeed. George's driver, Jem Cole, was more polite. He had briefly taken up the role of driver until someone could be found to replace Mr Gotch, who had disappeared on rather short notice a few days ago. "Can we be of any help?" he inquired of the Fat Controller.

"Can you get me to my wife's birthday party?"

"Sorry, we have more important things to be doing, but we can take you to Thomas. He's just down the line."

"How do you know?"

"Err..." Jem hesitated. He didn't want to admit that George had been slightly unruly, and had nearly caused Thomas to come a cropper at a level crossing not too far from where the tank engine had stopped. "I just do!"

"Much obliged!"

George smirked, and stuck out his tongue at Caroline. "Ha! Bloody yank!" And so saying, he started off, leaving the poor car to splutter and fume indignantly.

"What about mahself?!"

"I'll send help as soon as I get to the party! Stay there!"

"WHAT ELSE AM AH GOING TA DO?!" she snarled.

Hatt shrugged, and tried his best to settle down and relax. It wasn't easy. Everything about the steamroller seemed to have been designed to make the driver as uncomfortable as possible. George was enjoying himself, as much as he could, as he rolled along the lane, making rude remarks to anyone he saw and using a specially constructed leaf blower type invention created by Gotch to send leaflets of Anti-Rail propaganda towards frightened cars.

There was worse to come for Hatt. Oil splashed everywhere, drenching his new suit and covering him from head to toe. He spluttered and coughed. "If I'd wanted to find oil-" he spluttered "-I'd have joined Dallas!"

And then, impressively, it got worse.

"Help! Something's snapped!"

"Yes! My elastic!" Hatt frowned as the steamroller began to rock from side to side. "Oh...Ohhhhh..." He closed his eyes as George swerved and lurched through a rather large hole in the fence (Got to fix that later, he thought) and fell roller first into a muddy ditch. Sir Topham Hatt shot out of the back of George like a cannonball and ended up sinking deep, deep into the mud.

Soon, only his head was available. He glared at Jem, who tried to grin feebly. "OH BOTHER BOTHER!" Hatt screamed. Again, not his exact words. They weren't too far away from Thomas, who was sniggering away like the mature and sensible engine that he was. He tried and failed to stop laughing as the Fat Controller staggered out. His hat had been squashed, his suit was covered in oil and mud, he gave off a stench no one could identify and his shoes squelched as he staggered around like a drunken penguin.

"Can I help you, sir?" said his driver, in what had to be the single stupidest statement Thomas had ever heard uttered.

"STATION. BIRTHDAY PARTY. FAST AS YOU CAN."

"I'm afraid our fireman has been taken ill-"

Hatt let out a long scream of frustration as he clambered aboard Thomas with a shocking amount of speed, grabbed the shovel and began tossing coal in at lightning speed "I'LL. BE. THE. BLOODY. FIREMAN."

Thomas grinned. Oh this was going to be a good day. Not least because as Thomas started off, the Fat Controller was deluged by a large amount of coal dust and smoke that blackened his face significantly. He entered Kirk Ronan on time, passing James, who upon spotting Hatt, burst into a long laugh that lasted until he got back to Knapford.

Hatt looked at the clock. Just in time. He staggered out, grabbed a huge bouquet of flowers from one of the pots and staggered towards the door with a rather exaggerated limp. He thought only to wipe off his face. He didn't want Mayor Bedella to think that he was witnessing a minstrel show.

"Good luck!" called Thomas.

"GO TO HELL!" snapped the Fat Controller. He took a deep breath and then walked in. His wife was waiting, and as the clock struck three, he stood there, tired but triumphant.

"My my!" Jenny Packard, Alice's old school chum, guffawed. "He's been in the wars!"

"Happy birthday!" Hatt shoved the flowers towards his wife.

"Thank you, Toppy. I knew this was a special party, but you should have told me it was fancy dress!"

Everyone laughed. Even the Fat Controller. Because not laughing at this point would have made the entire bloody trip a waste of his time. And then the party began.

"Oh, by the way, Toppy, you didn't get to meet the entertainment!"

"Oh, really?" Hatt finished off his seventh cream bun in less than an hour and wiped his mouth as best he could. "Where is he? Or she?"

 _ **"BLOBBY!"**_ bellowed Mr Blobby, spotting Sir Topham Hatt and giving chase. The latter moved faster than anyone would have thought of him, jumped through the window and spent the rest of his wife's birthday fleeing for his very life.


	109. Episode 5: The Trouble With Trees

EDIT: Fixed an error that was brought to my attention. Apologies, folks!

Glad everyone liked the last chapter! It was a pain to write, and I did struggle a little, but I think it came out pretty good! I'll be trying to alternate between comedic chapters like that and more story heavy ones like this one. Funnily enough, just like Season 5! Speaking of pains to write, this chapter! The Thomas sections were actually perfectly fine (Micheal Angelis's James is amazing to write for, at least he is before the scripts started getting a bit thin and the voice began to grate on your nerves in a way that wasn't funny), it was the bloody story parts that drove me up the wall. You'll probably see as you go along what I actually mean.

CUE THE THEME.

...

Thomas the Tank Engine had been working in the coal yards all day. The little blue engine was very, very annoyed, as he was plastered in coal dust. That, and this was the seventh day in a row that he had been forced to work at the coal yards instead of the other engines. When asked why he was, once again, being forced to work when the other engines were supposedly on the rotor, he was bluntly informed that "Life isn't fair, get used to it, asshole" by a certain red and very loud engine.

"We can't clean you up tonight, Thomas!" called his driver, who looked miserable. Well, how would you like having to work in a filthy place with a rather loud-mouthed tank engine? "There's a problem with the hose pipe."

"What kind of problem?"

"It doesn't work."

"Bother!" said Thomas, his face looking as though he had found something unpleasant that a cat had done "A bath would have been great! Now I'll have to endure all the bloody nicknames back at the sheds! 'How Black is My Coal Yard?'. 'Thomas the Black-Eyed Pea', they'll never end!"

He was surprised to see that they weren't all waiting to mock him. In fact, they were too busy arguing to notice Thomas. On the one hand, he was pleased, because he really didn't want to put up with a whole night of mocking. On the other hand, he was pissed, because that meant no one was paying him any attention. Truly this was a conundrum.

It won't surprise anyone that the source of this argument was James. Impressively, in the few years since the Callan incident, his voice had managed to increase in volume to the point where an alternative nickname for him was 'The Foghorn', which he lived up to as he spoke loudest of all. "I DESERVE A NEW COAT OF PAINT, AND I ALWAYS HAVE DONE! THE FAT CONTROLLER SAYS THAT I AM THE PRIDE OF THE LINE AND-"

"RABBISH!" declared Henry, and took great joy in the way James's eye twitched briefly. "First off, quieten down! You sound like Brian Blessed with a megaphone. Secondly, we're all the pride of the line, and Fatty called you it to get you to shut up! You've been whining all bloody week, and you haven't had to do any of the nasty jobs that I've had to take on!"

"It's been like this all day." grunted Percy. "James, surprise surprise, is getting a brand new coat of paint, and he's not stopped boasting about it for a second."

"Why James!? Why is it always sodding James who gets to have the new coat of paint, and not me!? LOOK AT ME."

"I'd rather not." said James, rather snootily "You're not a pleasant sight, and like every other engine here, you won't understand the needs of a very important engine!"

"Oh, well, alert me when you find one!" And on this note, Thomas fumed away into the shed, where he remained sulking for the rest of the night.

...

 _Carlin had, several centuries away from Thomas the Tank Engine, two things in common with Sodor's Number One._

 _One, he too was very uncomfortable. His costume was itchy in all the wrong places, which meant that it was probably accurate to the time, but also made sure that he couldn't really stop fidgeting._

 _And two, he too was surrounded by bickering people who paid little to no attention to him, which he felt was really odd. Though in his case, it was less because he was hungry for attention, and more because they had come out of nowhere and had a rather weak excuse._

 _"GOD HAS FORSAKEN US!" wailed the priest. Carlin remembered that the vicar who had saved Trevor from scrap had been terrified of a curse supposedly passed down throughout the years, placed upon the line by this very man in front of him. He seemed to be on the verge of giving in completely to his despair, his entire habit seemed to be in disarray, and his eyes were wild. "He has given us a sign that we have not been burning enough Protestants at the stake! He is cold from the lack of heat, and he has sent judgement upon us all-"_

 _"Oh SHUT UP." snapped Catweazle. The old man was bent over several large parchments, muttering and cursing under his breath as he looked through them. Carlin couldn't see them, but Benn could, and Carlin was interested to see his time travelling companion widen his eyes in shock._

 _"What use is your faith if you abandon it the moment things get hard?!" snapped the man in the helmet. The man of the cloth shook his head and retreated away, muttering about all the heathens. He turned, and nodded wearily to Carlin. "Noggin, King of the Nogs."_

 _"Carlin, King of the Pub." It was the best he could come up with in this situation. "Those are your men out there?"_

 _"Yes." Noggin bit his lip and looked out. "i am sending them to their deaths, while we sit around here and do NOTHING!" He slammed his hand upon the table. "We need to act now!"_

 _"And we will-!" quavered another old man, this one wearing a light turquoise robe and rolling something that looked like a medieval Rubik's Cube between his fingers "-as soon as his majesty's mage works out what it is we'll be doing!"_

 _Catweazle glanced up, zeroing in on Carlin. It unnerved him, to be frank, the way that this old man seemed to recognize him. But how could he? He had no recollection of ever meeting someone like this, and considering the smell, it was hard to imagine that he'd ever forget. "Now listen to me, all of you." He had the complete attention of everyone around him. "There is no weapon of man that can destroy this foul creature of darkness. Clearly, the Nogs have proved that in rather...interesting fashions. However, there is a way. We have among us two sorcerers of great power, and in my case, great intelligence, we have a creature of the supernatural who has a good understanding of a different kind of magic, we have with us a viking-" He gestured towards Carlin "-who has in his possession a magic that I have never seen before in my life."_

 _Carlin was confused, until he suddenly realized that his whistle was leaking gold dust. The gold dust was the power that Catweazle spoke of. The wizard continued._

 _"Now, your blacksmiths, Noggin. I would ask you to tell them that construction must begin upon one of these." As he handed the picture to the confused viking, Carlin was surprised to see that it was a very modern Polaroid. "Pour enough of our magic into it, and it shall act as a agent through which we can destroy the Malevolence permanently._

 _Silence for a moment._

 _"Get on with it, man!"_

...

1998.

James smirked as the workmen began work on his new coat of paint. Tarpaulins had been set up, not only to make sure that the repainting went well, but also to protect James's rather sensitive skin, as it were, from burning in the sun. Henry puffed on by, doing a quick bit of shunting, and scoffed very loudly at the sight of James. This cost him very dearly.

He wasn't looking where he was going, and as he bumped into a line of trucks, the two at the end of the line were knocked over a rather ramshackle pair of buffers that should have been fixed a long time ago. Henry groaned to himself, as the Pinchers began to repair the damage as best they could.

"If you can't work with trucks without throwing a paddy, Henry, why not talk to a tree!? They'll understand your plight, and you know how much you like the forest!" James chortled to himself, thinking that he was a rather clever dick. Well, he was half right.

Henry dearly wished he had fingers to make rude gestures at James. He had to settle for scoffing. "Well, if you'd actually pay attention to anything relevant apart from what benefits you, James, you'll know that there's some new initiative. The Fat Controller's sent out people to inspect the Island for trees that are too close to the line, that might cause bother and so on! I mean, I dislike the idea of disturbing trees as much as the next sane fan of the environment, but this at least makes some sense! He, and to be frank, myself feel that trees left unattended can cause a great deal of trouble!"

"PAH!" snorted James, his inner Scouse coming out in wonderful force. "As if a rotten old tree could hurt a grand and splendid engine such as myself! You must have picked up some woodworm from those trees, Henry! You really are very silly!"

"HA!"

"I would, I would so! I would push it aside!"

"Really?" sneered Henry. "You!? Push a tree?! The only thing you're good at pushing is your own luck every time you open your mouth!"

This insult sent James into a stammering fury. For the rest of the day, once he had been repainted, he clanked around in a rather self-righteous mood, ranting and raving about his beautiful paint and his idiotic companions to anyone who would listen, and a few who didn't. And of course, he got progressively louder and louder as the day went on.

"MAKE WAY FOR AN IMPORTANT ENGINE!"

"Again, alert me when you find one." muttered Thomas.

"You wouldn't feel important if one of these suckers fell on you! You'd feel hurt!" Percy was aware that perhaps hurt was a little bit of an understatement when it came to talking about damage done by falling trees, but he had been working hard with Terrence to remove said trees, and his smile had creeped the little green tank engine out.

"RABBI-RUBBISH!" James said, quickly swapping word mid-sentence. "It wouldn't DARE! I AM JAMES, DEFEATER OF TREES! I SHALL INTIMIDATE IT, WITH MY MAGNETIC PERSONALITY!"

James, as you can tell, is probably insane.

"You should be careful, James." Terrance somehow managed to make those words sound like a threat, even though both Thomas and Percy knew that he only meant them as a friendly warning. "Trees can be just as powerful as engines. Not as powerful as tractors though. We know everything."

"PAH!" screeched James, yet again, this time so hard that his voice cracked. "I AM JAMES, TREEKILLER OF SODOR! And if you'll excuse me, Fat One wants me to pull the express! I am the only candidate for the job, now SHOVE OFF!" And so saying, he stormed out of Henry's Forest with a great amount of hamminess.

"He'll be sorry." Terrance remarked calmly. All without losing his smile.

"Okay, we have got to get you to talk to a plastic surgeon at some point."

...

 _"So, what have we accomplished so far? Because it looks to me, dearie's, like we've just put together a bunch of useless scrap metal!"_

 _Willo was not wrong. In the two or three hours since the meeting, the blacksmiths of the Nogs had put together a wide variety of things that Carlin and Benn recognized as modern vehicles. There were boats (A tug, tramper, sailing boat, cruise liner and warship), there were aircraft (Different types plane, a helicopter and a hovercraft) and there were land vehicles (A diesel, a bus, a tractor, a traction engine, several construction vehicles, a lorry, a steamroller and a fire engine, along with several cars). But none of them were reacting with the magic, and they rested upon the ground not too far from the tide, limp and lifeless. An early attempt at a steam engine had been abandoned in the corner._

 _"We should give up now!" wailed the priest._

 _"No!" snapped Catweazle. "We can't give up! If we fail here, Britain will fall!" He strode over to the blacksmith, who was putting the final touches to his last two creations. The wizard nodded admiringly. "Not bad."_

 _"The problem is-" Alias suggested "-that there is nothing to control the magic once it has been diverted through the machine. It simply dissipates away. To truly master it, something needs to take command of it."_

 _Suddenly, a gust of wind began to blow very aggressively. Everyone grabbed hold of the first thing that came to hand, to prevent themselves from being blown away. Even the Malevolence, who had abandoned the Island to begin it's attack upon the boat, had to hold off said attack to try and recover._

 _The party looked around for the source of the wind, and there, standing near the banks of the Island of Sodor, stood...well, it is hard to explain what they are,but it shall be attempted. They were the rough size of an average human, but that was where the similarities ended. They glowed with an ethereal light, a light so bright and powerful that no one could make out anything of their faces or bodies. There were a few things that were clear. One, the creature that spoke first was a female, and the figure to which the voice belonged to was taller than that of her companion. Two, the color of the light was different. The woman's glowed with a purple-pinkish light, while the shorter one's glowed with a rather bright yellow._

 _Three, and this only Carlin knew, these were the two who would become the very first steam engines ever created._

 _Lady and Proteus surveyed the awestruck humans with some amusement._

 _"We are the spirits of this Island. That creature is our enemy. We will take control of your machine for you. We will fight. We will win. It is as simple as that."_

 _"Now-" spoke Proteus, deep voiced and stern  "-shall we begin?"_

...

1998.

James, as it turns out, was very wrong indeed. As he coupled himself up to the coaches at Kirk Ronan, he waited patiently for the guard to wave his flag. But nothing happened, until the Fat Controller hurried up.

"You must go to the yard and collect a heavy goods train, James, it's heavy, so be careful!"

"TRUCKS!?" screeched James at such a pitch that only dogs would understand it. "BUT SIR, I'VE JUST BEEN REPAINTED, CAN'T THOMAS OR PERCY DO IT?! WAH! THEY LIKE GETTING DIRTY WITH TRUCKS!"

Both decided to get rid of the mental images James's little slip up had caused them. Hatt pointed sternly at James, as he was wont to do. "Really useful engines are quieter and don't argue!"

So James didn't. At least until Hatt was out of hearing range. By the time he arrived at the yards, the weather had changed for the worse. Clouds covered the sky, turning it to a murky grey color. James glared at the trucks, who all seemed to be in great humor. In the time since Callan, the Spiteful Brakevan and his cohorts had spread a great deal of mischief across the Island.

And their chance to do so again had come up. Rickety and U.L.P passed the word down.

"Nice color, James!"

"Pity about your face, though!"

There was nothing else to add, it was a legitimately funny quip. Even the other engines shunting in the yard had to stifle laughter at this. James responded with his new favorite word ("PAH!" for the record) and furiously stormed off with his slow goods train.

Soon, they reached Gordon's Hill, after the trucks had acted up something fierce on the way to said hill, the driver knew they were in for a rough time. He took a deep breath, inhaled most of his hip flask and braced himself.

Up ahead, an old tree by the track was being buffeted by the wind from all directions. It wobbled and creaked as it swayed under the huge pressure from the rather powerful wind. Rain had weakened the slope too, making it soft and malleable, much like James's brain. As James approached the foot of the hill, the soil finally gave way, sending the tree sliding from it's perch down onto the track.

"OH BALLS!"

The driver slammed the brake on, and James skidded along the slippery track towards the tree. Shutting his eyes, the red engine prayed that Henry didn't get to see this, for he would never let James live this down. He stopped inches from the tree, his buffers brushing the soil very gently.

"OOOH! HELP! GO AWAY! MOVE, YOU STUPID TREE! I AM JAMES, SPLENDID ENGINE, YOU MAY KNOW ME!"

James's cunning argument surprisingly failed to move the inanimate piece of wood. James tried his best to reverse from the tree, and come back with reinforcements to teach the bark a lesson, but the train was too heavy, not helped by the fact that most of the trucks had slammed on their brakes in terror.

And then he heard a whistle.

"IT'S THOMAS!"

...

 _This was it. The moment of truth._

 _The Malevolence had massacred what remained of the Nogs upon the boat, save for a few who had stayed with their chief in case their allies turned on them. Catweazle, Meredith and Willo had vanished behind the forge, to try and make sure that their new friends were fully equipped to take on the mighty dragon. That left Carlin, Benn, Alias, Noggin and the Priest to hold the line until Lady and Proteus were ready._

 _ **"Humans. How very, very amusing."** The Malevolence spoke with such power and confidence and casual evil that it made them all feel rather sick and giddy. **"This has been rather fun, has it not? Such an entertaining game we've played today. I'm almost sorry to see it end!"**_

 _"You killed my men! Good men! Men with families and hopes and dreams!" shouted Noggin._

 _ **"I know! That's rather the point! I am the snake in the garden of Eden, the jealousy between Cain and Abel, the doubt in men's souls, the terror in the eyes of the victims of the world, the monstrosity deep inside all living beings! Your men died pathetically, Viking! Now, will you face me like a man!? Or will you cower once more, and beg for mercy, like the rest of your stinking kind!"**_

 _"We rebuke you, demon!" shouted the priest, his tone wavering but his determination clear._

 _The Malevolence laughed as he landed, shaking the very ground and sending them all falling backwards, scrambling to pick themselves up. **"Ah, it is always good to see a little bit of fighting spirit in one such as yourself! I'll remember you, and your kind, little man! You will die! You and your successors won't die like normal men of god, sitting in chairs, reading hymns and drinking wine! No, it shall be painful! I shall bathe the River Eis in your blood, and I shall laugh while doing-"**_

 _"Oh, SHUT UP!" snapped Carlin. And before anyone had a chance to stop him, he blew a sharp note on his whistle and teleported onto the Malevolence's shouler. "Nah nah nah nah, can't f**king catch me, you big ass!"_

 _ **"What in the name of-Oh, very clever! You have a little sorcerer on your side! How droll!"**_

 _"Come on, lads!" Noggin raised his sword. "FOR THE HONOR OF THE NORTHLANDS!" And so saying, he led his last men towards the great dragon, who was swiping at Carlin, growing steadily annoyed. The priest raised his cross and began to chant to himself, trying to keep his faith calm and present in his mind, whilst Alias darted forward, leaping off the ground and shooting from a rather futuristic looking pistol._

 _And Mr Benn? Mr Benn did nothing but calmly walk behind the Forge. "How's it going?" he asked, as if asking whether or not there remained any jam for his bread._

 _"We're almost there!" Catweazle wiped his brow, and looked hard at Mr Benn. "How are we doing?"_

 _With a tremendous crash, Alias was sent hurtling through the forge, walls and all. He landed on his back, looking up at the three men and one ghost. He grinned somewhat pained. "Mind hurrying up a bit?"_

 _"COO-EE! COME ON, IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO?!"_

 _This cry came from Carlin, who had teleported to what we now know as Gordon's Hill. He waved his arms up and down and stuck his tongue out. The Malevolence snarled, slashed through Noggin's armor, and took off towards the former Mr Conductor._

 _"He's buying us time!" shouted Meredith._

 _"Then let's not waste it, duckies!" Willo let loose with his last, best burst of magic..._

 _And then Lady opened her eyes._

 _The Malevolence had grabbed Carlin, and knocked his whistle out of his hands. He raised the man to his mouth, got ready to bite Carlin's head off...and then stopped, and turned his attention towards the two glowing figures._

 _One was a narrow gauge engine, bright yellow with a bulky shape that seemed to belay the rather cunning and vicious look in his eyes. Atop his head stood a large lantern, an idea by Meredith, light to counteract the darkness. He seemed bigger than any narrow gauge engine Carlin had ever seen, but even so, he was smaller compared to the other._

 _And oh, what an other she was! There was no basis for whatever she was, she was as if from a storybook. Her body shone with a fierce electricity, and the parts of her that were golden seemed to crackle with something even more powerful. Her sleek, red-purple body seemed to shudder with passion, and her face, which looked kindly, had the air of a very old, very wise, and very dangerous individual._

 _ **"Ah, my old enemies. Back again, are we?!"** The Malevolence chuckled, unpleasantly. **"Wait your turn. I'll deal with you, later!"**_

 _"No. This ends now."_

 _The Malevolence frowned. Something was different._

 _Carlin hit his head upon a tree and blacked out at this point, meaning that he effectively was denied seeing the actual climax of the battle, and therefore has denied any readers the chance to see how it actually went down. He didn't see, therefore, the way that white and black magic clashed and slammed into each other, the immovable object meeting the unstoppable force. He didn't see the way that the Malevolence dug his claws into Proteus's tank, trying in vain to drag down the mighty spirit. He didn't see the way that Proteus's lamp blinded the Malevolence, giving Lady the chance to unleash blast after blast into his stomach, wounding it fatally. He didn't see the Malevolence make his last stand, proclaiming that this wasn't the end, before the most powerful blast of magic the world has ever seen slammed straight into him, and shattered him into almost nothingness._

 _He didn't see the various other vessels created by Catweazle's magic suddenly come to life, giving birth to the anthropomorphic vehicle as we know today. He didn't see Noggin the Nog succumb to his wounds, and dragged off by his men to return home to the Northlands to be buried. He didn't see the remainder of the group agree to meet up again to protect the Island of Sodor._

 _And he most certainly didn't see the Fat Director and Captain Zero head over, pick something up and quietly slid away without anyone noticing._

 _In hindsight, had he seen all of these things, it might have gone a bit smoother for all involved._

...

"DA-DA-DA-DADADADA-DA!" Yes, that was Thomas playing his own triumphant fanfare as he rushed up the hill. James was embarrassed and was worried that Thomas would laugh at him. But Thomas didn't, as he knew that this was no time for teasing.

Plus he had already laughed himself silly at the next station, so that was rather redundant.

"PEEP PEEP! Ready?!"

"As I'll ever be! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

And so Thomas pulled and puffed as hard as he could, and James too pushed and puffed, and together they managed to move the trucks away, back down the slope of the hill, towards the next station.

They were just in time, as with a horrifying last creak, the tree cracked in two, and toppled over, narrowly missing where James had been only a second before. James went very pale and didn't speak until they'd reached the next station.

Later, he did speak to Thomas, rather humbly, which was rare considering who it is we're speaking about. "Percy and that smiling maniac were right to warn me, thanks for rescuing me, Thomas."

"Oh, that's all right, you'll probably forget your moral by the next series."

"What?"

"I mean, we engines must pull together whatever the weather. Like my rhymes? I'm like a regular Doctor Seuss."

Just then, Edward bustled in, looking cheerful. "Ah, there you are! First off, I'd just like to extend an invitation to the two of you to come to BoCo's farewell do tomorrow! And I've got news from old Fatty. He thinks you're both brave engines, and he's giving both of you rewards. Thomas, you get a new coat of paint, and James, you can pull the express tomorrow."

Everyone was happy.

I give it a week before James starts being his usual self again.

...

"GET UP!"

Carlin's eyes snapped open, as the sudden pain of being jabbed in the side by what appeared to be the butt of a spear sent his pain centers into overdrive. He moaned, which perhaps wasn't what the two hired goons dressed in chainmail wanted, as one grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up, while the other scornfully grabbed his legs and began tugging him towards the door.

"I don't suppose you fellas would consider just letting me go? I'll make it worth your while!"

"Ha! Such a cur!"

"You take that back! I am no cur...okay, I am, but I resent being called one! How would you feel if I called you what you are, which is a pair of very smelly gorillas with the intelligence of plankton!?"

"Go-ril-a?"

"Ah. What year is it, just for the record?" Carlin prayed to god that he hadn't just ruined the entire course of history by telling them the name of a creature that wasn't going to be discovered for centuries to come.

"It is the year of our Lord, 1108!"

Carlin paused. "I must have been asleep for longer than I could have expected! On the plus side, the entire world isn't dead, so...mission accomplished!" He was jabbed yet again as they crossed through another set of doors, and he figured out that perhaps insulting the two guards carrying him was not a good start to the day.

At last, they went through a final pair of doors, into a large and ornate room, in which rested a long table with many wooden chairs, paintings of all shapes and sizes scattered amongst the rather clean looking walls, One one side, a large tapestry hung, depicting a great battle between armies that Carlin recognized as English and French. And all around the room, people stood, talking, chatting, looking anxious, and doing the things that all courtiers liked to do. Or had to do. Whatever.

He was dropped, unceremoniously, on his front.

"We found him, sire, near the moat!"

"You have it?!" The voice was deep, imposing, it reminded Carlin of Charles Dance, or perhaps Christopher Lee. It sounded unhappy.

"Not as of yet, we searched him, but we cannot see it on his person. However, we believe that he is the thief, based on his clothing matching the description."

"I see. You have done well, Captain. Now, allow me to talk to him. I shall...persuade him to tell me the truth."

"Where am I?!" Carlin snapped, finally having enough of being ignored and talked over.

The figure chuckled. It was unpleasant. Very much so. "My my, clearly your nap has not done you any favors, stranger. But, since I am feeling in a generous mood...You are currently in Ulfstead Castle. I am King Godred."

Carlin was suddenly pulled up by a large, hairy and very tough feeling hand wrapped around his neck, and looked into a pair of very angry and very cold looking pair of eyes.

"And you have a choice. You can either tell me where you've hidden my crown and get a swift and merciful death, or...I take my time with you."

* * *

Yep. King Godred. Basically, this wasn't actually planned to be a thing until about halfway through Season 4, where I was planning the time travel aspect in Paint Pots and Queens, and the little flashforwards you see for the specials coming up. In this case, I'll be exploring the story briefly told at the beginning of King of the Railway in a different way, to explain a few things about why the Island of Sodor is the way it is in my story.

Trust me, originally, there was going to be a much more detailed battle between Lady and Proteus and the Malevolence, but I just...couldn't write it very well. That reflects badly on me, but hopefully we won't have that issue come Magic Railroad, because I can actually make the two sides look even, relatively. So, yeah, use your imagination, the parts I mentioned were just the cliff notes. And yes, what Zero and the Director were doing will be explained later, I promise you.

One last note, I like to imagine that the title of this one is a double meaning, as it's a tree that knocks Carlin out and causes him to miss this epic fight and somehow teleport in time (Which will be explained, I promise). I thought it was clever, don't ask me. XD.

Next one'll hopefully be a bit better. Gordon and the Gremlins, featuring the debut of one of the best non-Awdry characters, in my opinion!


	110. Episode 6: Gordon and the Gremlins

Review time!

Guest: Glad to see you still enjoying it all! Nice to know that you've stuck with it from the start, and I hope it's been enjoyable every step of the way!

AaronCottrell97: I don't know if you can tell or not, but James is one of my favorite characters to write as a whole, especially considering that this is where Angelis's James starts to get wonderfully hammy. Both characters are amazing. Rediscovering the joys of Micheal Angelis pretending to be a dog is just one of the many positive to doing this series.

MattPrice01: Thanks! Oh, I am blushing! I'm glad you noticed! I'm sort of picturing a sort of Benedict Cumberbatch/Christopher Lee/Idris Elba voice in general for the Malevolence. Something nice and deep and cultured, but can turn on a whim to being nasty.

Reality Rejection Service: Such is their role in life. James should stop making it so damned easy!

Phillip Clarke: Thanks mate! It was removed, but I appreciate it! Hope you enjoyed despite the error!

Game-Watch: Thank you! I'm glad you're liking the Malevolence so far, primarily because I always love the larger than life villain that he embodies. You'll be seeing him again before the season is out. The James insult is great. I'm surprised how legitimately funny a lot of the quips from Season 5 are!

On that note, Gordon and the Gremlins! Full of some nice comedic stuff, a bit of a average episode in my opinion (Then again, average Classic Thomas is amazing anyway) apart from the introduction of the Dowager, who is just a blast. I will note that some of the story parts are a little...expositiony. So, just keep that in mind and have some fun!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"All right class." The teacher wiped his brow. Not for the first time he wondered why it was he had chosen this job and not something far safer to one's sanity, like a guard at some remote Arctic base where the only thing he had to worry about were polar bears. "Now, what were we talking about last time?"

"The school trip!"

The teacher grit his teeth. "Yes, well done, clever old you for remembering, and for the record, yes, we are in fact going to London." God help the capital, he thought grimly as cheers rang out. "But, I meant what did we talk about that actually relates to what we're supposed to be learning?"

"The kings, sir!"

"Correct, Stephen." The teacher grinned, slightly maniacally. Clearly, the Hatt's generous donations to the school weren't going to waste. They were actually teaching his grandkids something. As for the rest of them- "LUCY, STOP CARVING THOSE WORDS INTO THE CARRIAGE DESK!"

"Why? It's true, and me mam says to always tell the truth!" Lucy stuck out her tongue. The words, transcribed exactly, were as follows: DARREN'S MOUTHER LOVES CO-

Well, you can fill in the blanks, can't you?

"You've misspelled mother." muttered Darren.

"OKAY, ENOUGH ABOUT DARREN'S MOTHER." The teacher paused, collected himself and smiled once again. "Now, the king in question, I believe, was our greatest, in my humble opinion! King Godred Crovan!"

...

 _"Look, you've made an honest mistake! I don't know anything about your f**king crown, and if I did, I'd have told you!" Carlin was worried by the way that the room had somehow cleared out like magic in three seconds flat._

 _King Godred smiled. It was an odd thing to notice, but Carlin thought he had rather nice teeth considering the standards of dental hygiene in this time. "Really? You expect me to believe that?"_

 _"No, not really. So, how does this work? Can I challenge you to trial by combat?"_

 _"What do you think this is?"_

 _Carlin had a second to think of several expletives too searing to put down upon print before Godred lunged at him._

...

"Now King Godred was many things. For the time, he was a learned man with a great respect for women!"

...

 _"GET OUT OF HERE, WHORE!" Godred roared to the poor serving wench who had entered the room with a basket of something. She ran out of the room faster than anyone Carlin had ever seen._

 _"That's not a very nice thing to call a woman!" Carlin called. In retrospect, considering that he was currently being held upside down, one very large and powerful hand around his ankle, this was not the best thing to say._

...

"He was known for being a very peaceful and very nurturing man, too. Such wisdom."

...

 _Carlin screamed as he began to back away from the crazed axe-wielding king as best he could. So far, Godred had destroyed the entire table, Carlin's pointy viking helmet, any sense of pride that he might have had in his fighting abilities...he had even come very close to becoming castrated quite painfully._

 _"Come back here, thief!"_

 _"NO THANKS!" Carlin reached the door, opened it up...and was prodded back into the room by the sharper ends of spears. "Hmm. Well, I changed my mind, you know?"_

...

"And let it not be said that Godred was a fool when it came to speaking! He could outspeak Martin Luther King on a bad day!"

...

 _"COME TO GODDY, SCROTUM WIPE!"_

 _How pithy, though Carlin. They don't put that on inspirational posters. He had often seen Godred Crovan's supposed sayings on said posters when he had briefly applied for driver's ed. This wasn't one of them._

 _Godred reached for his axe once again, and looked around, trying to spot where Carlin had magicked himself too._

 _Then he looked up._

 _Carlin froze._

 _Then the chandelier snapped off it's holdings and plummeted down towards Godred._

...

"But above all else, King Godred was a fair man, who was prone to forgiving many of his enemies and freeing those who were punished for crimes they didn't admit."

...

 _When Carlin awoke, he was chained to a rather large stone wall by his wrists. He was also facing two rather nasty pit bulls who looked as though they wanted to chew his nadgers off to finish the job that Godred had started. The king himself was standing on the other side, smirking nastily._

 _"So, you know, I've been thinking. It's entirely possible that what you've said all along is true, that my crown wasn't stolen by you. On the other hand, you might be lying, and my old age might be making me far too sentimental. But either way, you're going to die."_

 _"THIS IS A OVERREACTION, ISN'T IT?!"_

 _"Do I look like I care about the opinion of a lowlife thug who looks so old that the only use he'll be having is as a reminder to all of my subjects not to take me lightly?"_

 _The door slammed as Godred left the bewildered Carlin alone with the dogs. Their mouths watered, and Carlin's dried up. He wondered where Benn was. Or when Benn was. He wasn't sure which applied._

 _"Psst!"_

 _"No, I'm not! I hardly touched a drop! Anyway, little voice in my head, about time you ******* showed up! Figures that when I finally do get thrown out of Sodor, it's only then the voices start coming!"_

 _"Do you want to be rescued or not?!"_

 _"Oh, fine, all right, then, imaginary being."_

 _"I am NOT IMAGINARY."_

 _He wasn't. Carlin turned his head towards one of the wooden beams not too far from his head. And there, sitting on the beam, wearing a very familiar uniform and giving him a rather cold little glare, stood a tiny man._

 _"I-" he spoke "-am a Conductor. And I'm going to get you out of here whether you want me to or not."_

...

As the class left the train, having learned nothing except what a terrible history teacher they had, Gordon grunted, and stormed back to the sheds, where he fell asleep at once and tried to ignore James's loud snores. He was feeling rather odd, to be frank. He frowned, and pouted. He tried to think of the usual things that cheered him up, like the postcard from his cousins, Union of South Africa and Dwight Eisenhower, saying that they wished he was there on the beaches of Blackpool with them. Or perhaps the fact that he'd be getting a new coat of paint. Or, and this did briefly succeed in cheering himself up, the fact that Henry had finally managed to get hold of Independence Day on VHS.

However, even that pleasure soon subsided and he was left to glumly fall asleep.

Early the next morning, Gordon's fire struggled to start, which put him in a even happier mood, not. The firelighter was deeply puzzled by this, and by deeply puzzled, I mean mildly bothered. "Don't know what's wrong with it, guvnor," he said to no one in particular "But I think it's gremlins!"

"But Gordon's never watched that movie!"

"No...gremlins? You know?"

"Oh...those gremlins. Righty ho." The fireman coughed and grinned sheepishly. "Riiiight."

"So, what are gremlins?" asked Percy to Thomas.

"I've heard they're little green men who play tricks on people. I could be thinking of martians, though." Thomas paused, lost in thought.

"Can we find one!?"

"Percy, we only just got finished burying your pet centipede, I don't think you're ready for another little pet whom is incredibly easy to accidentally run over and squash."

"Besides-" snorted James "-Gremlins don't exist! They're an excuse for lazy fat sods who don't have the ability to take responsibility for their own actions when things go wrong under their watch, and no one knows why, or they do, and they just really can't be arsed to try."

"If firelighter says that they exist, then they exist!" said Thomas, in a rather defensive mood.

"PAH!" snorted James, the truce between the two from the tree incident having already disintegrated before it had even really got going "You believe that, and you'll believe anything!"

"At least he keeps me warm!"

"Oh, are you really still mad about the Children in Need thing!?"

"You bailed right before we got dropped into the Arctic and I had to spend the entire night freezing myself to death inside a smelly tent on my own! I had to have my paint chipped off and removed by the end of it!" Thomas looked ruefully at his slightly darker shade of blue. It was good, but he missed his old style.

And then the Fat Controller arrived to stop the noise. Hopefully. "SILENCE!"

"Oh dear, sir, have you been gargling nails again?"

Hatt gnashed his teeth and bit his tongue to stop himself from bawling Thomas out right there and then. His throat was a little sore, that was true, but it was mostly due to an argument with his brother's secretary. He apparently had gone to test a bouncy castle somewhere in Iceland, which meant that SHE had to come to his Island instead. "I am expecting a VIP today! A VERY. IMPORTANT. PERSON. She has heard that all of my engines are really useful-" He paused, and let out a contemptous little "HA!" just so he could see the look of anger on their faces "-so let's try not to shatter her hopes and dreams, eh, lads?"

"Yes sir!" snarled the engines, who all decided to out-do the others as best they could.

"As long as the gremlins let us!" Percy piped up.

"WHAT GREMLINS?!" Hatt had always had a secret fear of the movie ever since it had came out.

"The ones inside Gordon's boiler, sir! Which is why he's not ready yet!"

"WE'LL SEE ABOUT THAT!" boomed the Fat Controller, who pulled out a sledgehammer. Gordon's fire started up rather quickly after that. "Gordon, you best be on your best behavior today! No smart arse remarks or that buffer won't be the only thing that gets bent out of shape! Now, you're pulling the SPECIAL train that contains the SPECIAL visitor who is making a SPECIAL visit to the SPECIAL Island and who needs to be impressed on that this is a SPECIAL, SPECIAL RAILWAY! GOT IT!?"

"So, it's a special special, this train, sir?"

"Don't say that, Gordon, it makes you sound like a thicko. No high speeds! She won't like that! And don't mention the European Union to her! Or Thatcher! OR ANYTHING. DO YOUR JOB FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!"

Gordon grinned. Secretly he was rather worried that Hatt had finally abseiled over the cliff of sanity.

...

 _The Conductor had managed to get at Carlin's whistle, shrank it down briefly with his own little selection of gold dust, grabbed hold of Carlin's ear none too carefully and blew upon it._

 _Carlin let out a deep sigh of relief as he massaged his wrists. Then he squawked as he fell flat on his face as gravity remembered that it existed. The Conductor sniffed rather snootily, and punched him in a nerve. That got him back up again. "Come on, large one! I think it's time you met the others!"_

 _"The others?!"_

 _"The Old Ones, of course! They've been waiting forever for you!"_

 _They were in front at a place Carlin didn't recognize, even without the rails and sidings and grumbling engines. Just a very large forest, that seemed to stretch forever._

 _"Hang on, are these...rails?" He felt around the ground he had landed on. Yes, now that he was a bit more clear headed, he could feel something that was vaguely solid and in a similar shape to the rails he had come to know as a driver. But if he looked at them, or tried to, all he'd see was his hand patting an invisible lump._

 _"Well, you don't give away your position to the enemy, do you? My god, you'd think you were a little cleverer considering you were the one who saved the entire world."_

 _"Now, now, young un, restrain yourself." Mr Benn walked out from the clump of trees, dressed in typical villager attire for this time period, clasped Carlin's shoulder and yanked him up with surprising strength. "He's probably a little bit confused, aren't you, dear fellow?"_

 _"You can say that again, you f**king son of a gun! The hell did you spring from?!"_

 _"Come down here. I'll explain more when we're safe."_

 _A few seconds later, Carlin's jaw had practically hit the floor in shock. Benn had pulled him down beneath the hollow of an old beech tree. He hadn't expected much, just some supplies to keep him (Benn) alive. What he saw instead was a very large, in both width and length, area that seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see. They were clearly under the forest, as the roots of the trees wrapped around the ceiling like a massive honeycomb. The entire room, for lack of a better term, was lit up with what appeared to be huge clumps of glowworms, nestling together inside makeshift lamps._

 _But it was what was on the ground that was of interest to Carlin. What appeared to be primitive sheds had been set up around the place, alongside rails that were more visible than the ones upon the ground. Besides them were anvils, where strange looking machines acted as blacksmiths, forging new rails, sleepers and construction materials. But this room was not empty. Far from it._

 _There were machines everywhere. Cars, buses, lorries, tractors, steamrollers, construction vehicles, all doing something or other. Testing themselves, Carlin realized. The buses were on an area marked in old English as 'speed testing', racing around a carved out track alongside some of the cars. The lorries were bringing what appeared to be fresh supplies of...oil? Some sort of fuel, anyway. The tractors and other construction vehicles (Diggers, bulldozers, cranes, loaders) were expanding the cavern outwards via whatever means necessary._

 _"What...is this?"_

 _"Welcome to Great Waterton." Benn clapped a hand upon Carlin's shoulder. "Walk with me, and I'll explain. Thank you, Conductor. That'll be all."_

 _The little man nodded, looked oddly at Carlin, and then vanished._

 _"I'll start at the beginning. During the battle against the Malevolence, you were knocked against a tree, and rendered unconscious. Before I could reach you, two things happened. The Malevolence was torn apart by the magic of Lady and Proteus, and another one of those odd time portals appeared, absorbing you and sending you hurtling back to this exact moment in time. You follow me?"_

 _"I...think so?"_

 _"In any case, I was unable to follow you through said portal because, as I have mentioned, the destruction of the Malevolence took a great deal of precedence. And don't roll your eyes at me like that, it's true. King Noggin was taken back to the Northlands, where he died and was given a hero's funeral. It was decided by the wizard Catweazle that...well, to put it this way, evil is a bit like energy, it be can be transferred, it can be harnessed, it can be trapped...but it can never be fully destroyed. At least, not yet. So the remaining members of the group agreed to meet here every once a year to make sure that the Malevolence never returns, and to keep these machines, not yet supposed to be created, a secret."_

 _"I follow you, sort of. So, that's Catweazle, Alias, Willo, Meredith- Was that his name? Yeah. So that makes four. The priest?"_

 _"Dead. There's been five priests here since him, and half of them have died due to some sort of curse passed on by the Malevolence. No, we can't get the help of any men of god on this one. But along with the four you've mentioned, we've had the assistance of Knut, Noggin's son and myself. They call themselves the Iron Circle, a rather pretentious nickname." Benn paused. "And now, you're back. So, you're technically a member. I've been making pit stops back over the years, never staying in the same place for long, just enough to check there has been no disturbance, and to find where you had got to. Stopped back at the shop on the way, got you something more period appropriate."_

 _"Touching. But, if you're trying to keep them a secret, why is there a kingdom on here?"_

 _Benn thought for a moment, took Carlin down a side tunnel and started talking again, in somewhat hushed tones. "We put up a sign, it was Meredith's idea, to try and keep away intruders. Alias chose the words 'Sod Off' to be written upon it, to perhaps try and convince people that this was an accursed place. Unfortunately, four or five years ago, King Godred returned to the Island. His father and some of the tribes that he ruled had been living there back in the tenth century or so, before the evil took over the land and forced them out. His son came back and decided that it was his rightful land."_

 _"But, isn't the actual King at this point...hold on, let me use my thinkbox...Henry? Henry the 1st? I mean, all these squabbles about who the true king is should be over now, right?"_

 _"They are. Alias's king was killed not long after he returned from the battle, and most of the Viking tribes have given up or been slaughtered. But Godred thinks he can use the magic on this Island to take back England. He's a fool. But a dangerous fool, as you've clearly seen. History books paint him as this benevolent king who had a whole legion of good and benevolent knights, a real King Arthur." Benn paused, and tapped the wall. "Anyway, he struggled to read the sign seeing as it got worn down so much over the years, so instead of Sod Off, he christened the Island 'Sodor'. We've used the magic to go underground, start up a civilization of our own, and to create more warriors."_

 _"And the Conductors? I mean, admittedly I've never quite been told the history of my people, but I never thought it was anything like this."_

 _"You'll see. Right through this door."_

...

Gordon's special coach was one that had formerly been used to take passengers from the Express to Thomas's Branch Line. However, after an incident in 1986 with the Scottish twins, that idea was stopped, and the coach was used for formal occasions. After a four year wait, it was dragged out of retirement, cleaned and polished, and was placed on a siding for last checks by humans and the Pinchers.

Gordon waited impatiently as he glared at the clock. Percy rolled up with a line of coal trucks, and Gordon immediately became aware that there was a fifty percent chance of something rather amusing relating to the coal trucks happening to him. He was becoming increasingly aware of his role in the great cosmic story, which was to get covered in horrible stuff as karmic punishment.

"What's the matter, Gordon!? Why aren't you moving?! You'll be late! You've got boiler sludge, haven't you!?"

"Driver says that there's gremlins in the turntable, and Hatt's having a coronary. He's ordered me to wait here until we make sure that there's no infestation. It's as stupid as it sounds, and then some."

"Must be everywhere! And- Oliver, why do you have your head stuck in a shed?"

"Oh you know." Oliver said casually. "Just, er, relaxing. In the darkness. Unable to see. It's fun, really."

Toad looked at Percy for help, but the little green goblin had already scurried away to do something funner with his life, like go back to tending the bar at Knapford, which was undergoing repairs. To this day, we're still not entirely sure why Oliver had his head stuck in a shed. I don't think any of us will ever know the answer to it.

At last, the turntable was mended, and the coach was ready, and Gordon puffed away with the special coach in fine fettle. He grunted and growled to himself, he really didn't want to be late and have to suffer the wrath of Fatty so soon after the incident at Kirk Ronan.

Also, a second coach had somehow managed to teleport right behind the first. Don't ask me why, I just do the narration. Gordon was soon making up for lost time and arrived at Kirk Ronan with time to spare. Percy was also there, trying to get a quick look at the visitor himself.

As time ticked by, the Fat Controller grew worried. "WHERE IS THOMAS!? HE'S BRINGING MY MOT-THE SPECIAL VISITOR! IF HE'S LATE-"

"Pah! This is what happens when you put that silly little tank engine in control, sir! I keep telling you, he's probably gotten lost doing his crossword somewhere. Really useful? Can't be, if he's late!"

"Someone's salty this morning," remarked Percy, as Thomas arrived, looking extremely exhausted and weary.

"Sorry sir! There was an incident with another cow on the line, AGAIN, you should really fix that, sir, but good news, visitor is safe and sound, and my driver can attest to that!"

"Oh, good, ah, and here she is! How are you?" He shook the visitor's hand rather solemnly, before something Thomas said clicked in his head. "Hang about? What was your driver doing checking on the visitor?"

"Can you blame a lass for a quick bit of fun!?" chortled the woman, who looked like the Fat Controller in drag. The fireman shook his head at the rather embarrassed driver, who was fumbling with his belt.

"Who is it?" whispered Percy.

"I don't know, but she and the driver have probably traumatized me with what they were doing back in Clarabel. How are you, old girl?"

"The horror...the horror."

"The Fat Controller is rather keen to please her, he's got a whole special party lined up for her." Thomas shuddered. "Though considering how she is right now, I'd put money on it turning into some bizarre sort of Roman orgy."

"She's got a dog!"

"A-woof-woof." said the dog, sounding suspiciously like Micheal Angelis doing a silly voice.

"Come on, Thomas!" said the driver "You need a drink!"

"And you need a cigarette, mate! You don't half pick em, do you?" snorted the fireman, as Thomas backed out of the station.

"PAH! Lazy little sod! The Fat Man is expecting me to arrive on time, and it's because of him that we're late!" Gordon rolled his eyes and started off. Or at least, attempted to, as the lady was weighing down the mysteriously appearing second coach.

Eventually, he gathered speed to make up for lost time. His driver encouraged this, he wanted to get the mental image of his fellow driver and the visitor doing godknows what on the backseat on the carriage as soon as possible. Unfortunately, they picked the worst time to do this, as the visitor had for some ungodly reason decided to have a bath.

"Listen-" said the fireman, in a rare moment of sanity "-I think we should slow down, in case our VIP gets uncomfortable. It's an old line here, it's rather painful." And it was.

"OOOH SHIT! WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY DUCK?!" The water flopped about and sploshed against the window and through the doors, as the visitor rolled around undignified, trying to regain footing. And as they climbed the hill, the bath slid backwards and smacked into the back of the carriage. The woman almost fell out of the back door, and survived only by clinging on to the railings for dear life.

The dog, meanwhile, was having a blast.

As they pulled into Wellsworth, Gordon looked rather haggard. "You can take her!" he snapped to Thomas, and stormed off in the general direction of the sheds so that he could finally get some rest. Before he did this, however, he let out a very long and loud whistle that sent the dog into a frenzy. He leapt from the carriage, sped through the station, across the road and into a field where Champion the bull was waiting.

The two creatures eyed each other for a moment. Then the bull let out a very odd noise that also sounded like Micheal Angelis doing a silly voice. This scared the dog so much that he decided to leap back over the bushes, through the station, over the bridge and into Thomas's cab.

"A-woof-woof!"

He had a nice ride all the way to the docks, even if the fireman did nearly eat him out of sheer desperation. At the docks, the Fulton Ferry was waiting, to be used as the sight of the party of the year. Not that many people would remember it after this night was over.

"What's the dog's name?" asked the fireman. No one was sure whether he was talking about the visitor or the animal itself.

"After today, I think I'll call him Gremlin! Come here at ONCE!" The dog hurried up, and the Fat Controller backed away a few paces just in case the dog turned vicious and decided it was 'Controller' for supper.

"Well, at least I've met one, at last. Heh." No one else found Topham's joke funny, once again. He forced out a "Ho ho ho" and looked glumly around.

"Excuse me, sir, but who is this very special visitor who has traumatized one of my coaches?"

"Why, didn't I tell you? This is my mother, the Dowager Hatt, and she agrees with me that you are all really useful engines, and as you know, mothers are always right. Especially my mother."

"A-WOOF-WOOF!"

"Shut up, Gremlin."

Dowager Hatt proceeded to do a number of things once the party started. Firstly, she drank enough beer to sink the Titanic four times over. Then she managed to set the curtains on fire with her seventh cigar of the night. After which, she ended up sleeping with half the drivers and a good quarter of the fireman of Topham's entire railway. Finally, she ended up in a delirious state after having driven the Fulton Ferry into a bunch of rocks.

It was a good party, for her.

...

 _"This is proof, clear and unrefutable proof, that we need to act now!" If Proteus had arms, he probably would have slammed one down on the table as a sign of his determination. As it was, he settled for just whistling loudly._

 _"You need to calm down, Proteus," warned Meredith. "I have spent some time with his majesty, and aside from the fact that he is attempting the impossible in overthrowing the right and true King, he is a most cunning adversary. The loss of his crown will be something else to fuel his great anger. I'd rather not go up against him just yet."_

 _"Then how long do you expect us to wait?!" shot back a rather tense sounding plane "Every day the humans grow stronger! Every day they become more convinced of their own superiority!"_

 _"I agree. Which is why we must not fall into the same trap as them, m'dears." declared a tug, who wore glasses and appeared to be an ocean goer, by his basis. He rested upon a small stream of water that trickled from somewhere, keeping him bobbing along gently. "The thing is, we may have the magic that can stop him, but he has the advantage of not being limited, at least not in the same way, by fuel, by terrain. We need to think this through carefully."_

 _Carlin watched, confused. "What's going on?"_

 _"An argument. The last shockwave of light and dark magic brought many of the vehicles you see before you to life, and Lady selected a sort of inner circle. We don't get along. We're more concerned with keeping the world in order. But there's a sizable portion of the Old Ones who desire ruling over the humans instead of alongside them."_

 _"But there are more here than there were back during the battle. We only made one of each, apart from the steam trains."_

 _"They've learnt a lot."_

 _Carlin jumped, banging his head on the roof and falling back down to earth with a undignified squawk. He looked up into the eyes of Lady. The tank engine regarded him for a moment as one might regard a particularly impressive parrot._

 _"I apologize if I frightened you at all, Carlin. That is your name, correct?"_

 _"Yeah! It is, uh, you look well."_

 _"I try."_

 _Carlin's knowledge of small talk had dried up after this point, and so for the next minute he awkwardly looked at his shoes, trying to think of a topic to continue onwards. At last, he gave up, and just asked the question that was most prominent in his mind. "What do you think?"_

 _"About Godred?"_

 _"About...the humans. Taking over."_

 _Lady didn't answer for a long time. Then, when Carlin had begun to fear that he had offended her, she spoke "I have listened to Catweazle talk about the future. Of what it holds. Of what we are. Of what happens to our kind. We will die. Many of us will die because the humans start to see us as words on a piece of paper. We are not. We are living, thinking, talking, breathing creatures. As long as I live, I will never let man destroy any of us. I see no problem with helping the humans out if they need it. It is in our nature to enjoy work, to find it fun...but to serve or to control? I doubt very much it would go well."_

 _Her eyes drifted over to the arguing humans and vehicles. "But what do I know? Maybe it is my experience outside of this body that is talking. They have known nothing but those forms. They know that they will be called upon to work for the humans. It doesn't settle well with them. I can't blame them. The others...they've been constructed thanks to my magic. Whatever that blast did, it soaked the land in the same magic that brought them to life. So every time Sudrian steel, or iron, or any metal is used to construct something...it's brought to life. We need soldiers, and we need them fast. War doesn't accommodate one's personal wishes."_

 _"I know that." Carlin sighed. "Yeah."_

 _"You have been most helpful. You saved our lives in the battle. In return, I have given your kind a home. The newer ones, they lack the magic that we all possess. They need drivers, firemen, guards...people to keep them running. We call them gremlins. Hopefully, one day they will no longer be needed."_

 _Carlin understood. The Conductors were, in effect, the yearly caretakers of the engines. As time passed by, they would fade from memory, until they were only referred to be the mocking nickname of gremlins. "What are you going to do about Godred?"_

 _"Come with me."_

 _Lady bade Carlin and Benn to get on her cab, and so doing, she puffed off, as most of the inner circle of vehicles joined her, Benn quickly informed him of each one. There was the ocean going tug, Poseidon, who was probably the wisest of all the Old Ones, who refused to act without doing anything, and his protege, the oddly named 'Tubby' the tugboat. The plane, referred to as Jay Jay, accompanied a helicopter whom appeared to be holding back his friend. Alongside them were a variety of different names that he'd probably forget. Bella the Bus, Doc the Double Decker, Saul the Steamroller, Mark the Motorcycle, Charles the Clapped Out Car, Tractor Tom, Half Pint the Milk Float. And Proteus, of course, who seemed to be rather grumpy._

 _"There are others, of course, but they're either too big to fit in here, or they're out scouting." he told Carlin. "Good to see you back, anyway. Thanks for your help in the battle. Is this it?"_

 _Lady glanced down the tunnel to her left. "No. That's the way to the Magic Railroad, and it's not ready yet."_

 _"The what?!"_

 _"It's a way of travelling around the world. To future railways, once they get built." Lady frowned. "In theory, anyway. Now, before I show you all this, let me just state that these are a last resort, in case...you know who, comes back."_

 _Everyone nodded awkwardly._

 _"I mean it. We don't use them just because we want to get rid of Godred, because if we do, it could get rather nasty. They have power that is incredibly dangerous." She made sure that that had been impressed upon them all, and then ordered that a large tarpaulin be removed._

 _There was a gasp._

 _"Rocketing Rotors!"_

 _"The hell are they?!"_

 _"Are they meant to be this small?"_

 _"I don't understand." Carlin muttered to Benn. "By what you and she have said, you've been making these...anthropomorphic vehicles for quite a while now!"_

 _"Yes, but...you remember that before Proteus and Lady came along, we'd tried making another steam engine, right? Well, it failed, didn't it? Not failed, it just didn't respond. Even when the magic hit, it remained faceless, voiceless, all it was able to do is communicate in whistles that everyone somehow is able to understand. And since then, there's been no way to make sentient steam engines. No way at all. Until now, because apparently Lady has made four of them!"_

 _The four small tender engines, about the size of the average human, looked around and grinned, charmingly, at the baffled ground._

 _"Hello, I'm Rex!"_

 _"I'm Mike!_

 _"I'm Bert!"_

 _"And I'm Jock!"_

 _"And they are, for lack of a better word, the beginning of a new era." Lady grinned. "Any questions?"_

* * *

Oh boy, do I have some notes to make!

Yep. I went there. Marion wasn't wrong, the little engines? They're totes magic. They may not have the ability to transform a steam engine into a excavator and back again, but they do have a little magic. Why are they here? What are they doing? Why is Jock among them? Questions for another time, I'm afraid!

The idea of the Conductors being the first crew of the vehicles came about really late, as in, when I first started writing this chapter, and was wondering how I could tie in the gremlins. It's also done as a way to explain, in particular, the way that in TUGS, they often preform actions that are somewhat not in keeping with the theme of anthropomorphism. They do have crews, just small ones that you can't see, working the mechanics inside the Tugs.

And I went reference insane on this one! Most of the alliterative names were ones i just came up with, to suit the theme of most of the characters in the official stories having alliterative names, which I always thought was fun. Jay Jay the Jet Plane is from his own series, same with Tractor Tom and Budgie the Helicopter, who is the one shouting "Rocketing Rotors!" which is his catchphrase in the show. Tubby the Tugboat actually came about when I was looking up information on the illustrators, it said that Reginald Dalby tried to make his own series of books called Tales of Flitterwick Harbour, starring Tubby, and I just couldn't resist it. His mentor is a character you might have heard of as well, but I won't say it just yet. You can probably guess. Half Pint the Milk Float is from Dream Street, which I mostly knew through repeated watchings of Carlton Entertainment's adverts.

Oh, and finally, the engine I've mentioned. He was mentioned in the last chapter, though I wouldn't have been surprised if you missed him. I won't tell you who he is just yet, but I have left a pretty detailed reference to him. I'm curious to see if anyone picked up on who he might be.

And on that confusing note, thanks for watching, and next time, we have some good fun with 'Bye George'!


	111. Chapter 7: Bye George

First of all, like the new cover? You can thank the very kind, talented and helpful **genericuser22** for that! It's a lovely cover, suits the story very well, and he has made it look rather impressive! So, kudos to him!

Let's get the reviews out of the way!

 **Hughie99:** Thanks very much, glad to hear you enjoyed reading these! I will definitely use that joke at some point, and credit it to you!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Basically!

 **TrainManiac:** It's okay! She was a ton of fun to write, can't wait until we get to her being in more episodes. And to answer, no, Alec Baldwin was never on Shining Time Station aside from the movie, but I will try and write in an explanation for his version of Mr Conductor.

 **Bronze Shield:** Hope you enjoy it!

 **Game-Watch:** Really, the lesson she really needs to learn is tact. XD.

 **MattPrice01:** They really are! British people make the best villains. Glad you enjoyed, that quote was a fun one to write, love writing Hatt getting flustered. Hope this chapter is okay!

It's time for a Villain Episode! Yep, I was planning to do one of these anyways in this season, primarily because I thought it would be interesting to begin linking together some details for later episodes, but Bye George is definitely the best choice to do one of these. I did admittedly struggle a bit with writing this one, but hopefully you all get some measure of enjoyment out of it.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"I'd hate to be you." said Toby, sympathetically to the rather miserable looking Percy. The tank engine snorted, and took a deep breath.

"Better head off and get him, I guess. I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible." And whistling goodbye, Percy set off in the general direction of the new quarry.

It was a nice day, by the Island's standards. There appeared to be no sudden spurt of snow or rain or hail or sleet or anything equally as random that appeared without warning. The sun was out, though it behind rather small, white fluffy clouds, and the engines were in relatively good moods.

It wouldn't last.

Mavis bustled up. "Morning, Toby! Ready for work?"

"Yes, of course. You take the trucks on the right side, I'll take the trucks on the left. Sound fair?"

"Sure."

"Mavis, I have to ask you...am I boring?"

...

The new quarry was a rather ambitious plan set in motion by the Fat Controller. Duck had subtly suggested the site of one of Davidson's many secret bases would make an excellent new source of rock and industry to throw the scent off of Davidson's other hideaways. A great deal of activity was usually going on there, Jenny Packard's team were up there quite regularly, Terrance and Trevor often helped out, and most of the engines had been drafted in to give one or two helping buffers. Helping matters was the fact that there were both standard and narrow gauge lines running into it, giving engines of all kinds a chance to talk together while they worked.

Not helping matters was that it did often lead to a lot of arguments between standard and narrow engines. Such highlights included Gordon and Sir Handel dissolving their student-teacher relationship when Gordon accidentally implied something rather nasty about Handel's funnel, Peter Sam getting his revenge on Henry for the Refreshment Lady incident and an incident where Skarloey, Rheneas and Percy had gotten so drunk that they had accidentally carved a anatomically correct penis into the mountain...somehow.

This was why the two little engines were being punished by watching George the Steamroller while Percy was punished by having to take him to another workplace. The workmen had flat out refused to work with George, Gotch had become sort of a pariah amongst the quarry workers for a series of thefts that they hadn't been able to link back to him.

George, as per usual, was being rude to someone, in this case, Rheneas and Skarloey. The latter two were grinning in sheer delight as Percy drew nearer. "You're just worn out hunks of scrap, riding on worn out wheels and worn out rails! Bloody reds, the revolution is coming, you fools! And you're ilk will be the first to go!"

"You need rocks for your roads. We help you. There's no bloody revolution without our help, you asshole."

Like most bigots, George responded to logic like someone lactose intolerant to milk being offered, with violent denial. "I need no such thing! Just to flatten engines like you in the scrapyard! Bloody bourgeois!"

Percy arrived, bringing great relief to the two little engines. He was coupled up to George's flatbed, all the while glaring at the newly named 'Mount Penis' with anger. George was still being his rebel with a terrible cause. "RAILWAYS ARE NO GOOD! TURN EM INTO ROADS! PULL EM UP, TURN EM INTO ROADS!"

"Still need to work on the slogan" muttered Gotch.

"ROLLERS ARE RUBBISH! SO GOOD RIDDANCE!" called Rheneas, very loudly. Skarloey laughed, until he realized that the two of them were now going to have to go back and work with Sir Handel and Duncan for the rest of the day. He shuddered.

...

 _"What are ye doing, sir? Ye look like a prat, no offence intended."_

 _"You have a funny manner if that's the case, Captain. Still, I don't expect you to fully understand what this is." The Fat Director had made quite sure that the newly brought to life vehicles had headed off with Lady and Proteus leading the way before slipping out of his hiding place and pulling the blackened piece of metal from Proteus's body. He set it down upon the ground, and had spent the past three minutes sketching something in the ground around it. It was a symbol, what looked like a triangle with an eye in the middle of it, Coming off from the eye was the symbol of the Other Railway, double arrows, on both sides._

 _"This is fascinating, but shouldn't we-"_

 _The Fat Director pulled out a lighter, sprinkled a fine powder along the drawing, flicked the lighter on and then lit the powder up. And then he said some words that were...well, it's rather hard to describe what they are, since half of them appeared to be made up._

 _There was a brilliant flash of blue, and the powder caught alight. The symbol began to glow and crackle, and a faint shadowy face began to appear in it._

 _"This, my dear Captain, is magic. It's a rudimentary form, but it allows you to communicate with any spirits located in the item placed in the center of the drawing." The Fat Director bowed "I assume I speak to the Malevolence?"_

 _ **"You show respect,"** The voice sounded pleasantly surprised, if pleasantly could be used to describe anything about the Malevolence **"You know my name, you clearly have some knowledge of the dark arts...you're different from the others, aren't you? Where'd you learn such magic?"**_

 _"From you. Or rather, I will do."_

 _ **"...Ah. You come from the future then."**_

 _"That's a bloody leap in logic. I mean, it's true, but I dinnae understand how you can reach that conclusion." muttered Captain Zero, before a rather sharp look from the Fat Director quelled his brief surge of rebelliousness._

 _"Yes, my lord, we do indeed come from the future. I have instructions from yourself to assist in your reconstruction. It will take a long time-"_

 _ **"I have had nothing but time for centuries, millennia even, a few more will be an annoyance, at worst. However, I am curious, what exactly is it that you have planned?"**_

 _The Fat Director steepled his fingers together "It's quite simple. At the moment, you've been split into two pieces by the battle that you've just been through. There's the piece inside this bit of metal, that I'm communicating with now and will be delivered to this Island in the 20th century to a new body, and then there's the rest of your, for lack of a better term, soul. From what I can gather from what information you gave me, it's imprisoned inside the Island itself."_

 _"First of all, if that is ye're definition of simple, ye're off the bloody chain. Secondly, we just saw yon Malevolence get, no offence, obliterated"_

 _ **"My physical form, yes. But there's a reason that they call it an 'immortal' soul. It can survive practically anything."** The Malevolence sounded thoughtful. **"Finding a way to break the imprisonment would be a step in the right direction. But even with my soul reunited, it would take a lot of power for me to ever regain the form you saw me in."**_

 _The Fat Director grinned. Unpleasantly. "I have an idea on that score"._

...

"Another thing I don't like about rails? They are so old-fashioned, I mean have you seen the way that road vehicles move? We look like swans! You look like chickens wiggling up and down."

"So, I'm going to have to cancel the party-"

"Another reason for me to hate the engines, I hear you ask? Your stupid faces. Have you seen James's face?"

"More times than I would care too."

"That is a face that a mother would smother if she had the chance."

"Any chance we could talk about something we both like?"

"No."

"Good to know."

George, shockingly, grumbled dreadfully as Percy pulled him along the fishing village towards the Old Branchline that only now had come into existence. He was going to turn it into a road, and a fast food place. Progress, am I right?

Men had already gotten to work on the dismantling of the old station, which is for some reason only now appearing in the series proper. There were some who said that it had used to be the station of the old number one engine on the Island, though few remembered his name.

When they arrived, George was rude once again. "ROTTEN RIDE ON ROTTEN RAILS!" He roared. "I KNOW WORDS THAT BEGIN WITH 'R'! I AM GLAD IT'S OVER!"

"So am I." muttered Percy. "God, you guys can have him."

"PAH!" said George with great feeling. Percy backed off as fast as he could away from the mad steamroller. Men waved and shouted, pleading to be taken with him, even if the alternative was working with James perfect his tan, but Percy was hard and cruel, and so left them to suffer working with George.

He was still fuming later on when he entered Tidmouth Yard, grumpily shunting away the flatbed that George had been carried on back into it's proper place, where it would seek a great deal of therapy for it's painful task. Gordon and Duck were relaxing, waiting for Gordon's express train to be put together. Gordon definitely wasn't staring at Duck's bunker. It may look like that, but he wasn't.

Thomas was there, casually chilling and wondering about five down on his latest crossword puzzle. "What's up, Percy?"

"The sky, birds, clouds, the moon, the sun-"

"What's wrong, Percy?" Thomas remembered you had to be specific when talking to Percy, or else he'd either say something stupid or act sarcastic about it. Probably both.

"It's George!"

"George?"

"Slow bastard," remarked Duck "Looks like someone permanently urinated in his cornflakes."

"He makes me feel down!"

"Then be up!" said Gordon, before laughing at his own terrible joke. Terrible jokes in this story, I know, right?

"Just ignore him, Percy! You know, like James does to all the times we try to tell him how to improve his life!" And so saying, Thomas set off, grimly determined to learn George some manners if he had to.

...

This place was disgusting.

It was so...clean. So tidy. So sugary sweet that it was rotting his teeth, and that was impressive, considering that he hadn't the best teeth to begin with.

It was infecting him and it made him want to throw up. People smiled all the time, apologized profusely for bumping into him, kids played baseball on the village green for crying out loud. It was like Happy Days, except worse.

Shining Time was an awful place for someone like P.T Boomer.

But he had a job to do.

The basement had been completely gutted. Anything that wasn't useful had been ripped apart, walls had been knocked down to create a massive area, free of nearly any sunlight, that would be quite handy for holding prisoners should it come to it.

He had gathered together quite a motley crew of bikers, who all admired him, especially how willing he was to fight to prove his dominance. It was on his instruction that they combed out the land, looked all over for any signs of the lost engine, or the Magic Railroad, or anything important.

He hadn't done much recently.

Well it was about time that he changed that.

...

"DOO DE DOO, RIPPING UP RAILS, WHAT A LIFE, DO DO DO! EVERYBODY!"

No one else sang, so George beatboxed the rest of his improvised song, he was now enjoying himself enormously as he flattened the decorative pebbles over what remained of the old branch line. He was happy, for once in his life time. He grinned as he saw Thomas approaching on the bank not too far from him. "Whatcha think of this, Thomas!? This is Elsbridge one day in the future! And I'll be there to watch you sob!"

"What did he say?" muttered Thomas to his driver, who shrugged. Thomas also brushed it aside and carried on by without giving any sign that he had even realized that George existed.

The steamroller, like most bigots, was enraged that the target of his rants wasn't listening to him, and swore revenge. "I SWEAR REVENGE! YOU'RE A USELESS BLUE PUFFBALL AND YOU SMELL! AND YOUR TRUCKS ARE BACK TO FRONT, WHY THE HELL IS THAT?! I'll show you who is boss, you little blue so and so!"

"Do you ever think we should have taken that job with the Other Railway?" muttered one construction worker to his friend.

They continued on this vein for about another hour, before the workmen reached the level crossing that Thomas had just passed across on. While this would be a pain to remove, as it did mean that they'd have to reroute Thomas and get rid of a rather helpful shortcut, it was necessary to make room for the road. The foreman looked very baffled. He hadn't expected to have to make any decisions for himself.

"What shall we do here!?"

"Tear it up! Tarmac it! Make sure that it was NEVER HERE AT ALL!" snarled George, frothing at the mouth. And because they had nothing better to do, the workmen did so. Unfortunately, this was not done properly. No signs were left behind (Because the workmen were lazy sods), the gates were shut (Previous excuse) and someone dropped a whole load of fish oil along the tracks (I...I don't know), and George knew this.

He stayed quiet, which should have been a massive red warning flag right there and then.

So they left a large section of the track completely covered with tar. Unsurprisingly, the workmen would later be fired for this.

Later, Thomas was returning home on the same line, pulling trucks filled with vegetables for some reason. Perhaps they were going to have a midnight feast at Tidmouth Sheds, I don't really know and I don't really care. He wasn't really thinking that much of anything important, but his focus was not on the track ahead. The signalman had fallen asleep, in what was to become a disturbing regular occurrence, and had forgotten to warn the driver of the change.

So what you're basically learning is that everyone on this Island is incompetent, which to be fair, is not something that will surprise you. It's even their motto (In latin, of course, _Confusio et mora_ ).

"That's nice, we don't have to stop!" said Thomas blithely.

"OH HELL YES WE DO!" screamed the driver, who applied the brake as hard as he could. Unfortunately, it was too late. The second his wheels left the rails and landed on the tarmac, the slippery oil propelled them forwards off the rails, down the bank and into a conviniently placed shed.

"HORRORS!" cried Thomas, and said something far stronger as he shot through said shed, running through straw, chickens and even a very startled cow, before finally coming to a less than grateful stop outside.

The farmer was outraged. "LOOK WHAT OO'VE DONE TO MY BREAKFAST!" He bellowed.

Thomas was becoming more and more used to this by now.

...

The next day, Gordon and Percy were talking about George yet again. Thomas had last been seen being pulled away by the Works Diesel swearing revenge upon the steamroller, at which point a egg had hatched in his boiler. He was now jealously guarding Thomas Jr with his life.

"HA!" snorted Gordon "You're just small engines! That's why he's rude to you and Thomas! Because he can get away with it! But ME, a big engine?! He wouldn't stand a chance! Now, the express calls! You just wait and see, little Percy, I shall teach him a few things before the day is out!"

As he set off, Toby and Edward looked at each other knowingly as they shunted trucks.

"So, how many hours do you reckon it'll take? Three?"

"Being generous. Two, more likely."

Meanwhile, George had been moved to Crosby, and was taking a great deal of joy in just rolling around, practicing for the day when he could massacre the steam engines in full. He wondered if he needed to talk to someone, and then dismissed it. As he chuffered about, he rolled towards the rails, just as Duck arrived pulling a line of trucks.

The two eyed each other warily as George came to a stop right in the way of the Great Western tank engine. Normally, Duck would have been happy to take George down a peg or two, but his last truck was stuck on the end of the line, right in the way of any train passing. The reason there was no brakevan was because the Spiteful Brakevan had refused to work with Duck, and had poisoned most of the other brakevans in the yard against him.

"Let me pass!"

"I'm too busy doing important stuff! You'll just have to wait!"

"You are literally sitting on the line doing nothing!"

"It's very taxing!"

"Anyway, I can't just sit on my arse and wait, Gordon'll coming through with the express, and I need to get my trucks out of the way so that we don't have another one of those rallies again! The one that nearly cost us a fortune to repair Elsbridge was a nightmare!"

"PAH! Gordon'll have to wait too!"

Duck's driver hurried off to the stationmaster to complain, but by the time the stationmaster had stopped drinking straight from the bottle to call the signalman, the latter had already switched the points to let Gordon in from the main line.

Gordon was in a good mood, his passengers were singing his praises, he was making near record time and he was smugly convinced of his own superiority" as he crossed over the viaduct. "I'm the greatest! Ever! Just watch me fly by!" He whistled long and loud as he hurried towards the station.

Suddenly, his vision kicked in and he suddenly saw the truck on the line. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

The truck, shockingly, couldn't move.

Until Gordon forced it, by accident, with a tremendous crunching noise that somehow managed to break the laws of physics and gravity, sending the truck flying up into the air like a bizarre frisbee. Duck and George watched with open mouths as the truck did three somersaults, a backflip and won a ten from each of the three judges who were spontaneously there before landing and shattering.

George quietly slipped away. He knew that this wasn't going to be good for him.

...

It had been messy.

It had been messy and showy and flashy and all of the rest.

He hated murders like that. No, it was best to kill your victim quietly, in a way that didn't attract too much attention. He had been damned lucky to get away without alerting anyone to his presence. They'd know now, of course, but it gave him time to slip away.

St Eustace had been tricky in life, it only felt fair to say that he had been tricky in death.

Not a word on his employers. He had kept it dark until the second he had died. In a strange way, he could almost respect the arrogance and stupidity that this entailed.

The Juggernaut roared. It wasn't from his mouth, rather from the engines that had been built into this armored suit, to ventilate steam and allow for air to be taken in and cleansed of all of it's little germs and microbes and viruses.

Slowly, he began to move out.

It was time that he paid Duck the Great Western engine a visit.

...

"Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez, this is going to be really bloody painful." muttered Gordon, who was worried that the Fat Controller was going to be cross. Edward and Toby looked at each other, knowingly. Two hours and a half. A new record.

The Fat Controller was cross. Not with Gordon, for once, though. "WHOEVER CAUSED THIS DISTURBANCE-" He slurred, having drunk twice his weight in root beer "-WILL HAVE ME TO ANSWER TO!"

He then promptly walked off the platform and fell face first onto the rails.

...

 _The portal dropped the Director and the Captain in a rather secluded area of the Island. This time, however, there was more signs of modern activity. Rails were lying across the ground, in the distance smoke from a factory could be seen, and the faint sound of cars and buses bustling to and fro were in the background._

 _"Where are we?"_

 _"Nineteen fifty, give or take a year." The Fat Director cleared his way through the trees and bushes, still holding the piece of metal that contained the Malevolence in it. "Now, if the instructions I've been given are correct, and they should be, what I'm looking for should be right...here!"_

 _Zero gulped, and the metal seemed to pulsate with a sort of shock. "Hang on! Isn't that-" At the Director's nod, Zero looked to the piece of metal, then to the steam engine in front of them, then at the Fat Director "So...now what?"_

 _The Fat Director took the piece of metal, smiled rather nastily, and walked forward. There was a rather convenient hole in the middle of the boiler, which funnily enough was the exact shape and size of the shattered piece of steel. So, casually, it was slotted into place, making a satisfying clicking noise as at last, the engine was complete._

 _For a moment, there was nothing. And then:_

 _ **What is the plan here?**_

 _Zero jumped. "Where-"_

 _ **Now that I have a solid form, even one which I have no control over just yet, I can communicate with you via telepathy. It's a rather nice trick that we demonic figures can do. So, what now?**_

 _"Now, sir, you wait. In exactly three days, someone will find you lying here, and assume that you've been abandoned by a war that the inhabitants of the Island were having. You'll be taken back to their steamworks, whereupon you will be infused with the metal that gives engines their life, their ability to move and talk and think and do anything really, you can go about, learn all about your main enemy, kill them, take their souls, gain their power, and with every passing day, grow stronger and stronger."_

 _ **I see. And the other half of me? The one trapped inside the Island?**_

 _"Leave that to us. By the time the two parts of you are reunited, you should both be as strong as you were during the battle against Lady and Proteus. Combined together...well, I doubt anyone can be able to stop you."_

 _ **You are a clever man. Where did you learn of such an idea?**_

 _"Oh...you taught me well, sir."_

 _The Fat Director dragged the gawping Zero back through the portal, leaving the Malevolence to ruminate upon his new body._

...

A few days later, Thomas and Percy arrived at a very old logging camp, supposedly to pick up some timber for the new quarry. They were delighted to see something very, very cathartic.

"Look who's here!" chortled Thomas.

"HA BLOODY HA!"

George had been found out by the Fat Controller, and as Gotch had abandoned him to try and begin negotiations to bring him across to the Other Railway, he had been punished severely by being shoved on his own in the yard. He looked miserable.

"Now we'll get some peace at last! Hang on, is that Duke's old shed next to him?"

"I want to get rolling again! But it's a whole week until I do!"

"And then you'll be just as rude, bossy and assholeish as before, eh George?"

I hope not, do you? ...Why am I asking you? You never talk back to me. I'M LONELY DAMN IT. THEY DIDN'T EVEN PUT MY NAME IN THE TITLES THIS TIME!

"So, is no one going to talk about how Duke's shed is right there next to him-?"

"SHUT UP PERCY!" said Thomas, George and the narrator. God I need a break.

...

Gotch looked at the whiskey bottle with some distaste. It wasn't the really good stuff that the engines got, but then he'd had to be a bit sneaky about buying anything lately. The Fat Controller was many things, but a complete imbecile was not one of them. He had begun to put together the dots with regards to how many strange accidents seemed to happen to someone matching the description or using the same name as Adrian Gotch, or names along the same line. He had therefore asked the Mayor of Sodor to put some pressure upon the police to, at the very least, bring him in for questioning.

Gotch couldn't have that. The last two or three years had been spent rather painfully, as he tried to keep his head down and live off the land on Sodor, whilst also trying to get back into the good books of any of the higher ups of the Other Railway.

There were those there that thought Gotch to be responsible for the mishandling of the entire Drampf situation. It had been he, after all, who had put together the leaking of Edward's war time service tape, it had been he who had been reporting as a intermediary between the Other Railway and Drampf's team, and it was he who really should have seen the Davidson incident coming. He had tried to argue that Marklin deserved equal blame, but at present the ghost was...struggling with a problem.

So the blame was on him.

He was alive because he provided a service, new vehicles, converts, a new army in the wake of the disaster that was the attack on the Other Railway. But he wasn't invited to meetings with the Fat Director and Captain Zero anymore, wasn't kept up to date...he was a messenger boy, that was all.

If he could just find one thing that would get him back in their good books, then it would all be-

He tensed. The glass dropped from his hand, striking the table with a dull thud. It didn't shatter, which was good because right now Gotch didn't want to have to worry about a cut open hand.

The hut he was living in was surrounded.

These weren't Island of Sodor police. They would have knocked on the door, said something along the lines of "Ello ello, what's going on ere then" and then bullied him into giving them tea. No, these were actual professionals.

Gotch slowly lowered himself to the floor, feeling around with his hands for the secret trapdoor. At last, he found it, yanked it open and slipped into the space, taking his phone with him just in case.

He crawled across on his hands and knees, feeling both floor and ceiling so as to find where the second trapdoor lay.

"Hello Mr Gotch."

Gotch screamed. He couldn't help it. It was very dark, but he was able, just about, to make out the figure of a rather corpulent man, relaxing against the wall of the tunnel and casually smoking a second hand cigar.

"My name is Hargreaves. And I think it's time you and I had a little chat."

...

1950.

 _This was new._

 _This was very, very new._

 _Was this what she felt like? Was this what his great enemy felt like, in that body of metal? He was aware of the saying that most heroes told each other, don't become He Who Fights Monsters. Well, was there such a saying that worked in reverse? He had lost his form, his most magnificent and amazing form, through no fault of his own, and now had to compromise his own already loose morals to live and survive?_

 _No. It was necessary. He had to gain an understanding of how her creations worked. How they saw things. How they acted._

 _How to break them._

 _This engine was to be found in a workshop in a year or so. As of yet, it didn't quite have the necessary things to make it technically alive. It had yet to have a soul. But soon, the necessary parts would be supplied from the accursed Island, parts with the metal supercharged by the magic, parts that would make this engine come alive. Once that happened, he could take control, speak, think, examine the other engines. And all the while, his own soul would feed on that of this engine's, until the words Marklin and Malevolence were not two different entities, but one and the same._

 _Even death wouldn't change that._

 _And afterwards, when he had power again? He'd keep this form, this form of a ghostly tank engine. It would be the first soul he had to take. The first of many. Every soul meant more magic, more power, and more magic and more power meant more chance at regaining his original form._

 _Marklin grinned to himself._

 _Oh yes._

 _This was going to be a very interesting game to play._


	112. Episode 8: Baa

Honestly, this is not one I'm proud of. The story itself is...eh, it's okay. But it's not one I'll go back and rewatch. My attempt to work in original material didn't work that much better. Trust me, I don't blame you if you think it's bad, or confusing, or both. Fingers crossed the next one'll be better.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"OH CRIPES, NOT THE BEST KEPT STATION CONTEST AGAIN!?"

This wail came from Edward at Wellsworth, as the Pinchers were hidden by large and liberal baskets of flowers, painted pink with purple polka dots and the guard removed the many cigarette butts that had been left upon the platform that day alone.

"Whhhhhhhhhhy!?" wailed Edward.

"Why not?" asked Mavis, sleepily. She had slept over as part of her work experience. With BoCo preparing to head off to his new job, he, Edward and Toby had chatted a lot about who would be around to make sure Bill and Ben didn't kill themselves. Edward was becoming more and more busy with the branch-line, and Toby was doing work with Thomas and Percy, so they were out of the running. At last, Mavis had volunteered, more out of a desire to actually do something for a change.

"Why not!? Because the last Best Kept Station Contest ended in a bloody nightmare, that's why!"

...

1996.

The platform was crowded, and as Mrs Kyndley handed out her food (food poisoning went up around this time, mysteriously) many milled around the tables getting cakes and sandwiches. The engines all looked thoroughly bored, and looked at the clock repeatedly as the Fat Controller climbed up onto the box and cleared his throat.

"After visiting every station on the Island of Sodor-" he paused to let the idea of every single station being visited sink in, there were a lot of them "-with Thomas today, I have realized that each station is special in it's own way."

There was a gasp as the stationmasters realized that they were going to all get very crap consolation prizes as a result of Hatt's random ass decision to start moralizing and giving out special snowflake speeches at the drop of a bloody, well, hat.

"And it has been impossible to choose just one winner! The pride of keeping every platform neat and attractive, even without the suggestion of a reward, makes the Island of Sodor a very special place to live , I propose to award a certificate to every station!"

Then the rioting started.

...

Edward shuddered "I can still remember the Maron stationmaster piledriving the Ffarquhar one through the refreshment table. So many pastries wasted!" He sighed sadly, and rolled back into the sheds to try and get a few more minutes of kip. Unfortunately, since it was summer on the Island of Sodor, everything gleamed in the sun, and thus he was unable to go back to sleep.

Mavis, on the other hand, headed on out in an attempt to see if she could find anything interesting to do for the day. She didn't think it likely, though. No one really seemed to know what to do with her.

The stations were filled with flowers all down the line, which was good news for the bees and bad news for James, who stayed locked in the shed for three straight hours just so he didn't have a repeat of Buzzboxgate.

Speaking of engines getting fed up of having to deal with disgusting non-humans, Percy had been working overtime at the Docks, and had thus become quite sick of the smell of fish. Not helping matters was that he was coated daily in fish oil by clumsy cranes, so he now smelled so pungent that seagulls had begun to flock around him to try and catch an early meal.

"Phew! Come on, Percy, time to go home!"

Percy missed Carlin. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he did. Carlin was funny, Carlin could be charming, Carlin and he were usually united on some points even if they wouldn't outright say so. This new driver just wasn't the same. "Please sir, can I have a wash down, please!? I've been wearing all of this for a week!"

"Sorry, no time, Fat Man is at the sheds, got some big announcement."

"And we can't go and get clean for it?"

"Hey, I don't make the rules!"

...

James wrinkled his nose. "Can anyone smell that?"

"Oh, ha ha." growled Percy.

"There is to be a festival of flowers!" announced the Fat Controller. He tried not to groan at the completely blank expressions on the faces of the engines in front of him. "Yes, I know, it's a stupid idea and I wouldn't have gone along with it normally if it wasn't for the fact that doing this will help to pay off some debts that I owe the Railway Board."

"What debts?"

"Having to cover up the incident with the horse, for a start!" snapped Hatt, glaring at Gordon, who glared back. It wasn't his fault that the horse hadn't wanted to go for a ride with him! He did what anyone would have done had the horse kicked him the face in running over the beast. "This sign that reads 'Best Dressed Station' shall be awarded to the winner, who can then sell it for money, I don't know."

"Why do you always stand atop me, sir?"

"Shut up Duck. This sign is important or something. I don't really know why I needed to call you here to discuss this, really it's not that relevant to your schedules over the next few days. I guess if you can, please help with the arrangements. Yeah, that's why I called you here...I think." And so Hatt wandered off to lie down and recharge his batteries.

The engines were excited. That's a lie. They weren't. Because it was a frigging flower show. However, the cameras were trained on them, and so they pretended to be for the sake of the audience.

"My favorite station is Ffarquhar!" Thomas said. Unfortunately, he sneezed mid word, so it sounded like he stuttered.

"Mine's Maithwaite! I...I don't get to go out a lot." admitted Toby, frankly. "What about you, Percy?"

Percy, who was bushed, couldn't think properly, and remarked sleepily "The Docks!"

Thomas sniffed, and winced "HUH! We can tell! Am I right lads?!" Amid the laughter from all the rest of the 'lads' as Thomas put it, Percy began to snore softly.

"Docks are full of fish. Not flowers."

"I know, you bloody pendatic tram! God, Gordon was right, you are a boring sod, aren't you?"

"OI!"

"Fine, if you push it, Arlesdale End!"

"My old home?"

"You never visit it, and I have no bloody idea why you chose chuffing Maithwaite over it! And that's why I like it, because you'd be there, and not here saying that I'm silly! Goodnight!" And so saying, Percy backed into the shed, aggressively, leaving Toby to feel rather hurt.

"Who crapped in his water tank?" muttered Henry.

...

The next morning, Percy was proud to be sparkling again. He had tried to give Toby a friendly toot on his whistle, but the tram had ignored him and refused to respond. Percy wondered how thick one's skin could be when said skin was made out of wood. He shunted a few trucks around in the yard, all the while pondering how to make it up to Toby.

His train of trucks were loaded with vegetables and flowers. The most exciting of deliveries.

"These are for Maithwaite!" said his driver. "They're going to display them on the platform. Along with the injured bodies of all those naysayers who think that Maithwaite has no chance in this contest."

"Hang on, how have you managed to grow a mustache in between days?"

"Magic."

"Huh." Percy started off, feeling a great deal more cheerful than he normally would have. He felt as though he was walking on sunshi-

"HELLO CHAP!"

"Oh god in heaven and below!" Percy snarled. Harold the Helicopter hovered over Percy like the specter of death. Given the choice, Percy picked the specter ever time. "Why is he buzzing over me!? I don't have the time or the patience to have a race with him, and he's certainly not getting anything out of me! I'm still waiting for him to pay me back for all that gambling money!"

"What's that?!"

"That's a helicopter, Alec." said the fireman.

"No, you fool, on the track! Why bless me! It's a ram!"

"BAA!" said the ram, giving the episode it's title. Why the driver was shocked, no one will ever know. Sheep exist on the Island. Everyone, smart or not, knew this. It was therefore logical to assume, therefore, that rams also were things that existed.

"BAH!" said Percy, doing his best imitation of a sheep. "Now we'll be late and I'll get moaned at! Should have known that idiot whirly bird was trying to tell me something...then again, if he'd actually spoken we could have avoided all of this in the first place! Stupid helicopter!"

"BAA!" said the ram, which in sheep meant...you know what, I'm not going to translate that, it's obscene.

"I have just the ticket to get this rug off the track!" cried the fireman, who had not spontaneously grew a mustache since Percy had last spoken to him. "Food! Hang about, what have I told you about leaving your cabbage leaves around, Alec?!"

"Ah yes. Cabbage. That's...definitely what those are." The driver looked shiftily around. "Definitely not drugs."

The ram seemed quite taken with the 'cabbage' leaves, and soon backed aside to allow Percy to pass.

"Are we allowed to go now?"

"BAA!" said the ram, now beginning to see Percy as a giant talking cabbage. Percy chuffed on cheerfully, ready to get to the station and get his rather 'important' delivery done with.

By the time he arrived at Maithwaite, Percy's driver was preparing his excuse. He told the stationmaster about the ram to get things over with quicker, but to his surprise, the stationmaster nodded. "I've heard about this ram! Stubborn old goat-"

"Looked more like a sheep to me."

"Hush, Percy."

"He's always hungry! Just like Hatt, as a matter of fact. One of these days, he's going to get himself into trouble."

A little while later, the station was decked with flowers. It looked right gaudy, and no mistake. The Pincher there had been removed for being rather unsightly, and had thus been sent off to the scrapyards to be destroyed. Yes, the flowers were more important than actual work at this point.

"It'll definitely win first prize!" said Percy. Not because of the flowers, mind you, but rather because the stationmaster had hired thugs to intimidate the competition a little. Percy knew how the mob mentality worked. He looked left, he looked right. No one was about. So he left his coaches by the station and hurried off to a siding not too far from the station, but far enough so that no one could see him.

"Time for a snooze!"

"Oh, REALLY, Percy!? Now, of all times?!"

"Now of all times." And Percy closed his eyes. But not for long.

There was a great amount of noise coming from the station, as glass shattered, baskets were upturned, expletives were said and much weeping did occur. Percy looked surprised, then decided that sleep was more important and ignored it.

"We'd better investigate!" said his driver, sans mustache. It's magic, I tell you!

Percy was 'shocked', and by that I mean he was mildly disquieted. Flowers, fruit, veg, the lot were all scattered and squashed and ruined.

"It's the ram." grimly noted the driver "He's made a meal of the station. Looks like the town's folk are going to make a meal of him."

...

"I am NOT boring!"

"Of course you're not, old chap." Harold said. The annoying thing was that while he sounded genuine, there was always the possibility that that was just a side-effect of being Harold.

Toby growled "So what if I don't get to have all the fun adventures!? I'm perfectly fine doing the actual running of this stupid railway!"

"Whatever you say, chum."

"And it's infuriating coming from HIM of all engines! It was always him and me against the stupid idiots, and now he's decided to slag me off for joking around with him!? It's INFURIATING!"

"Too true."

Toby sighed. Harold had not been his first choice of companion to rant about how ungrateful everyone seemed to be. Or his second. Or even his seventeenth. But Mavis was busy doing station related things (And was too brutally honest for Toby's liking), Edward was busy on the branch-line, Henry was off smoking his stash, and Henrietta had reached her quota on Toby rants for the month.

Made worse was the fact that, after so many years of keeping calm, he was having occasional attacks of anxiety that he was trying his best to hide from everyone. He did not want to have to deal with their mocking, or their poor attempts at sympathy.

He and Harold had an understanding. They were both the only one of their kind on the Island, and so they were cordial enough to each other.

"So, what's new with you, Harold?"

"Nothing much, chap. Bit of a problemo with the old habits, but, you know how it is."

Toby did know. Not long ago, Harold had been struggling with a rather nasty gambling addiction. Percy and Toby had had to bail him out a couple of times with loans. It was one of the few times that Harold's RAF schtick had dropped. The helicopter hadn't been able to look them in the eye. Even as he tried to go through therapy for it, he still got temptations every once in a while. "Still, it's been ages! So, you know, you're improving!"

"Yes, I expect you're right." Harold bit his lip.

Toby didn't like this. Harold not being cocky was...wrong, somehow. "Well, come on!" He started forward, and was about to say something about going back to Dryaw to see what stupid thing they'd set up for the contest, when all of a sudden, he stopped dead in his tracks and started to breath heavily.

"I say, Toby, are you all right?"

"Peachy, Harold." But the lie came through gritted teeth, from a tongue that felt far heavier than it needed to be, and his words began to sound very far away indeed. Toby closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his vision appeared to be swimming, and not helping any of this was that damn tightness where he imagined his chest would be if he was a human. His internal workings were tightening up, squeezing in like a compress. He gasped out for air, sucking in lungfuls, but it didn't seem to be working. He swayed from side to side, trying to get under control...

And then at last, after what seemed like eternity, he felt himself loosen, his breath return and all was...relatively well. He shook. He couldn't help it, no matter how hard he tried, and try he did, he couldn't stop it.

Harold looked concerned beyond belief. "That's...not a normal thing for you rail riders, is it?"

"No, Harold. No it's not." Toby had to chuckle. Oh that Harold.

"Then I think you need to tell someone-"

"NO!" Toby paused, embarrassed. "No," he said, in a calmer voice "We don't need to tell anyone about this, okay? Especially not the others at Tidmouth! Knowing them, they'll jump to the wrong conclusion, that I'm making stuff up to try and make myself more important, and then I'll get laughed at. Or worse, they'll believe me, and then mock the hell out of me then! "Oh, look at Toby, only way to get attention was by having a heart attack!" because that is the kind of environment we live in! Weakness is zeroed in on and the runts get attacked."

"But-"

"Harold, please. As a favor to me."

"...Fine, chum. I will keep it a secret. But this happens again, you tell someone."

"Thank you."

...

Elsewhere, there was trouble afoot.

"We can't get inside!" snapped Farmer Trotter. He was not actually that enraged at all, he just was spoiling for a good fight, he was a real agent of chaos who wanted to watch the world burn. Unfortunately, he had a lower status in life, so he'd settle for seeing Tidmouth burn instead.

"THE SCUM MUST PAY!" bellowed the porter of Maithwaite.

"I shall write a poem to celebrate the scourge's death!" declared Jeremiah Jobling.

"Why can't you get in!?" snapped the Stationmaster, who was on the verge of hanging himself.

"The ram, the DEVIL'S familiar, won't let us in."

Everybody looked at the ram, and the ram looked at everybody. They appeared to be at the world's strangest stalemate. Or rather, a Mexican standoff. For there, in the middle of the room, were three boys, cowering away from the ram. "WE REPENT!" they screamed "LET US OUT, PLEASE! We're very sorry!"

"Well bless me!" said the stationmaster "It's the boys who are to blame for this, not the ram!"

"MURDER THEM!" bellowed Trotter.

"...Take a chill pill, mate, it's a flower show, it's not that important." Percy's driver was marked down by Trotter as someone who needed to die if he ever got into power, for questioning the all mighty will of the Trotter.

"We thought it would be fun, but it wasn't! The ram already ate one of our friends! We'll fix everything, we promise!" said one of the boys, exaggerating slightly.

"Well there wasn't even really a point to me being here, was there?" remarked Percy to no one in particular.

A few days later, the Fat Controller invited four of the engines to Maithwaite, which was being awarded the Best Dressed Station award. All that thuggery and intimidation had paid off big time!

"You know, for the record, I'd rather go through another stupid election than have to put up with all this flowery shit again." remarked Thomas, glumly.

Percy looked to Toby, who seemed to be off in his own little world, ignoring Percy. Deliberately or not, it still stung. Percy did feel guilty for slagging off his friend, even if it had seemed like he was being insulted at the time, and he wanted to make it up. "I'm sorry Toby. You were right. It's beautiful here."

Toby sighed. "No. No, you had a point. Arlesdale End would look beautiful this time of year." He looked around, glumly, looking at all the beauty on display. "This event probably would be better if I was there instead of here."

"Don't say that!"

Toby did the engine equivalent of a shrug. The pains in his body had made him rather depressed. It didn't help his mood when Sir Topham got up onto the podium, tapped the microphone and began to chatter away, as he did.

Finally, three hours into the speech, he came to a point where everyone began to actually listen again "And there is one more prize I wish to give out, to our good friend, the ram. Here it is." He handed Jem Cole a massive pumpkin. "And I shall eat my hat if that doesn't please you!"

Harold came in for a landing, and as he did so, the wind from his blades knocked the Fat Controller's hat off.

Well, you can guess what happened next.

"Well, seems I wouldn't be able to eat my hat, even if I had to!"

Everyone laughed, and the only sound from the ram was a contented hiccup.

Rumors that the Fat Controller's men later killed the ram and served it up to him were never substantiated.

...

 _Trams._

 _Lady mulled the word over as she sat, alone in her 'throne' room for lack of a better term. She was finally free of the gawping humans who oohed and aahed over the first steam engines created via her own hand. The Small Railway Engines were only the first step. Soon, she would be able to create more advanced models, experiment, learn, discover newer and better techniques for her creations. Soon, there'd be no limits to her creative talents. She would be able to create anything, and with the advent of the Magic Railroad, go anywhere, spread her children to the entire world._

 _Not that she was leaving her fellow Old Ones out on this, of course. She would use her talents to free them from their debt to the humans, who fed them, fuelled them, helped to create more of them. No more. She would use her skills to give them true freedom. No more would they have to wait for ages for the humans to get around constructing newer and better models, to bring to life more potential allies, to have their every movement controlled and watched._

 _Soon they would be truly free._

 _Oh, she was pragmatic. Humanity had it's uses, not least in the mining of the metal that allowed her to create and mold her own creations. Soon, the so called 'inventors' of steam power, Stephenson, Gresley, Hatt, would all come here and, with an idea planted in their heads by her, head back and create things that even she couldn't imagine. They had their uses, and she genuinely did find them rather fascinating, even if she saw them as of equal standing to the anthropomorphic vehicles instead of superiors. She wasn't going to kill them._

 _Of course, a few minor remarks here or there, a little dis-encouraging of the creation of the diesel engine, for example, wouldn't hurt. Well, it wouldn't hurt her lovely steam engines, would it? With the advent of diesels stopped in it's, pun intended, tracks, there would be no great culling by Beeching. They;d last forever._

 _But she was also aware of another problem. She was aware that the humans needed something to do the work for them. Humanity was, if nothing else, naturally lazy, and she had a good idea that the steam engines that the humans would create would be used for manual labor, pulling coaches, trucks, valuable goods, acting as freak-shows for the public. She couldn't have that. No, but she understood that humanity's indolence needed to be catered too._

 _Which was where the trams came in._

 _She had an idea from the photos shown to her what a tram looked like. Small. Wooden. Boxy. But strong, stronger than they looked. That had been when she had decided._

 _They were naturally inferior to her steam engines, and even to the other vehicles here. So, would it really be too much to ask if they were given the menial work?_

 _The term slave race would later be suggested to her. The idea of creating the trams and instilling only the bare minimum of magic into them, enough to create the ability to recognize commands say, but not enough to provide any real personality, and then giving them to the humans to act as servants was morally repugnant to the others._

 _All except Proteus, however._

 _Long after the argument had ended, they sat, and thought, and considered the idea for a very long time._

 _The next day, as they began to work on the construction of the trams, Godred attacked._

* * *

The story was a hard one to write, which you wouldn't think considered it's title. Most of the original story stuff was tough to write, originally I was just going to have Meredith bring up the creation of trams in a diary, then I was going to have Proteus and Lady have a discussion, before I settled on this as the best way to communicate the idea. The basic idea here was to further what I'd done with Godred, and cast doubt on the image that everyone in story has of Lady, of her as a Big Good. She is, sort of, but she's definitely rather morally grey at the moment, with her ideas of creating the trams to take the slack and do the work so that the 'real' steam engines can live comfortable lives. i see her as sort of having a Blue-Orange Morality at this point, if that makes sense, considering her nature as a spirit not of this world, I thought it was handy.

Now, why the focus on trams? Mostly because from about this season onwards, there's a lot more insistence from some of the more asshole-like engines that Toby isn't a real engine, being a tram.

It also gave me a chance to use Toby more. I've wanted to develop his character now for quite some time, and this plot is one that I hope will be really good. If only because I feel he is the character of the Steam Team that I struggle with the most.


	113. Episode 9: Put Upon Percy

Wow, you guys are awesome! Thank you all so much for the kind words about last chapter. I tried my best with something that was...not really that great, if I'm brutally honest, and I'm glad that you got at least some enjoyment out of this!

Oh, fun fact before I get to the reviews. That reference I made to a previous year's Best Kept Station contest? That's a reference to an audio cassette that was released in the 90's, a sing-along story called Thomas and the Best Kept Station Competition.

Reality Rejection Service- Possibly!

Bronze Shield- Thanks! Glad you enjoyed.

Game-Watch- It is that. Hopefully you stick with it, easier times are coming.

Train Maniac- You're too kind! Thank you very much!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

 _"This is insane!"_

 _Mr Benn didn't say or do anything as Alias strode back and forth in anger._

 _"I mean, she just ignored us! I'm used to it, of course, but I would have thought that she would have listened to you, at the very least, Catweazle!" Meredith's concerns were brushed aside by the other wizard, who appeared to be deep in thought._

 _"Okay, but why exactly is this so bad?" Carlin coughed, scratching at a rather nasty rash that had come about thanks in no small part to the itchy clothing he wore. "Fine, I get that she went against the rules that you made, but what's so bad about making more steam engines?"_

 _"Okay, Carlin, let me put it to you this way. You've got an all powerful spirit possessing a large mechanical beast that you have no idea how to control, and she is, shall we say, a little ambivalent on the whole humanity idea. She's got the viewpoint of someone who seems to be immortal, and she's surrounded by an even angrier bunch of Old Ones who also constantly argue about whether or not they need humans at all. Then imagine that they've got the ability to make an entire army to attack the humans with, especially in an era where, to be blunt, the technology isn't that great."_

 _Carlin considered what Benn had said. "Well, when you put it like that-"_

 _"OOOH, dear!" wailed Willo with some great amount of over the top hamming about. "Luvvies, you'll never guess who I saw!"_

 _"Sid James?"_

 _"No, you goose! It's Godred! And he's marching toward us with a whole army and some bloody great thing with a claw! It looks like it can do some major damage!" Willo grinned. "Well, save for me, of course. Already being dead has it's advantages!"_

 _"Oh come on!" scoffed Alias. "It can't be that bad-"_

 _Which was when the roof caved in._

 _"All right," admitted Alias after five minutes of silence as they scrabbled about to ready a counter-attack "Maybe it can."_

 _Lady and Proteus rushed into the main area. "What the blazes-!?"_

 _"An attack!" snapped Catweazle, unwilling to deal with Proteus's anger and bull-headedness at this point. "Lady, it is Godred. He has an army, and some sort of-"_

 _"I saw." Lady was calm and precise. Almost a little too calm, if Carlin was honest with himself. "The Warship. That's what they call it, the great machine with the claw. Godred's magicians mentioned it when we went for 'negotiations'. Supposedly it is a mechanical beast operated by men, a killing machine that can wipe out scores of we rail-riders."_

 _She paused. "Shall we test that theory?"_

...

"GRRRR, RAW, I AM PERCY, FEAR ME!"

"Shut up!" snapped Percy as he banged into Rickety, and stormed into the shed area, with his usual sense of calm and decorum (Read: None). He was feeling put upon, and would complain to the high heavens about it, regularly. "I'M FEELING PUT UPON!" He bellowed to Thomas on this day.

Thomas was confused. "Put upon what, the rails?"

"You know, sometimes I'm not sure if you're being sarcastic or serious with these statements."

"That could easily be applied to you as well, Percy."

"Fair point. No, I'm being put upon with too much work! It's horrible! Day and night, night and day, and all the other times that AREN'T night or day! It's a bloody nightmare! Driver agrees with me, and he's probably a sociopath in training, so things must be bad!"

"Oh, just get on with it, Percy. Put upon indeed. What a stupid phrase!"

"YOU'RE A STUPID PHRASE!"

"A stupid phrase who has his own TV show and merchandise through the wazoo!"

"I hate you."

"I know."

Annie and Clarabel liked it, however, and as they were pulled away, they sang about it. Loudly. And if you can recall what original and thought provoking lyrics we've had from them before, well, get ready for this. "Percy's been put upon, put upon, put upon, Percy's been put upon, poor old Percy! Teehee!"

"I'll TEEHEE YOU! And who was that playing the tambourine in the background?!" Gordon's fireman through his tambourine off screen and whistled innocently. "Besides, Percy is put upon! I am, I am, I am!"

"You are, what?"

"ET TU, DUCK?!"

...

The following day saw Percy enjoy all of these wonderful jobs and collect the following.

-Metal from the foundry, where the two diesels working there looked at him like a butcher might a prize calf.  
-Coal from the yards, which resulted in him getting mocked and referred to as Percy Coal Face for the rest of the day by Sir Handel, who was very unoriginal.  
-Flour from the mills, which was eaten halfway through the journey by a very hungry Baldwin.  
-Rock from the quarries, whereupon Toby ignored any attempts at reconciliation yet again.  
-Fuel from the depot. Thankfully, Bill and Ben were nowhere near it.

Then he had to shunt the whole lot into one long train at the docks, and then he had to go and deal with James for the rest of the day. It was not a good experience for the poor Saddletank.

In between these two horrible events, he headed off to get some empty trucks, to be filled up with beer kegs for BoCo's farewell do, which had been pushed back, not for the first time, to next week. The trucks were in a foul mood, not helped by the Spiteful Brakevan stirring things up something fierce.

"Who is this dirty little engine!? He looks like a prat!"

"We want Thomas, or Duck! At least they're interesting!"

"PAH!" said Percy, and ignored them as he started off "Put upon, PUT UPON, that's what I am! I am not getting paid enough for this!"

By the time he was done overall, he was exhausted. It had rained hard during his work with James, and the gleaming red berk had hidden under a tarpaulin while Percy had had to get all the things ready. He was miserable and tired and he wanted some sympathy.

He was in the wrong place.

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!" laughed the engines.

"We can see what's been put upon you, Percy!"

"Why you were put upon this earth, I have no idea!"

"SCHILENCE!" bellowed the Fat Controller, who had drunken a lot, and had therefore lost brief control over his mouth and tongue. "Percy, well done for today, you've actually done some work unlike these assholes. Get a good night's sleep."

"Thank you sir! Yes sir!" Percy grinned at the others, weakly. "See?! He appreciates me!"

"For tomorrow, you're going to be doing even more work!"

"OH SCREW YOU SIR!"

...

RING RING.

RING RING.

RING RING.

RING-

Click

"Hello?"

"..."

"Hello?"

"...m...m-m-m-"

"Look, if this is a prank call, trust me, you've picked the wrong bitch to send it to! I will tear your asunder if you try and get me to say something stupid! My driver is holding this phone up to my...well, to my lack of ears, where they would be if I had any, and he looks mighty peeved off! He wants to go home, so why are you-"

"Mavis, it's me."

"What the-...Toby?!"

"Can...can you just head over to the quarry please, I think something's wrong."

"Toby, what's happened? Are you hurt? Has someone-"

"Mavis, I appear to be bleeding. Quite a lot. Uh, I wouldn't normally bother you with this, but it was all I could do to get the driver to calm down and ring you up, and I'd really appreciate it if you came over and helped me out a moment, because I'm actually trying not to start screaming and crying, and I really don't want to make a tit of myself on the phone-"

"I'll be there right now, hang on, Toby!"

"T-t-thanks. Sorry Mave."

CLICK.

...

The next day, Percy took some trucks to the coal yard. He was cold and cross. There had been a leak in the shed during the night, and James had insisted that Percy swap places with him so as not to get wet. Percy had been too tired to argue with him, and had thus spent the night enduring an annoying Chinese Water Torture. Then, grumbling and muttering rebelliously as he did, he pushed the empty trucks to the mine shaft not too far from the new quarry.

When he arrived, there was of course trouble. The foreman hurried up the driver who had once again made sure he was clean shaven. This could change at any moment, folks! "Minor problem, lads."

"Oh, you have just been sitting on that joke for ages, haven't you?"

"Perhaps. Anyway, the trucks up ahead are stuck on a mechanism. Some of my men got a bit drunk and drove the power equipment into the caverns. All they need is a good push and they'll be freed."

"We'll do it right away!" said the driver, who was aware that the formula Percy+Trucks+A Mine was just asking for trouble, but it was boring recently, so why the hell not let Percy have this one?

Now, unfortunately for them, what they didn't realize was that the lead truck was one S.C Ruffey, rebuilt and reduced in stature following the events at the Callan shunting yard. He had become a pariah among the trucks, for being defeated by an engine, and worse still, not even having the decency to die like a good truck should. He had stayed in the yard, growing bitterer and bitterer, until Marklin had whispered in his ear, promises of being restored to his original splendid form.

All he had to do was gather together a few trucks for the upcoming war.

And so the former private wagon saw his chance now to make a grand statement to the world, that S.C Ruffey was back and this time, he wasn't going to fail. To this end, he told the trucks to relax their brakes, and to be prepared for some real fun stuff.

Percy had backed off sufficiently for the charge, to a point where a large canvas barrier had been installed to protect the line from loose rocks and falling China Clay Twins (Don't ask, it's a long story), and so he prepared to puff as fast as he could.

With a roar of "THEY MAY TAKE OUR DIGNITY, BUT THEY'LL NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM!" (And they say Mel Gibson did a poor Scottish accent, you haven't heard bad Scottish accents until you've heard Percy's) he rushed forward, banging into the trucks (MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, PLEASE). To some extent, this worked, the trucks were freed from the mechanism.

A little too free for everyone's liking.

"Oh no, there goes more pay rise!" Percy wailed, as the trucks rattled down the line through the mine with great abandon.

"ON ON, FASTER FASTER, RISE UP, DOWN WITH THE COAL GUZZLERS!" shouted the silly trucks, led by the silly S.C Ruffey on their way to a silly doom.

And then, of course, there was trouble. Again.

"Ohhhhhh I really should have thought this through!" shouted the lead idiot, as he rammed face first into one of the support beams. For a moment, nothing happened, and the trucks thought that they had gotten away with it.

And then the mine began to shake.

"Oooooh er!" said S.C Ruffey, weakly realizing that perhaps his statement would have worked better had he not decided that a very unstable mineshaft was the place to carry it out. The sirens began to sound as the tunnel began to collapse in upon itself, burying the trucks, who began to curse the former private wagon in front of them with great fury.

"OUT OF THE WAY! THE MINE'S COLLAPSING! MERCY ME! WHAT A TO-DO! WE'RE DOOMED!" wailed one of the workmen, doing his best Frazier from Dad's Army impersonation.

Percy sniffed. The air had a strange smell to it. "Hang about, what smells like gunpowder-"

At which point the entrance to the mine blew up and sent smoke rushing into Percy's face. Wheezing and spluttering, the little green engine began to back away, hacking out only the words "-WHY...WHY IS THERE GUNPOWDER IN THERE?!"

"I don't know, and we're going to have to have a serious talk with Sir Topham Hatt about the safety laws on this Island! But before that, we have to make a run for it!"

"There's going to be an avalanche!"

"Oh gee, thanks Percy, I had no idea that was going to happen until you told me!" snapped his driver as he began to reverse Percy backwards. Unfortunately, the charge at the trucks had taken a lot of energy out of the engine, and they progressed backwards slower than they should have been. Then, as the ground shook and Percy began to bounce up and down like a Mexican Jumping Bean on a pogo stick, he remembered something he had seen earlier.

"THE CANVAS BARRIER! BY THE TRACK! THAT MIGHT SAVE US!"

"Good thinking, Percy!"

"Don't sound so surprised!" he snapped. The rock from the mountain had created a large bank of earth just behind the canvas barrier. With a great wheeze, Percy hid behind the barrier just in time. They were just in time, the rocks were falling down with such speed and ferocity that they would have taken the head clean off any human walking about, and with a great groaning sound, the canvas barrier toppled backwards onto Percy and his crew, covering them from the rocks.

Once the chaos was quite over, and the miners could be convinced that they would get paid extra for this, they rushed to the large pile of rock and rubble where the canvas barrier had been.

"The avalaunche has buried an engine and it's crew! We should help them immediately!"

Immediately, as it turns out, was 'right after we have a tea break and order some fast food, just in case', in which case, they started two hours after the initial cave-in. Thomas and Duck assisted with the rescue, and once all three were freed, the Fat Controller spoke to driver and fireman, praised them for their bravery and then turned to Percy.

"Driver told me how brave you were, even though you technically caused the accident in the first place, so I'm kind of sort of very proud of you! As a reward, you shall go to the works and be repainted! Yes, I'm rewarding you for the destruction of a mine that took two years to construct properly with a holiday!"

"Oh, thank you, sir!"

"Don't suck up to me, Percy, I imagine that this won't last long." Hatt sniffed the air. "Hmmm, is it just me, or there rain coming in?"

...

When Percy returned, his paint glistened in the sunshine like something else that is also bright when the sun reflects on it, I don't know, I'm no genius when it comes to metaphors.

"Sorry we teased you! You were certainly...put upon, by that avalanche." Thomas said through gritted teeth. Toby had talked Thomas into making up with Percy, even if he at present couldn't. Thomas didn't dwell on the fact that Toby's cheeks looked pinched and drawn and pale, and the fact that he was spending most of his time getting checkups for certain things. He just assumed that it was Toby being Toby.

"How long have you been sitting on that joke?"

"Ages. Literally ages."

"Well, look at my paint! Not to go all James on you, but that I don't mind being put upon me!"

At which point, the rain, which had been taking a break, began to pour down again.

And it would continue like that for the next few weeks.

...

 _Magic is a very complicated thing._

 _It is hard to effectively explain it to someone who has not experienced it. There is no scientific reasoning for it, there is no way of measuring it, it's an unknown quantity even to those who wield it. However, in the interest of perhaps explaining the events that follow, these are some of the basic laws._

 _1: Everyone has some form of magic inside of them. Anything and everything that has a soul has a connection, however small, to a magic that no one can really explain._

 _2: Not everyone can use that magic. For most ordinary people, like you reading this right now, it's a dormant thing, lying in the background. Some of the world's most shocking feats, feats that make no sense given the normal rules of the universe, are a result of magic pulsing up briefly to allow the person it resides in to do the impossible. But these are the exception, rather than the rule._

 _3: The lines of 'white' and 'black' magic are constantly shifting and changing along with the social norms and niceties of the time. For example, using your magic to heal a person of an affliction was, in the times of Salem and the plague, considered to be an art of great wickedness, but is generally classed as white magic. Generally, such descriptions are not used as much anymore. Magic cannot make you evil. Only the person can change who they are. In most cases._

 _4: Magic is a lot like energy, in that it cannot be created or destroyed. For whatever reason, it has existed long before the universe was created, and will exist long after it has been destroyed. There are ways to spread magic out so thinly that it gives the appearance of being no more, but there is no way to outright eliminate it completely._

 _5: There are two ways to increase your power. You can hone it, practice it, learn all about it and how to achieve new levels that can make you more and more powerful, usually by drawing on the magic that surrounds you...or there is the second, and more unpleasant, way of doing so._

 _6: When a body dies, it's soul stays alive, and the magic is released into the world It has been argued, by people who have yet to practice this in general, that upon the release of a soul from the body of someone, you can, in theory, use a secret power that no mortal on this planet has yet to uncover, capture the soul, and use it's magic to bolster your own._

 _The Fat Director didn't have magic that he could use, not in the sense that some like Catweazle and Meredith could use it. But he did have a keen knowledge of the more complicated stuff, runes and charms, and ways of capturing magic to make it serve his own will. He knew the idea of capturing souls and using them as a power source wasn't going to work because no one mortal knew the spell._

 _Which was where the Malevolence came in._

 _Hidden deep inside Ulfstead Castle was the second half of the Malevolence's being. In a dark room that had been re-purposed as, of all things, a wine cellar, stood an area that no one had been able to explain. Long, complicated and bizarre scratchings upon the ground had long since frustrated even the arcane masters that Godred had applied as his sorcerers and advisers, and Godred grew angrier and angrier that no matter what they tried, they couldn't them from the ground. Attempts at laying down cobblestones had resulted in them burning up, anything that touched them scorched and burned within seconds._

 _It was a warning, and a prison. The Malevolence was trapped deep within the very Island itself, festering and viciously plotting how to get out. The Island's own magic was keeping it restrained as well, but it could not stop the creature thinking hard._

 _"I don't get it! When!? When, when, when!?"_

 _At heart, thought the Fat Director with grim satisfaction, Godred was a child. He wanted his wishes to be granted now, and only now, with no thought of patience or the benefit of stepping back and thinking things through. Which made it all the easier to manipulate him. Since he had dropped off the Malevolence that now resided inside Marklin to it's rightful place in history, he and the Captain had travelled back to the first colonization of Sodor, taking up the role as chief adviser to Godred, advising him on how to approach the situation with Lady and her people._

 _And all the while, studying how to break down the seal that trapped his master in this Island._

 _"Patience, sire. We are approaching the end. The crown's loss is the pretext we have needed to march upon Great Waterton and slaughter them all! Once we retrieve the crown, your crown, we shall be able to break the seal and you shall have power unrivaled!"_

 _Godred's eyes shone with the promise of the power. But then he faltered. "But...even your great magic, oh wise one, will not be able to kill a God! How do you propose that we defeat such creatures!?"_

 _The Fat Director smiled. He had long since known that the battle was doomed. Godred and Lady's forces would tear each other apart, crippling each other and ending with the 'victory' of Lady's alliance of Misfit Minions. This was a distraction to make sure that the castle was left completely unguarded while he conducted the first step in the breaking free of the Malevolence's second half._

 _To that end, he had even created something that would become part of Sudrian history for a lifetime, a mechanical monstrosity that, while certainly deadly and a world-ender in the right hands, would eventually fall in battle. It resembled a rather large diesel, faceless and without any defining marks save for a grey coloration, and a single claw, made from raw materials._

 _"This, my liege, is the Warship. It'll carry you well!"_

 _Godred nodded, light in his eyes. "Then tonight...it ENDS!" And on this dramatic sentence, he stormed out of the room to prepare his armor, his horse and his getaway route should things go south. The Fat Director was left alone besides the runes, to think and ponder._

 _But not for long._

 _"Ach, can we just go now!?"_

 _"Ah, Zero, how'd it go?"_

 _The Captain glowered for a moment, then pulled out a bag and rummaged around in it. "I cannae believe ye made me go through all those horseshit traps just ta get this stupid piece of jewelry! What's even the point of stealing this!?" He pulled out the crown and glared at it angrily._

 _"We needed a reason to force Godred to war, and to force Lady and her ilk out into the open. History records that this is how it goes, that Godred and Lady shall work together to begin the peaceful coalition between humanity and enginekind." The Fat Director shrugged. "Obviously, the history books are full of shit. The crown gets both sides angry at each other. Now, hush."_

 _He got on his knees and leaned in as close as he could to the rune. "Hello down there."_

 _There was a pause, and though neither men had any real understanding or control of magic, they couldn't help but feel that the thing down there had suddenly stopped what it was doing._

 _"You can hear us, can't you?"_

 _The Malevolence seemed to be considering something. Zero bit back the whimper that was making it's way up his throat and grabbed hold of the wall to prevent the urge to run away from overwhelming him._

 _"Now then, don't worry about the other part of you. I bet you're feeling a bit incomplete at the moment, aren't you? Like magnets, you're drawn to each other. So with most of you trapped down there, you must be chomping at the bit to get out and finish them all off."_

 _The Maleovlence growled in approval._

 _"Now, unfortunately, I am unable to free you at the present time. Not only am I not magically inclined, the only wizards in the area are pesky do-gooders, which I imagine would make it rather hard to convince them to release you. But don't mistake my words for a sign of giving up. We just need to be patient." He smiled. "In the year 1953, you'll meet someone. Someone who will run up here, cursing a man by the name of Burnett Stone, saying things that he thinks he doesn't really mean. And all you have to do is show him that he does mean it."_

 _Silence._

 _Captain Zero imagined that, if there was a way to take a physical form, the Malevolence would be grinning at this point._

 _"His name-" said the Fat Director, in a theatrical whisper "-is P.T Boomer. And you and he are going to become very, very good friends."  
_

* * *

Hey, so you know what's fun? I'm getting ever so closer to the Magic Railroad. You know what else is cool? Remember way back in Season 2 where I introduced Boomer for the first time and I was trying to make him into this threatening bad guy?

Yeah. That has...yet to happen.

The good thing though is that we've got the next episode, Toby's Flood, in which I'll wrap up the Godred story arc, hopefully, and then take Carlin onto his next destination. That next destination? Well, it's a bit of a secret, but hopefully it'll be easier to write. But whatever it is, it gives me more time to begin writing more P.T Boomer stuff, because I really do want him to have a large role in Magic Railroad.

Hope you liked my explanation of how magic works in this universe. It's...It was a necessary evil to explain how exactly the Malevolence can get so powerful in later episodes. Next episode's also going to see an update on Gotch and the Juggernaut, which should be fun.

And, that's pretty much it. Have a great day, see y'all next time!


	114. Episode 10: Toby and the Flood

Hello all! This is a bit of a rush-job, because I wanted to get something out for Halloween, especially one of the scarier episodes. Honestly, Toby and the Flood was always one that gave me chills, primarily because of the awesome water effects and the genuinely tense music and Micheal Angelis dub. People say it's unrealistic, but I say it's one case when realism should take a back seat to a good story. It also gives me a nice chance to finish off Percy and Toby's estrangement storyline, and it's also a great way to move things ahead. This is going to be a good deal more serious than some of my previous episodes, but we should be able to mix together some comedic stuff next time. Mixed in with more spooks as well, obviously.

Bronze-Shield: I hope it lives up to the hype!

AaronCottrell97: I know, right!? XD.

Reality Rejection Service: Even Part James is Too Much James.

MattPrice01: That always confused me in the episode, figured writing it in would be funny. Glad you enjoyed!

Game-Watch: And the insanest is yet to come! Hope you enjoy!

CUE THE THEME

* * *

It had been raining hard for weeks. And as the small group at Tidmouth Town Hall gathered together, watching the Mayor listen to the report on the storm that was coming in, they couldn't help but feel a little nervy.

"I see. Thanks."

As Bedella put down the phone, everyone in the office looked at him, nervously. For a moment, he drummed his fingers upon the desk- HIS desk, he reminded himself- and tried to figure things out.

"Well?!" snapped Sir Topham Hatt "Bad? Good? Better?"

"Worse." Bedella said grimly. "That was my man down at the docks. They've closed the entire Brendam area down just in case, and they're waiting on the evacuation order from me." Bedella glanced out of the Town Hall's upper window. The wind was buffeting the cars and bikes and anything and everything that was nailed down or otherwise with great force. "Bloody nora!" He hurried through and closed the curtains. "The Sudrian Weather Association Chairman's down there as well. He's told me that we're looking at a full on flood in most areas. Especially ones near rivers or lakes, or anything like that."

"Did he mention any in particular?" asked the Deputy Mayor.

"Elsbridge, Hawin Croka, Hawin Doorey, Crosby, Hackenbach, Hawin Rusaagh, Callan, Hawin Ab...but the worst place they're worried about is Ulfstead. The village is perilously close to the resevoir, and that dam is not safe in the slightest. Drampf's lot built it, and we all know what that means."

Everyone nodded gravely.

"So, what now?"

"Now?" Hatt stood up. "Sir, I'm putting my railway at your disposal. I can't force any of my engines to go out in this weather, not when there's as big a risk as you say, but I'll get as many volunteers to the towns and villages. There's plenty of old nuclear bunkers left lying around after the Cold War ended, we can get them to safety."

"Good thinking, Sir Topham." And this, Bedella was sure to remind himself, was why the railway ran. Because as bad as it was with it, it would be ten times worse without it. "All emergency vehicles have already been commandeered to assist with evacuation, I just need to give the order. I'll head on out with Butch to see if there's anyone lost in the mountains."

"I can assist with that, sah!" The Head of the Sodor Air Force, who also acted as Harold's pilot, snapped a smart salute. His main job was usually debating over whether ordering twenty cakes for the staff party was fine, or whether to be sneaky and add ten more onto that load. But now that he had an actual crisis to deal with, he was ready and waiting. "Harold is waiting at Dryaw. And while it might be a bit chaotic out there at the moment, my first concern is for the floods. We can get to people you and Sir Topham can't. I can even dig out the Tiger Moths if you want, though they'll be a bit...rusty."

"Tiger Moths are to be held in as a last resort. But Harold's assistance would be greatly welcomed." As the Mayor ordered his deputy to make sure that any calls were directed through to his cell, and began giving the official evacuation order to every town and village he could, Hatt and Harold's pilot hurried down into the car.

It was going to be one of those days.

...

As it turned out, for all their flaws and personality squabbles, the engines were quick to volunteer help. They seemed to realize for once the gravity of this situation. Even if the best of the worst case scenarios happened, there would be little hope to get supplies in for a good few days. James and Gordon were the first to volunteer, much to everyone's shock. They spent the day sending people back and forth the major stations, where they were led into underground bunkers beneath the stations, while metallic shutters battened down the hatches at Tidmouth, Knapford, Crovan's Gate and Brendam. Soon they were joined by Henry and Edward, the two mixed traffic engine taking up roles as bad engines for the longer trains.

"How we doing?!" panted Henry.

"Well, you're losing some good weight, but I think we can do better!"

"Hardy ha, James! Hardy. Ha."

As they pulled into Wellsworth, they watched as Edward and Gordon rushed through with another seven coaches filled with people. "Damn." muttered Edward. "Hope we get there in time!"

"You worry too much! Let me give you a Thomas-eye view of things!" And Gordon picked up speed.

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" screamed Edward, as Gordon swung and rattled and rolled all over the lines.

...

 _It has often been debated by many a scholar of the history of the Sudrian history and lore where the name 'Crovan's Gate' came from. They knew of the great battle that took place there, but they had never really been able to settle on a reason for it being named after the 'good king' that they thought they knew._

 _This great battle was supposedly a result of Godred holding off an army of vikings the like of which no one had ever seen before._

 _In reality...well, judge for yourself._

 _"Halt!" The king shouted back to his guards, and he dismounted from his steed to gaze upon the forest where Great Waterton was situated. It was relatively far away, but given a bit of time, they'd make it there before nightfall. Smiling to himself, he suddenly caught sight of...something, moving through the trees. He made a gesture, and his squire ran forth with his bow and arrow. Carefully, Godred took aim._

 _The unfortunate soul who was the first to die in the battle to come was Bella the Bus. She screamed in agony as the arrow embedded itself in her forehead, letting out a final blast of her horn before she expired._

 _"Ha! Child's play!" Godred smiled._

 _And then things went incredibly wrong for him._

 _"GODRED CROVAN OF ENGLAND."_

 _The voice echoed all around. The knights all jumped out of their skins, and drew their weapons. Swords, bows and arrows, shields, sharpened staves, maces, axes, anything that they could have gotten their hand on. Godred looked nervous for a moment, before he chuckled in what he thought was a menacing tone. It sounded like a drunk cat with wind. "Look at them, lads! The little sods refuse to fight! Hiding away in the trees like a bunch of squirrels!"_

 _"YOU HAVE COMMITTED CRIMES UNTOLD TOWARDS YOUR OWN KIND, AND TOWARDS THE ANCIENT MAGIC OF THIS ISLAND. FOR THAT, YOU AND YOUR MEN WILL BE PUNISHED."_

 _"Oh will we?! Well, come on out then, your Majesty! Show us how magical creatures like you FIGHT!"_

 _Silence. And Godred was about to say something very, very blithe like "See, lads! This is what happens when you're lead by a woman!" when a sudden whistle arose from all around._

 _And then, as one, the creatures began to emerge from all around. From the distant shores of Bluff's Cove, Knut of the Nogs lead his troops from the longboats and up towards the area. But of more immediate concern was the fact that the trees around them seemed to fall like a very eager lumberjack had gone a-chopping, as tractors, traction engines and construction vehicles cleared out and all hiding places for the humans to use to their advantage._

 _In the river not far from the battle ground, Poseidon, Tubby and an absolute massive mechanical boat (Wallace the Warship, to give him his true name) emerged from a clearing, all futuristic and historically inaccurate guns pointing directly at the knights. And from below the hill, cars, buses, steamrollers, bikes, lorries and anything and everything cut off any chance of escape._

 _Then came the Iron Circle. First, Catweazle, looking old and dignified despite his rather bedraggled robes. Then Alias and Meredith, the former supporting the latter even as he drew a laser pistol that was somehow even more inaccurate historically. From here and there zipped Willo the Wisp, his eyes fixated on the shiny armor with camp glee._

 _Below, Mr Benn and Carlin waited for their moment. Benn was calm, but Carlin was, understandably, not._

 _And high above, levitating over everyone and besides the aircraft, stood Lady, Proteus and the four Small Railway Engines._

 _"YOU ASKED FOR IT." Lady bellowed._

 _And the fight began._

...

Along the branch-lines, Thomas, Percy, Duck, Oliver and any other lighter class of engine that could be spared hurried back and forth, making sure that all was well.

"Percy! Head over to Ulfstead, I'm pretty sure that Toby's going to need some help! I've got this lot right here!" Thomas grimaced and wished desperately he had a cigarette or something that would get him high on him right now. This was the last stop they could afford to do, the River Els was in dangerously bad shape. The banks had already burst, and the bridge had nearly been swept clean away.

"Right!" Percy puffed on, reminded not for the first and probably not for the last time of his own incident with the flood. And how much mocking he had taken for that. Glancing up, he saw Harold swoop down across the sky, but ignored him.

He had more important things to do.

...

"Got another lot, doc!" shouted Oliver, over the wind. "Got trapped at the quarry, and I think some of them got knocked about a bit!"

"Good work, Oliver!" Duck called back, as the doctor tended to the wounded. "Listen, you get the coaches and trucks under tarpaulin, I'll make one last look around Bluff's Cove, and then once the twins get here, we'll call it a day!"

"Are you sure, Duck!? It's chaos out there!"

"Oh, don't worry about me! You're the one who escaped from scrap!"

"That's right! I am!"

"WHY, MR DUCK!?" wailed Toad. Laughing to himself, Duck took off in the general direction of the beach. He knew that it was incredibly unlikely that anyone would be there, but it was at times like these that people did crazy things.

...

One engine doing crazy things was Rheneas, who was crossing the Castle Causeway with grim determination. Some bloody fools had gone backpacking in the weather, and had nearly ended up getting trapped in the Skarloey lake, which now appeared to be overflowing to dangerous levels.

Rheneas was having some nasty flashbacks to the last time he had been crossing this causeway in such weather. "Golly gee!" he remarked, in a mockery of Skarloey's tone for him "I do sure dang hope that I don't gee wilikers get trapped out here oh boy no!"

"You sound Minnesotan." grunted the driver.

Rheneas growled. Already the others, removed from the quarry due to dangerous weather, would be snug and warm in the sheds. And here he was having to play rescue engine.

Sometimes it just wasn't fair.

...

"Come in, Bertie!"

"Thanks! Thanks, thanks thanks, oh god it's freezing as all hell outside!"

"Hell's hot, isn't it?" Terrance remarked, still smiling. You could practically see icicles hanging from his teeth.

Trevor laughed shakily. "Don't worry lad, it's all fine. Got anymore, Bertie?"

A couple of stragglers staggered out and gathered round a small fire that the Fat Clergyman had started to keep the many people here in the orchard barn warm.

"That's the last lot I was able to find. I'm heading back out to take another looksee-"

"In this weather?! Ah do declare, Bertie, that is positively ridiculous! Y'all be ran off the road as sure as ah'm actually a genuine Southern Belle!"

"She makes a good argument, despite the fact that I didn't understand a word that she just said!" Trevor looked weary. "As much as the thought of any poor sods out there in the cold terrifies me, at this point, we road vehicles aren't going to be much use."

"The mud's getting too thick even for my caterpillar tracks. And I'm not going to lie, but I might actually stop smiling if I have to force my way through."

Everyone shuddered. No one wanted to see Terrance when he wasn't smiling. That was a thought too horrible for words. Bertie sighed, and consented to stay. Soon they all began singing 999 bottles of beer on the wall.

It was going to be a long night.

...

"ARE THE TWINS BACK IN!?" BoCo had to shout over the wind to be heard. The quarry was rattling and shaking, and many of the equipment were left outside to the mercy of the elements. At this rate, all the diesel cared about was making sure that they had all gotten out of the quarry okay.

"YEP!" bellowed back Mavis. "FIRES HAVE BEEN DAMPED DOWN, JUST TO MAKE SURE! THE FOREMAN SAYS THAT'S ALL HIS LOT FROM THE SOUTH SIDE!"

"MINE SAYS THE SAME ABOUT THE NORTH! I THINK WE'VE GOT THEM ALL! MOVE OUT!"

...

 _Metal and blood were spilled in great measure that day._

 _With the greatest of respect to the Knights of Camelot, Carlin had no doubt that if push had come to shove, and they had had to fight Lady's forces, there would have been a lot less of Arthur returning to that lake and awaiting Britain's hour of need. And these knights were no Arthurian legends._

 _The captain who had captured Carlin was currently swinging an axe around like a madman. He had gotten lucky and felled Saul the Steamroller, along with two motorbikes and a rather cocky car. But now he was facing down one of Lady's own creations, the one called Bert. The blue engine took an axe blow right to the face, and then smiled somewhat sleepily._

 _Then, and there is no other way that it can be put, he promptly smote the man in a second._

 _Everyone paused, even Lady and Proteus, who looked both shocked and, dare they say it, proud._

 _Then everyone converged upon Bert. But even as they did so, more of them were melted down by blasts of energy from Mike, the red one, who roared and spat out curses so advanced and yet so simple that it was quite possible that it was the pure venom and heat of his words that fried the knights._

 _Meanwhile, the non-vehicles were holding up well too. The two wizards muttered spells and bellowed chants as best they could, transforming burly knights into tiny bunny rabbits, and quick striking bowman into baffled looking trees holding bow shaped carrots. Willo was quick on his lack of feet, darting in and out of people's minds and turning their own forces on each other. Alias spun around and piriouetted, blasting away at anyone who came near them. And amongst all of this, the Vikings and their leader, Knut, slashed and hacked their way via the more traditional method._

 _Benn and Carlin stood back from the carnage, the latter was no fighter, and Mr Benn had a dislike for this kind of violence. He understood it necessary, but he did not want to get involved unless he had to._

 _"You look troubled, Mr Benn...can I call you something else? Do you have a first name?"_

 _"Of course."_

 _"...Well?"_

 _"I do not believe it would be appropriate to tell you at this time. We barely know each other."_

 _The head of one of the knights flew over the hill and landed at their feet. They took little notice, and the only sign that they did notice it was Benn casually kicking it away like a football._

 _"So...why this? Why this life? I imagine that you don't just use the shop to do missions for Hargreaves or whatever."_

 _"It is true. One day, I was looking for a fancy dress costume. I found this shop in a little back alley somewhere, took up the costume of a knight, went through and saved the life of a dragon. And then I went home. And then I came back, time after time after time after time, being sent wherever the strange shop would send me, and always leaving me with a souvenir. Always. And then after a time, the people that I worked for found out about it. And to keep my job, and the shop, safe, I agreed to work for Hargreaves."_

 _There was more to this story, Carlin could tell, but at that moment, he was rudely interrupted._

 _The Warship had arrived._

...

"Oh come on, come on! What the hell is taking you feces eaters so long to get me down!?"

"I swear to God, we could just throw you in the water now and be done with you." growled the dockmen aggressively. Cranky gulped and was silent, mercifully. He was being dismantled, just in case the worst came to the worse. The water slammed into the dockside with the force of a heavyweight boxer swinging his most devastating right hook into an egg.

As the crew placed Cranky aboard the truck and started off, they failed to notice the tall and towering figure of the Juggernaut loom in the old Sodor Shipping and Co building. He moved out.

...

Duck ran along the coast, running hard with the wind whistling past him, whipping into his face like punches. He shrugged them off as best as he could, but it was getting harder and harder. He looked around, and tried to see something through the rain pummeling down upon the beach. He knew that the coastguard had removed Bulstrode and any other living boats to a safe place, but he wanted to make sure that no one else had been left out here.

And then he saw it.

The Juggernaut.

He had seen exactly one photograph of the engine, but it was impossible for him to be mistaken on this fact.

In the storm it was impossible to see how close or far the massive engine was to him. But Duck wasn't willing to take any chances. He began to back away as fast as he could.

But the Juggernaut was faster. He plowed through a large stretch of waterlogged track as though it was nothing, and rushed at Duck with the force of a mad stampede of elephants.

Duck desperately tried to swing and knock at him with any punches from his buffers, but the armor made it the equivalent of trying to take down a tank with a pea shooter. The Juggernaut let out something that may have been a roar, but may have just been the sound of steam hissing out from the vents. There was a bright red glow that pierced the night's darkness, before with a deafening clap of thunder, the Juggernaut slammed Duck against the cliff.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And he was just rearing back to deliver one final blow, when two whistles pierced the night. Looking at Duck for a moment, he backed away as fast as he could, letting out a menacing horn-whistle blast as he did so.

The last thing Duck saw before passing out was the concerned looks on Jinty and Pug's faces as they began to drag him back.

...

Toby was upset.

"WHY ME!?" he wailed. He didn't usually weep and complain about his jobs, but damn it, he was too old for this shit, and now he had to go up there and examine a dam. Not just any dam, but a dam that was as stable as a typical night at Tidmouth Sheds.

"Because life hates us." said his driver.

Everywhere he looked, there was wet, wet, wet. Tom Tipper had been dragged off to the bunker screaming in sorrow over having to abandon his beloved van to the elements. He too was quite wet, in another sense.

Toby's old branch-line had run through the village of Ulfstead when it was still active, and therefore Toby was declared to be the one who knew most about the terrain. This was nothing special. It's a bit like saying that you've had chicken pox so much that you've become the expert on it's effects. With the influx of rain, the water level had risen dangerously. And only the stone wall, known as Ulstead Dam It All To Hell stood in the way of overflowing. And even that was debatable.

Toby had to go up there and inspect the dam for any problems. He was not looking forward to it. Why some idiot had decided to put, of all things, a railway line on a dam was beyond him. Why not something better, like the ability to convert it to electricity, or perhaps a ping-pong table, or anything that wasn't a railway line.

As Percy pulled in, he looked wearily at the old tram. They still weren't properly back on speaking terms yet, and it worried him. But he had to warn him. "Driver tells me it might be dangerous up there! He...he likes to tell me the frigging obvious." Toby snorted, which gave Percy hope. "Hey, and be careful, please, okay?"

"I'll try." said Toby, bravely. He hesitated. "Uh, Percy...we...can we talk later?"

"S-Sure! That'd be great!"

"Cracking. See you then, mate." And as Toby trundled away, he felt a little bit better.

Not much.

The line ran over a old wooden bridge that was so small that even a narrow gauge engine would have trouble fitting upon it. Toby groaned, as he heard the sound of the river racing on by. The suspiciously brown river that indicated that this was where the River Els's stain on the environment had taken up a new home. At last, he squeaked through, and he started his long descent to the top of the dam.

The world swayed, and if for a moment he felt the tiniest hint of a twinge in his firebox, he ignored it. It was to be expected, after all.

Harold the Helicopter was making his own inspections while he waited for the next call to take care of. He was grim, an unusual mood for him to be sure. He gave a little wink to Toby, and the engine managed a wan smile.

"Be brave, Toby! We have to cross to the other side!"

"OH DO WE?!" shouted Toby, in pure rage. But still he carried on. The slight twinge had become a minor throbbing dullness now. Still Toby thought nothing of it. The tram was halfway across when horror of horrors, his driver and the pilot noticed something at the same time.

What had been a trickle soon became a steady stream of water. First it sprang from one side, then another, then two more, then three more.

"The dam's breaking up!" called the driver, who was ruing volunteering Toby for this mission more and more with each passing second. "We've got to warn the others!"

"I'll phone ahead, old boy!" called Harold as he flew off. Toby shuffled back with as great a speed as he could, and now he was aware of the throbbing dullness becoming a very definite stabbing agony.

"Something's wrong!" he snarled through teeth gritted in pain. As he turned around to head back towards the bridge, he gasped in and out, deep shuddering breaths of air.

...

Percy was waiting for Toby as the tram reached the bridge. Both gasped as they looked down. The river had risen so high that it was now lapping at the very line itself. The supports were almost non-existent at this point, the water wrapping around them and, with every tug, bringing it nearer to disaster.

Toby arrived and looked at Percy. Then at the bridge. "THE DAM'S BREAKING UP!" he heard the driver bellow, but the pain was too much for him to speak up properly. "We've got to find high ground!"

"The only way across is over the bridge!" Percy shouted back.

"It doesn't look safe to me!" wheezed Toby, the stabbing becoming a loud roaring in his head. He felt himself sway from side to side.

"Tough shit, old boy! It's our only chance! If that dam breaks, we're done for!"

Toby growled, and through his pain, began to chuff across, but slowly. With every turning of his wheels he felt his frame shudder with pain, and his head pounded and pounded like a bongo drum.

And then he started gasping for air, coughing and spluttering, desperately trying to inhale the oxygen. He staggered on as best he could, even as Percy started forward, he let out a final gasp "NO! DON'T!" and forced himself on. But he was only halfway across when disaster struck. The problems had caused his fire to collapse, and he ground to a stop as the driver and fireman scrambled for the coal.

And then it happened.

With a loud smash like a shot being fired, the dam caved in under all the pressure.

...

THE ORCHARD.

"OH-"

...

KNAPFORD.

"-MY-"

...

CROVAN'S GATE.

"-BLOODY-"

...

BLUFF'S COVE.

"-GOD!"

...

As everyone around the Island said the same thing at the exact same time, Toby tried to force himself onwards, but the surge of water from the reservoir rushed down with such speed and force that the fence holding the bridge in place snapped, and the supports gave way with a painfully loud snap.

"HELP!"

And Toby, clinging for dear life onto a piece of wood that was now more driftwood than bridge, began to float away from the track.

Percy stared in dumbstruck horror as his friend drifted away from him, but his driver was quicker on the uptake. "Quickly lad! We'll follow him down the line! It meets the river further down! We might just have a chance!" And as Percy began to back away, he prayed to God, Buddha and any other deity that would hear his plea that Toby be safe.

Elsewhere, Harold watched this with dawning horror. Then, a grim determination gripped him. This was the time! Harold the Helicopter, pride of the sky, was going to be first to the rescue, cause help was required! And so saying, he swooped down towards the river.

Toby had managed to regain control of his body, though the pain was still there, he could relegate it to the background. Unfortunately, by this point it was too late for him to do anything about his predicament, and as he floated helplessly along the shattered piece of bridge, he and his crew saw a sign that made them all shudder:

BEWARE THE WATERFALL.

"How did they manage to put a sign there?! They must have impressive arms!" remarked the fireman.

"Focus!" snapped the driver. "If we go over that waterfall, we're doomed! Well, Toby's mostly doomed. We might be lucky and escape with a few broken bones."

"THANKS!" snapped Toby. He was in a foul mood, and all he could think about was all the things that he hadn't done before he had headed to the dam. Said goodbye to his friends properly, get to see beyond the Island, tell Henrietta that he lo-

And then they saw Harold, who upon spotting them, swooped down and shouted urgently!

"URGENTLY!"

The old ones are the best.

"We're going to throw a rope down to you! Attach it, quickly now!"

And they did. Right on the fireman's face. "AAARGH!" he declared, before nearly falling in the water. At last, he recovered and attached the rope to Toby's right buffer, wrapping it firm and tight around there.

"Now what?!"

"Er, don't know, old chap. I rather hoped you'd have an idea!"

Just as the three on the driftwood had lost any hope of living again, Percy arrived at lightning speed. He very nearly went off the rails himself, as Harold's eyes lit up and be moved over to solid ground. As he moved, the tram let out a rather undignified squawk as he was very nearly tugged off of his raft. "Catch the rope, and pull TOby to safety!"

The crew grabbed at the rope and very quickly tied it on to Percy's buffers.

"I KNEW NOT SKIPPING WHEEL DAY WAS A GOOD IDEA!"

"Shut up, Baldwin, no one likes you."

It was hard work. This was the most important tug of war that the Island had ever seen it's long life time. The river was determined to force Toby over the waterfall, and Percy was equally as determined to get his friend back safely. With every tug, Percy felt his wheels grinding against the rail, sending sparks flying everywhere. The rain hadn't helped things either, and the driver and fireman had to throw down as much sand as possible to try and get a grip.

And yet, wheel turn by wicked wheel turn, Percy slowly gained ground, until at last, with a satisfying 'CLUNK', the bridge touched the land, and Toby's driver and fireman were able to drive Toby back onto the rails. Without a second's thought, they untied the rope and watched as the bridge sailed gaily over the waterfall, smashing at the bottom.

"Come on." said Percy, wearily. "Let's go home."

"Yeah...Percy."

"Yep?"

"Can we just get really drunk?"

"You got it?"

...

 _"THE HELL IS THAT THING?!" snapped Carlin._

 _"Bad news." said Benn, with all the shock and awe of someone discovering that a white line was a slightly different shade of white than had been expected._

 _The Warship, manned by a crew of three men, charged forward, waving it's claw around in what was attempting to be scary, but was in fact only mildly annoying. Laughter greeted this, and Godred, having backed away from the fight, was furious. His magician had lied to him!_

 _Then Jay-Jay the Jet Place got a little too close._

 _A blood-like substance splattered over the ground, as the skull of the plane was crushed in the claw of the great iron monstrosity. Any mirth that could have been had from this situation was soon gone,_

 _Proteus was about to move down and attack, when Lady stopped him. "NO. WE SHOULD SEE WHAT OUR CHILDREN CAN DO FIRST."_

 _And so, they stayed back. Stayed back as the green one, Rex, stormed through and with cheerful abandon struck down solider after soldier like wheat through a scythe. He whistled cheerfully, almost completely unaware of the great Warship, which cut through the bodies of gathered vehicles like a knife through butter._

 _The Iron Circle regrouped at the bottom._

 _"What now?!" called Meredith, who was out of puff._

 _"Now, we leave it to them." Catweazle informed, grimly. "Look." And he pointed in the general direction of Ulfstead Castle, to where a lone horse was rushing on it's way back there._

 _"Follow them? But the battle's-"_

 _"Won, already, Alias." Catweazle sighed, wiping his brow. "it may not look it, but I have no doubt that they will not take long in destroying the army of Godred. It is time for us to confront the villain of this piece."_

 _And so they left. But as they did so, Carlin and Benn turned back, just in time to see, with an all mighty roar, the Warship charge at Jock. The yellow engine smiled in a rather callous way, and then..._

 _Well, if what Bert had done was smiting, then this was somehow even cleaner than that. Because at the very least, Bert had left something behind to show that the person had existed._

 _In Jock's case, what he had done was the equivalent of completely erasing any sign that the Warship and her crew had ever been there. There was just a slight little breeze on the grass, and then nothing. It was gone. Completely._

 _And then Lady and Proteus turned their attention to the castle._

 _For the rider on the horse was King Godred._

 _People wonder why Crovan's Gate is named as such. It is because of this, the moment that King Godred Crovan, the last king of Sodor, abandoned his men to a fight they could not win._

 _His last stand was just around the corner._

...

The storm lasted for three days, all in all. Eventually, a makeshift dam was set up once the storm had ended, albeit one that was more solid and had better foundations. It was a temporary one, until such time as they had worked out what they should do with it. And down at Ulfstead, where thanks to Toby's bravery all of the people had been able to evacuate in time, they were holding a celebration to honor him. Harold, Bertie, Terrance, Trevor and Caroline were all there to see him get his reward, and Percy was proudest of all.

The Fat Controller hosted the party, and gave a speech. "You were very brave, Toby. Sorry about sending you up there, it was a bad mistake on my part."

"Ah, it's okay sir, just give me a pay rise and I'll forget all about it. It's really Harold that you should thank!"

"Nothing to it, chap!"

"I could never have been so brave, Toby." Percy muttered.

"Oh, I'm sure you would. You'll never know until you try."

Percy hoped he never would have to.

But he would. Eventually.

...

"He got lucky!"

"No, he didn't. He took me out good and proper! I would have been dead if it weren't for the fact that he had picked the worst night of the year to attack." Duck growled as the Works Diesel's men accidentally prodded a rather sensitive area of his face. "Do you MIND?!"

The Works Diesel looked at Duck, and then angrily smacked him in the buffers. Duck screeched as pain suddenly rushed through his entire front, and the Works Diesel smirked as he headed off to give some more assistance. Duck was pretty much in terrible shape. His bufferbeam was all bent of shape, his boiler had taken huge dents all over, and that wasn't even getting into all the damage that the rainwater had done to him.

"So now what?"

"Now?" Duck looked grim. "We call up Truro. It's time we got ourselves a little bit of backup."


	115. Episode 11: Haunted Henry

Review time!

 **Duckfan13:** First of all, thank you for being honest with me. I appreciate the constructive criticism, especially with the nice way you worded it. So, thanks for that, and I will say that I tried to take as much on as I could. I understand the confusion you felt, and I admit that I did perhaps go a little overboard on the story aspect of the previous chapter. I tend to do that at times, particularly as I am getting closer to the culmination of several storylines by the time I reach Magic Railroad. I completely understand that my storyline is not for everyone, and as such I have cut down significantly on story in this chapter, which was originally much longer. Therefore, the two sides are more even. The 'war' story as you put it has been marked in italics, and I suggest that if you wish to read the 'episode' proper, you ignore the parts in italics. For the most part, it won't affect anything. However, I have been doing this story since way back in Season 1, and fully in Season 2. Therefore, separating the two at this stage would be counter-productive, and more importantly, would remove reasoning and opportunities for jokes at the expense of some of the sillier elements of Thomas the Tank Engine, especially in this season where the weirdness gets amped up a great deal.. I am sorry that you find these boring, and I will endeavor to compensate by throwing everything I have into the 'episode' proper. I thank you again for the honest criticism, and appreciate that it was made in a friendly spirit. I hope that, even if this doesn't quite please you, you can understand my reasoning behind it.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Yeeeeeah. Just a silly cameo appearance.

 **MattPrice01:** Thank you! I wanted very much to create a similar sense to how the story 'Last Train to Christmas' handled the idea of the community of engines, seeing them all come together to work for the welfare of the people of the Island. And also to show that even the worst engines have a heart of gold deep down.

 **TrainManiac:** Greatly appreciated! Toby's not quite over his anxiety attacks, which are a result of his illness. I'll be going into more detail as the season goes along as to what it is. As for the Juggernaut, well, you'll see who (Or what) he is as the story goes along.

 **Game-Watch:** Damn right he was.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Glad you enjoyed! Rusty and the Boulder is...oh boy.

CUE THE THEME

* * *

It was a moonlit night. Well, it'd be a bit worrying if it was lit by the sun, now wouldn't it? The Fat Arse in the Top Hat had sent Henry and Edward to work in Wellsworth Yards. The big green engine, after demanding that he be fed even more pills just in case something happened, was taking a goods train to the station by the lake.

What descriptive writing, I know. They don't pay me enough for this crap.

"Why is it-" snapped Henry "-that we never get nice weather at night! It's always mysterious and foggy!"

"We're British, Henry. That's why. Britain's been cursed with bad weather, rotten dental hygiene and being poorly represented in American sitcoms since time began! And anyway, you know what our weather's like! It was snowing last week."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's sodding June!"

"A fair point."

At that moment, a owl hooted. Perhaps he had seen a pretty female owl. We'll never know.

"Whenever that owl hoots, a mist rrrrrrrolls in!" declared Edward, his eyes briefly rolling backwards and his voice affecting a Scottish accent that would make John Laurie look impressed. "There's a legend-"

"About a lost engine?"

"Hush. When the mist's about, there's SPOOKY goings on about as well! I'd be careful if I was you, Henry!" Edward paused, and then added for extra effect a "OOOOOOOH" sound.

The owl hooted again.

"Stupid bird." muttered Henry.

"No way to talk about your missus."

"Shut up, Edward, you're drunk."

"Oh, I wish I was." Edward grinned as Henry set off, still grumbling. The smile dropped as soon as the big engine rounded the bend and was gone.

Clearly he owed James some money.

...

 _King Godred stood in the abandoned hall of Ulfstead Castle, completely alone._

 _Everyone had left. The servants, the court advisers, the citizens here to ask for sustainable living conditions (PAH! As if that'd ever catch on) and even his many, many ladies of the night had abandoned him. He had seen from his window the destruction of his army, and he was frightened. They were coming for him._

 _The walls seemed like they were closing in around him, and he bit back a very un-royal whimper._

 _"Your majesty! Thank god you have survived!"_

 _His magician, dressed all in white, hurried up to him. Godred was impressed, and grasped his hand firmly. "By god, great one, I am relieved to have seen you here! You must assist me! I am surrounded by my enemies, and though I do not fear them, I...I wish to be able to see them hang like the cowards that they are! Please, is there any spell that you can think of that can help me?"_

 _The magician looked grave, and then nodded. "I can think of one. But I shall require time to prepare it. I have no doubt that your excellent skills with a sword and your fighting prowess can hold the heathens off for a good five minutes while I ready it. But listen! In the chance that I am attacked or waylaid, there is a trap door underneath your throne. If all is lost, get under there and make your way through the caves. The boat of the vikings remains on the shore, you can still escape!"_

 _"Ah ha! At least I have one loyal subject left!"_

 _"There is one thing, to make this spell work, I have need of an item from the royal treasury. However, I do not know how to get past the guard."_

 _Quickly, Godred found quill and parchment, scratched out an order and held it to the other. "Quick, man!"_

 _"Oh trust me, I'll be quick. Everyone will get what's coming to them!"_

 _Perhaps if Godred had been in a more receptive mood, he would have caught the innuendo in there. However, he wasn't. so he didn't. And as he hurried away to grab his best sword, he failed to notice the Fat Director sneak away to the royal treasury._

 _"I have an order from his majesty to inspect the treasury!"_

 _The guard looked at the order. They couldn't read it, of course, because literacy had yet to become a widespread deal. They stepped aside, and opened the door._

 _The Fat Director smiled and shot them both. Then he and Captain Zero grabbed as much gold as they could, along with jewels, diamonds, rubies, gems of all shapes and sizes, money, copper, bronze, the king's entire stock. It was their last bit of business here at the middle ages before their next appointment._

 _I won't waste time describing the end of the battle. How Godred, the great and wise king, ran before anyone could even make it to the throne room. How in his desperate panic to escape, he ended up dragging himself deeper and deeper into a flooded area of the mine. How his final moments were spent clinging in vain to the chest that contained his crown as he drowned slowly and painfully._

 _And so the battle was over._

...

 _He was young. No, that wasn't true. Sometimes it felt like he was born old. All right then, he was younger. It was the fifties, and he was trying to make sure that both Gordon and Henry didn't kill each other in their macho posturing contests, which usually ended in Henry quitting because of a minor nosebleed and Gordon staring dumbstruck as he lay on his side through a wall._

 _"New engine's coming."_

 _That got their attention, all right. There hadn't been a permanent new engine since they'd lost 98462 and 87546 some years back. "Tank or tender?" snapped Gordon, irritably._

 _"Tank. He's to help with the shunting."_

 _"Henry was getting rather annoyed, this new blue coat of paint had had everyone mistaking him for the big ham himself, After a moment's pause, he asked Edward "Know anything about him...or her?"_

 _"Him. Pretty sure he was found on a siding somewhere, half finished. So they took him back to the Works and fixed him up. Matter of fact, I came here to ask you two fellows if you wanted to go and greet him when he wakes up for the first time."_

 _"Huh!" snorted Gordon "You talk as if we big engines have nothing better to do with our time!"_

 _But they didn't. So off they went to Crovan's Gate. Whistling to Skarloey and Rheneas (Locked in a fierce argument about whether or not Rheneas was being too gosh darned silly), Edward waited outside the Works impatiently._

 _There was a long silence._

 _And then, very slowly, the turntable turned around. Connected to the machinery was a little tank engine, yet to be properly awakened, placed on a downward angle on a sort of slab._ _Then, like some sort of Frankenstein's monster, the engine gasped and shuddered and took deep, ragged breaths. Then he sort of slid down, coming down upon the rails with a rough bump and a shaken groan._

 _Edward rushed forward, worried that the engine would do himself a injury. "Careful, careful! There you are, okay, there we go. Can you hear me? Nod slightly if you can."_

 _The engine nodded._

 _"Okay, okay, now here's the thing, this next bit's tricky. We need to make sure you can move your wheels, right? Now, very carefully, just move forward."_

 _A moment...then the engine did so. Edward grinned, rather pleased._

 _"Wo ... wo bin ich? Was bin ich?"_

 _"Oh terrific!" snapped Gordon. "A bloody Bosch! Come on Henry, we've got better things to do with our time than watch a silly little tank engine make an exhibition of himself!?"_

 _"Since when?"_

 _"Since now."_

 _The engine struggled for a moment, trying hard to control his breathing and not quite achieving it. Edward sympathized greatly with this. He remembered the first time he had found out he was alive. Quite painful by all accounts._

 _"All right, don't worry about them, they're morons. Now, listen...can you speak English?" A nod. "Okay, okay that's good. So, in a few minutes, there's been an inspector coming round to take your name. Now, you don't have to give him one, he'll assign you a number or a temporary nickname until such time as...well, it gets official, I guess. But if you do have one in mind, then...go ahead."_

 _The engine struggled to breath again for a moment, then paused, thinking hard. For the first time, Edward saw his eyes open, and was struck by how black his pupils were. And the engine spoke, in a slightly German-accented growl-_

 _"Marklin. Mein...My name is Marklin."_

 _"I'm Edward. Welcome to the Island of Sodor, Marklin. I'm sure we'll be working together for a long time to come."_

 _..._

Henry chuffed on, snorting to himself. "Owls! Ghosts! Mist! AS BLOODY IF! Huh, Edward's clearly either been on the sauce for too long, or he's been listening to James's ever so spooooooooooky tales! Pah!" And so he continued in this vein for some time as he continued down the old line. There were a sudden surplus of old and undiscovered lines at this moment in time, for whatever reason.

"Besides!" Henry shouted, as if daring Karmay the Karma Fairy to lace her bow and shoot him right in the bunker "There's NO MIST!"

But Henry was wrong.

"So what else is new, Mr Angelis?!"

The mist did roll in, and at an impressively stealthy and quick rate. It was like a ninja, one minute it wasn't there, and the next it was. Just like a ninja, it overstayed it's welcome fast.

"Okay, whoever does the trimming for this place needs to be fired! I mean, have you ever seen such horrible tree branches before?! Someone should complain to someone about it!"

"Why not you? You're great at complaining." muttered Henry under his breath. The driver shot him a dirty look as they continued onwards. Then, the green engine saw something "What's that?!"

"It's a tree, Henry. You've worked in a forest. How do you not know this?"

"On the tree, you daft apron!"

"Oh THAT. Why didn't you say so!?" The fireman urged the driver to stop besides a particularly gnarly looking tree. In both the sense that it looked awful and that it looked rather cool. In an odd way, that is.

"It's an amber lamp! Odd. It's not even Halloween yet!"

"No, you idiot! It means go with caution! We should take it slow, like the omnious lamp left in the middle of nowhere on a tree tells us too!" The fireman paused "Something's wrong with what I just said, I can't quite work it out."

"WHOOOOOO'S THERE?!"

Everyone glared at Henry, who paused, slightly embarrassed. "What? I've always wanted to do that! And anyway, no one's replying! So what's the prob?" Henry paused, and despite himself, shivered. It was not a nice night to be out. He crept slowly forward.

One tree later (It felt much more to Henry) he had to stop. There was a sign hammered into yet another tree, not too far from the signal. He looked all around, but for whatever reason, there was no sign of a signalbox there. That, for the record, is why the Island doesn't get awards for being efficient. If it wasn't for British Rail being their usual efficient self, they'd have been shut down a long time ago.

"What does it say?"

"It's a tree. It doesn't say anything."

"The sign, you nimrod!"

"Ooooh, breaking out the old time insults early! It says 'BEWARE OF THE VIADUCT' if you must know." The driver paused, and thought. "Hmmm. We're clearly in Hawin Lake territory...weird that we've never seen this place before the millions of other times we've come towards the viaduct, am I right?"

"No, that's Hawin Croka. This is what happens when we name completely different places after people with the first same name. So, should we ignore it?"

"I don't know. Signal's red, that's not a good sign. Better safe than sorry."

"And the gates are closed!" Henry remarked, surprised. The crossing gates were indeed shut. But there was no sign of any thing or anyone coming up the road, covered with leaves and branches as it was. Henry jumped in shock. "A-a-a-and there's a fogman's coat!"

"Must be Cyril, he's off his meds again."

"But where is he? Mad as he is, even he's not...that mad, surely? And this is far from his old stom-OHMYGODISTHATALIGHT?"

it was. Not far from the tracks, there appeared to be an old...well, it looked like a station, but it looked even more like a toilet. A very bad looking toilet. And in the windows, shining brightly and moving from one to the other, was a bright orange light.

"OOOOOH NO, I'M DONE, THE TRUCKS CAN DELIVER THEMSELVES, I'M OUT, I'M DONE, I'M BOTH! IT'S G-G-G-GHOSTS! EDWARD WAS RIGHT, I WAS WRONG, I DON'T CARE! SCOOBY DOOBY DOO, WHERE ARE YOU?! ANSWER, NOT F*CKING HERE!"

"Something strange is happening, I think we should go back-HEY!"

"NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE-!" Henry had begun reversing even before the driver had finished his sentence, and kept screaming that word over and over again and backing away until they reached Edward's station.

...

The next morning, the mist had cleared. Gordon arrived at the station in bright spirits, chortling over how Henry was clearly an idiot for falling for such cheap tricks. Henry had responded by mentioning broken safety valves, jammed whistles, ditches, cows, mud, domeless engines, Sir Handel, panoramic views and Dowagers. This shut Gordon up something fierce.

"So, yeah, that viaduct was unsafe."

"And we didn't get warned about this...why?"

"Because they hate you, and they think Henry's the least marketable of all the characters. Lucky you didn't cross it then."

"Indeed. Still don't know who warned us."

Henry tried to relax with some of his, er, usual ways of chilling out, but unfortunately his hookah was broken somewhat, and most of his powdered substances were wet. Thus he spent the rest of the day sulking and listening to James, Gordon and Thomas mocking him. As per usual. That afternoon, as Thomas pulled his somewhat smudged looking coaches along and hummed a few bars from 'Thriller', his driver came up to the green engine.

"The viaduct's been repaired-"

"Well that was bloody quick! What did they use, sellotape and glue?"

"-so we've got to take our train back over there tonight! So, yeah, that should be a ton of fun!"

Henry looked miserable. He didn't really want to. At all. He'd rather take a job listening to political debates than have to do this.

...

 _"Mr Carlin."_

 _Carlin glanced backwards. He and Benn were off to their next destination, so he was a little surprised to see Catweazle looking at him with...well, it was rather hard to read his emotions. "Yes?"_

 _"I have held back on telling you what I am about to tell you because...quite frankly, I have no reason to cause a paradox." Very calmly, he handed Carlin the various pictures and blueprints with which he had constructed the machines._

 _"What?"_

 _"When you meet me again, you'll know what to do with these."_

 _Then he turned and walked away._

 _"Oi! Catweazle!" The wizard paused at Carlin's shout "I don't know if you have any clout, but keep an eye on Lady. She's...I don't doubt she'll need to be kept in check."_

 _Catweazle stood still for a moment, and then walked away once more. Carlin sighed, stuffed the paper into his pockets and walked on, towards the portal, and to his next destination._

...

When nightfall came, Henry was in a much better mood. Probably because he wasn't sandwiched between Gordon and James whinging away at how unfair all the things in the world were that didn't quite benefit them. For whatever reason, he was pushing the trucks this time, and there was no brake-van. He felt less than a hundred percent confidence wise, but he was feeling far better.

Then the owl hooted. "Oh bog off!" snapped Henry.

At that moment, Gordon thundered on by with the express, whistling long and loud, as he plunged into the inky blackness of the night. To say that Henry jumped was an understatement, he practically did a three point turn mid-air.

"OH LOOK! HENRY'S SPOOKED! EVERYONE LAUGH!" cried a truck, and the others did, in their silly way. Henry growled, pulled himself together and banged them rather aggressively.

"Be quiet, you bloody hooligans! I'm not scared, you should be, if you push me like this!"

But he was. As he started off from Wellsworth, his mood was not improved when the trucks began singing a variety of appropriate songs, including 'Grim Grinning Ghosts', 'This is Halloween', 'Thriller', and even 'Accidents Happen'. The fog came down hard, and the trees once again began to spook him out.

"Can we please get someone to do a better job trimming these?!"

"Scared, Henry?!"

"Shut it, U.L.P, or I'm giving you to James to practice his new beauty products on! Oh, hang on."

As they approached the same area again, they saw the amber light hanging from the old tree. This somehow did not warn the driver or the fireman that things might be slightly problematic going forward.

"Here we go!"

And on they plunged, into the night.

And then, unbeknownst to Henry, the crossing gates closed by themselves, and the signal turned red. Now, how this was done has never adequately been explained. Rumors that the ghost of King Godred wandered these woods, where he'd often hold rather Roman-esque orgies, have never been substantiated, but it makes a nice enough explanation.

Unfortunately, the trucks had seen this, and they were spooked out of their tiny mnds. "FASTER! FASTER! FASTER! THERE'S A GHOST ABOUT!"

"Ohhhhhhhh slow down!" wailed Henry, who had his eyes firmly shut. U.L.P tried to restrain the trucks, but it was no good. There was a loud crash as they smashed through the crossing gates ("OHHHHHH I'M GOING TO GET MY ARSE ROASTED FOR THAT!" wailed the driver) and continued onwards. No one noticed the mysterious figure in the window watching as Henry sailed gaily through, towards the landslide that blocked the track.

"Ohhhhhh I should have listened to my maker and become a concierge!" Henry shut his eyes as the trucks plowed through the rock, off the rails and into the deep ravine below, somehow not shattering into itty-bitty pieces of wood via the magic of plot convenience, I guess.

Henry stared uncomprehendingly at all of hte carnage. He felt somewhat dazed, and was very curious as to why the flatbed before him hadn't gone over. Were flatbeds not considered good enough for faces? These questions kept up philosophers at nights. His driver stared as something incredibly odd appeared around the corner. "What the hell is that?!"

The fireman laughed. "Well, that's our ghost! It's either a leftover model from Camberwick Green, or it's Old Norris Bailey! You remember Norris, right? Policeman, inspector, stationmaster? Apparently he went slightly insane with all the pressure and took to the bottle and escaped to the woods to commune with nature."

Old Bailey was cross, and drunk. He sounded as though he had inhaled seventeen cigarettes for breakfast each day for the past three years. "I tried to bloody warn you about that bloody viaduct, you bloody fools, and you're bloody lucky that I'm not a bloody idiot! Why didn't you bloody well pay bloody attention!?"

"Perhaps if you had, oh, I don't know, gone through any of the official channels and actually done what you were supposed to, instead of randomly leaving your jacket lying around with a weird-ass sign nailed to a tree?" Henry said without taking breath.

"We're sorry we ignored your warnings! Is there anything we can do to thank you?!" The driver was aware that Old Bailey would probably run over him with the pushcart should he argue with him.

"Gimme the old station, promise I won't spook the bloody green berk and all the whisky you can supply."

Henry thought this had disaster written all over it.

...

In a little while, his wish was granted. The station was all done up, and the Fat Controller gave the newly reappointed Stationmaster Norris a big celebration."You shall be really useful! Let's hear it for the friendliest ghost on the Island!"

Everyone cheered, especially Henry, who was the happiest of all.

Three months later, and the Fat Controller politely insisted that Norris Bailey take a sabbatical after accidentally setting the wig of the Mayor's wife on fire. The station was promptly forgot about by everyone.

Which goes to show...something.

...

"Bloody stupid, is what I think of it."

"Come off it, Gordon."

"You come off it, Henry!"

"Heheheheheh-"

"Shut it, you red prat. The bloody wireless is on the fritz again!"

"And this is news, how? It's always on the fritz! It's been on the fritz since the word 'fritz' was invented! Our reception here is a whole load of bull if you haven't noticed yet!"

Carlin sat up. For a moment, he felt a sudden feeling of confusion.

For he was back on Sodor. Almost as he knew it. The rough gravel on the ground, the weeds growing in amongst the cracks in the line, the smell of booze and despair. He felt as though he was back home.

Then he looked in the sheds, and he realized that he wasn't home. He knew this for a number of reasons. There were six engines in the shed. Three were instantly recognizable. Edward, Gordon and, shockingly, a blue Henry, looking miserable. The other three? One he recognized from the picture as the one known as 'The Flying Thistle'. The other two were blue engines of similar length and height, though different class types. Both had stuck up sneers on their faces, and looked like Gordon's nastier cousins.

98462 and 87546, he realized grimly.

And then he saw the date.

May the 1st, 1944.

Which was, of course, when karma decided that the bomb should fall upon the sheds.


	116. Episode 12: Double Teething Troubles

Hope you're all doing well! Uh, this last week was pretty hectic, so here's some fun stuff. Hopefully. I hope you enjoy, and I am very glad that everyone enjoyed the new 'format' of sorts. Quick little update on that, continuing what we did last time, we're going to have small parts of the story-line scattered throughout the episode, and then a short little 'cliffhanger' of sorts at the end. This one is a doozy, and also something that will be probably controversial. So, I'm just warning you now.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Thank you! Old Bailey was hard to nail down, because I'd always had this idea in my head of "Oh, wouldn't it be funny to bring back my Inspector Norris character and show that this is who he is," but he was harder to write than you might think. I'd also like to thank you for inspiring me on what quirk to give to Derek so that I had a bit more fun writing him. See if you can guess!

 **Bronze Shield:** Actually, the funny thing is, I do really enjoy Haunted Henry, in fact of all the episodes I watched when I was a child, I think that out of this season only Rusty and the Boulder and Duncan Gets Spooked scared me out more than this one. I took the mickey a great deal more because I figured that Toby's Flood was taken pretty seriously, and thus had a bit more of a mixed reaction. I apologize if for whatever reason I didn't do a good enough ob, but those aforementioned stories, I will be trying my damnedest to do good at adapting them.

 **TrainManiac:** Very welcome! On balance, I think that, yeah, the way I balanced it out last time was the best way I've done it thus far. This episode really was fun to watch, it was very atmospheric and fun. Trust me, your idea is no more strange than mine. I just wanted to go for a more Frankenstein approach to Marklin's 'birth' as it was, because I thought it looked and felt cool. The war stuff is going to be a ton of fun, because it does set up some things for Magic Railroad...again.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Pretty much. Things are about to get...interesting.

 **Game-Watch:** You'd be surprised! Ha, just kidding. Basically, the idea was that when the woods were just that, woods, Godred did some stupid shit there. Pretty much all there is to it.

 **MattPrice01:** Glad you enjoyed! Hopefully those good feelings will continue throughout this chapter!

CUE THE THEME

* * *

Bill and Ben, who are twins (In case you haven't seen the last two or three seasons and are very, very, very, VERY confused), work in the clay mines and pits around the Island not too far from Brendam Docks. The work is important, but it can be hot, and dirty.

I'll just give you all a moment to stop sniggering there. You good? Okay.

Sometimes this makes the twins naughty...all right, more than usual. Other things that make the twins naughtier...would take too long to list.

n this particular morning. BoCo was trying to make sure that his last week went somewhat smoothly, not least because the after-party was becoming quite the affair according to the 'planners' as it were. As Hatt's car drew in, BoCo reflected on how nice it would be if, just for once, things went right.

In retrospect, this was a pretty stupid thought to have around Bill and Ben, who were feeling especially naughty today.

"That's my line of trucks! Go find your own, twit!" snapped Bill.

"Hey, now that's not fair, Bill! S'not, it's mine!" shot back Ben. "Yours is over there!"

"They're both the bloody same." hissed BoCo, his usual iron calm rattled somewhat by his nerves. "Just take a train and go, there doesn't really need to be this much-"

"HOW DARE YOU, BEN!? I am always right!"

"Yeah? How about that fire in the shed? How did pouring gasoline on it make it any better!?"

"At least I did something! All you did was run around in a circle hollering "OOOH LUVVIE, WE'RE GOING TO DIE!" like a very camp Betty Boop knock-off!"

"S'mine!"

"S'not!"

"'S'mine!"

"'S'not!"

Bill and Ben, in case you couldn't tell, had decided that they were too cool to speak the Queen's English. BoCo, infuriated by all of the arguing and on the verge of just seeing what it was that delighted the twins in setting things on fire, idled up. "STOP QUARRELING, YOU TWO! OR I SHALL PLANT MY SAINTLY WHEEL UPSIDE YOUR ARSES! Only thing you'll have left to share is-"

And at that moment, Bill and Ben shot off at the same time, banging each other off the rails. BoCo closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"-trouble." he finished.

"Silly!"

"Silly yourself!"

"BILL AND BEN BEHAVE YOURSELVES OH GOD WHERE DID THE GROUND GO?!" The Fat Controller waddled forward, having forgotten that there was a foghorn stuck in his throat for some reason. He was also only slightly drunk. He also sounded incredibly gravelly on this fine morning. "IT IS VERY CLEAR TO ME THAT, NOW WITH BOCO HEADING OFF, WE'RE GOING TO NEED ANOTHER DIESEL TO HELP OUT! ONE WHO PREFERABLY ISN'T A SNOB OR TRIES TO KILL MY ENGINES!"

"That's some hard criteria to fill." muttered BoCo.

"Only one is avaliable! He's new and young and gulible, and he's keen to make a good impression! And his name is-"

...

"Paxman?! The Paxman, the one who does University Challenge?!"

"No, James, that's Jeremy Paxman. This one is Derek Paxman, his engine brother who is also way less successful and charismatic."

"Huh. Pity."

...

"Now, for the love of God, DON'T SCREW THIS UP!"

"If I were you, I'd get back to work straight away. But thank god I'm not you, am I right?" And off BoCo went, to the branch-line, where Edward was getting drunk. Meanwhile, as Hatt headed back to his car, he began to have doubts over his own decision.

"Ohhhh I knew I should have just spent more than three minutes looking at 'HONEST ZERO'S ENGINE DEALERSHIP'! Damn you cheapness! Bloody diesel, hope he doesn't cause any more trouble, and he's going to have teething troubles atop THAT! MY GOD I AM TERRIBLE AT MY JOB."

Then he had a cream bun to calm himself down.

...

 _"So, you want to run by me what happened here, soldier?"_

 _"I can honestly tell you that I have no earthly idea!" Carlin was very glad that Benn had clearly left the uniform of an American soldier draped over one of the trucks. It made him feel a bit less out of place when being interrogated by the Fat Gentleman in front of him. He had seen him in a portrait before, in Sir Topham Hatt's office. He was tall, slightly rotund, but overall seemed to keep himself in far better shape than the current owner of the railway. Charles Topham Hatt looked grimly at Carlin, his eyes seeming to bore straight through Carlin's and to his soul._

 _He was imagining things, of course. Charles was a cold man, and the only thing that concerned him was the damage of the Vicarstown Sheds, which looked far more rickety than they had a few moments ago. The bomb had shook the foundations, and so the engines were being transferred to Tidmouth for what, to Charles, would only be a temporary measure. There they all were, Edward, Gordon, Henry, Eagle, Thistle, Biggles, Albert and the two unnamed blue engines. All looking glumly at what had once been their home._

 _"Well, I think we've heard enough, haven't we, Peter Sam? Be on your way."_

 _Not a moment too soon, thought Carlin. And thus he departed, though he glanced back to catch a glimpse of the man formerly known as the Thin Controller, bent over with the Fat Gentleman in discussion._

 _Now to find Benn._

...

Hatt was right. The new diesel, Derek, was already in a particularly awkward mood as he began the climb up Gordon's Hill. Not far behind him, an ambulance followed just in case something should happen to him, which it usually did.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh my- HIC -grease and oil, I- HIC -wasn't expecting this- HIC -Hill!" Derek slurred. There was a loud bang as he backfired. "Oh BALLS IN HEAVEN, what is- hic -that!? Smells like a dog sh-"

Then his wheels spun helplessly, he came to a rough stop, black smoke began to leak from his chassis, and just to put the cherry on top, his buffers caught on fire.

"Ah, well! All in the- HIC -line of duty for DEREK THE GREAT!" Derek wondered vaguely why the entire world seemed to be spinning like a ballerina before passing out in a drunken daze. And BoCo, as he has done many times, came to the rescue with the breakdown train coach, which carried a ton of stuff to help the ambulance crew with their shoddy workmanship- I mean, fix Derek. That's definitely what I meant

"Sssssssoorree-" declared Derek "-I'm a bit all hot and bothered!" He winked lavaciously, and BoCo shuddered and tried to hold him what passed for his lunch. "Got teething troubles, you- HIC- know!"

"Your teeth are the least of your troubles." muttered BoCo.

...

News of this outrageous new diesel spread down the line. At the docks, because they had nothing else to do, Thomas and Percy were discussing it.

"Yeah, and then he threw up his entire load of oil all over BoCo's front."

"No way!"

"Way! Driver says it's teething troubles, but I just think we've finally met a diesel who can't hold his liquor!"

Percy tottered off after this to the quarry, primarily because he was Percy, and therefore makes all the best decisions in life. As he arrived, he suddenly beamed to himself. A rather naughty idea entered his mind, but seeing as this was one of the few times he was going to get a chance to be the one doing the tricking rather than being the trickee, he shrugged off any moral problems.

"Hey you two! This new diesel's got toothache! Bye!" And off he went, as fast as he entered.

"Why does Percy want to wish us good luck?! No one likes us! No one ever wishes us well!"

Ben growled. "Clearly that was code, you boob! He knows we'll need it! Clearly this new diesel is a dentist in disguise!"

Even by Bill's standards, this was stretching it.

"All right!" amended Ben "Clearly he's an arse! And we don't like any arses around here except for us! We must do battle in the Showdown of the Ultimate Arses! For it has been mentioned in the Engine Bible that Diesel's with Toothache are the worst diesels of all!"

"...Is it, though?"

"It's right next to the words 'And Lady looked upon Misty Island, and she did weep for all of her failures in good engineering design, and smote it, mightily, and forbade anyone speak of it again!'"

"Ah. A classic."

"Indeed. Oh look, manager's on his way."

"OI! YOU 'ORRIBLE LOT! YOU'RE TAKING A LARGE LOAD TO THE DOCKS, LOVELY BOYS, AND YOU SHALL STAY THERE! THERE'S 'ARD WORK ON THE WAY!"

"Wait-"

"SHADDUP!" And so saying, away stormed the manager.

By the time they reached the dock (Having gotten lost three times in rapid succession, and then bumping into BoCo and Edward, who were both drunk and weeping that they were going to miss each other so much) it was dark, and so they left the trucks on their own before scurrying off to join Duck in the shed.

"What are you doing, Duck?"

"NOTHING. AT ALL." Duck couldn't have looked more shifty if he tried. "I definitely wasn't trying to get a message through to City of Truro about a rampaging killing machine- ANYWAY. You do look glum! If I was a horrible person, I'd ask who it was so I could shake him or her by the...buffer, I guess."

"It's all the new diesel's fault! We've never met him but he's an arse! He's got toothache! Clearly he is worse than Hitler, Stalin and their secret love child!"

"Toothac- Teething troubles, you daft nits! He's new, and he causes some problems through no fault of his own!"

"He's not a dentist, then."

"I...don't know him personally, so I can't comment on it. In this case, it's his cooling system from what I've heard. Now can I PLEASE go back to sleep!?"

"You weren't asleep when we got here-"

"Shut it."

...

 _Carlin was lost. It was the exact same Island that he had lived on for so many years now, and yet it was all so different as well. Where soon there would be large masses of rails covering the soil and the grass, there were lush green fields and thick woods that Henry would die to see. And where there were going to be paths that helped him along the way, now there were just no ways of telling where he was and where he was supposed to be going. The note itself had mentioned something about Kirk Ronan, but he had no idea how to get to there, most of the developments were after his time._

 _"Almost there, Peregine!"_

 _And now he was in Crovan's Gate. For some reason._

 _The two men hadn't noticed that he was here yet. Both of them were working very hard on an engine who looked rather uncomfortable with what they were doing. The first was a somewhat lanky youth with wire rimmed spectacles that rather played into the stereotypical image of a nerd, wearing typical welding gear. The other was a great deal larger than his friend, with what appeared to be a handknitted sweater and awkward, checkered trousers. He was changing back into a pair of blue overalls, and was looking at the coffeepot engine they were both working on with pride._

 _"Maybe we should-"_

 _"What?! Give up! On old Glynn here?! He's going to be amazing once he's finished!"_

 _"Oh, boyo, you can just leave it, you've done wonders as it is-"_

 _"No, no, I insist! Glynn's going to be a proper number one!" The larger one laughed and affectionately tapped upon the coffeepot's boiler. "Come on Peregine, just need to check that he can steam properly, and then we can head off to see the soldiers on parade!"_

 _"If you're sure."_

 _Carlin watched in amazement as the thinner one continued his welding, making final checks, as his friend climbed aboard and patiently waited. Then Peregine finished, and with a gleeful shout, the other started Glynn up._

 _Slowly at first, inch by inch, Glynn started to move. The two youths were stunned into silence for a moment, then let out loud whoops of triumph and congratulated each other firmly on their victory._

 _"All we need now is to get you out on the main line!"_

 _"Ha, fat bloody chance of that." From the door stepped someone wearing a bright red and green pinstriped suit. Carlin had the feeling that if he stepped out wearing that at night, he'd ruin the blackout efforts entirely. He had a confident little smug grin on his face, like he was privy to a secret no one else knew about. He and the larger lad had certain resemblances in the facial structure, and it didn't take a genius to work out that they were brothers. "Thought I'd find you two here."_

 _"Should I-"_

 _"Pop off, Percival. I'm sure your mummy's waiting for you with your hot water bottle."_

 _"See you later, Toppers!"_

 _"Yes. Of course." 'Toppers' watched as Peregine Percival left in a hurry, before focusing in on the other. "There was no need for that."_

 _"No? Look, I'll say this as nicely as I can, which is a bloody miracle considering how I normally act. You're not going to be allowed to take old Glynn here out on the main line at this time. The sheds got bombed last night, and most of the engines are out of sorts."_

 _"Anyone hurt?"_

 _"No. Pity really. Wanted to try out my collection of jokes. Ah well. Have to settle for having Gemina Cole over my place again!" He smirked, but then looked at the other carefully. "You look rather...pale. You didn't get sleep last night, did you?"_

 _"With the bombs?!"_

 _"You get used to it. Ah, cripes, I'm running late. Got to get to Mr Jolly's factory before he gives me a right reaming out. See you tonight."_

 _"Bye, Lowham."_

 _For some strange reason, Carlin felt a great deal for the lad. He stepped forward as Lowham walked away, and coughed slightly. The youth turned, and did a double take at the uniform._

 _"I, er, couldn't help overhearing. I'm looking to get to-" He checked the note again "-Kirk Ronan, and...well, you need to test your train."_

 _"Who are you?"_

 _"Carlin...Jim Carlin. You?"_

 _"Oh, you must have heard of me. Topham Hatt. The 'Fat Controller'. I've heard all the jokes."_

 _Carlin tried not to stare open mouthed as he clambered aboard Glynn._

...

The next day, the twins were back at the quarry, eyeing a long line of trucks that had to be taken away (Omniously, that was the exact wording the driver of Bill had heard when his horse had vanished mysteriously) when an unfamiliar whistle sounded.

Unfamiliar because it was in fact a horn.

"OH NO. TIS THE NEW DIESEL! WE'RE BONED!"

And it was. But they weren't. So to speak.

"Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy chappies!" declared Derek, whose breath smelled like Jack Daniels and Canadian Mist had spent an entire night partying and mating away like there was no tomorrow. "Hey, hey, hey...Bodger and Badger, or whoever you are, I'll sort this train out- HIC! You take the...the...not back bit, you know, up at the beginning, whatsit called?"

"The front?"

"That's it! You take the...that, and I'll take behind! Not my first time going behind, am I right?!" He laughed laddishly, and then proceeded to cough and splutter his way to the back. "WHAAAAAAAAT FUN!" He belched.

All went reasonably well as they started off. Perhaps that should have been the first warning sign to all involved.

Then they came to a hill. Although, considering that it's in a quarry, is it technically a hill, or is it a mountain? Ah, question for another time. Ben decided that now was a good chance to mouth off and unleash his more racist side. "COME ON, PUSH HARDER YOU SILLY SLAG FILLED DIESEL! WHERE THE HELL'S THAT FUN YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT?!"

Derek was suffering from trouble. He couldn't push any harder, and was just about to suggest they take a break, when IT happened. "OHHHHHH BUGGER, I'M OVERHEATING AGAIN!"

And he did. With a very loud and rude sound, he came to a shuddering stop, mumbling something that sounded like "SMASHING!" under his breath.

"OH PAH!" said Ben, with dignity and grace.

"Let's finish the journey anyway. I'm too tired to care right now!" sighed the driver. "Means pulling Harold 'Diesel Version' over there. Can you do it?"

"We'll try."

And, to make a long story short, they did.

...

That night, the Fat Hatt arrived at the docks to see them. BoCo was spending his last proper night on the Island with Duck and the twins, with Edward arriving soon to have one last hurrah together before he headed off for his new job.

"Never thought I'd say this in a million years, but well done, Bill and Ben. New diesel's back at the works going through withdrawal, can you manage alone for the time being?"

Bill turned to BoCo "Sorry we were so rude earlier. We're going to miss you."

"Even if the new diesel turns out to be quite friendly once you get through the bad hygiene and his constant breaking down." added Ben.

"And you know what friends do?"

"What, Duck?"

"Always say goodnight to each other."

"Do friends really do that?"

"Well they do now." So they did. But they stayed up all night, talking about teething troubles all night long. Or at least until Edward arrived with the others, and the party began in full swing.

Many speeches were made. James and Gordon thanked BoCo for putting up with them in their worst days, and Gordon in particular thanked BoCo for saving him from scrap at the hands of Tweedleprat and Tweedlearse. Donald and Douglas, who had come ready-drunk, lead a rousing chorus of 'Auld Lang Syne' that brought BoCo to tears for the reason that the singing was terrible. Percy and Oliver got very drunk and nearly fell into the ocean. Duck spoke fondly of the many experiences he had had with BoCo, getting many laughs, and then Edward spoke too, telling tales of adventure that they had shared, and of all the things he was going to miss.

And as the sun rose up, BoCo realized it was time to head off. He gently drove through, muttering goodbyes to most of the engines, before pausing to say a few select farewells to his closest pals.

"You two, I know this is asking a lot, but please try not to burn down anything for at least two weeks."

"We make no promises."

"Ah, I know you can't." BoCo smiled. "Well, this diseasal's very glad he met you. Both of you. You're both arses, sometimes. And oh so maddening. But I can safely say that when I do come back, I can't wait to get back to working with you."

"We'll miss you!" cried Ben, who definitely wasn't on the verge of sobbing hysterically. Bill had already started.

BoCo smiled once more, then turned his attention to Mavis. "Don't let them wear you down. Take care of them. They're good lads, really. Just have to dig down...a lot...with a jackhammer."

"Duly noted." She smiled.

BoCo looked to Duck next. "Good hunting, Duck. Been a blast."

"LIkewise, mate."

And finally, he turned to Edward, who smiled, but also appeared to be on the verge of tearing up. For a moment, no one knew what exactly to say. Then Edward remembered an old saying from the workshop, a way of saying goodbye.

"May your rails never rust, and may your paintwork never luster."

BoCo grinned. "Until the next time, old chum."

"Until the next time, BoCo."

And so saying, BoCo quietly left, to a loud of chorus of whistles and horns, and to one final collective rendition of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow' as he quietly slipped out of the docks and headed towards Vicarstown for what was to be the final time.

And it would be nice if we could leave him here. If we could leave him crossing the bridge to Vicarstown, with happy memories and thoughts in his mind, and with the prospect of meeting new friends, and the idea of returning to see his old ones very soon.

But we can't.

Arry and Bert watched as BoCo entered the Suddery Junction. They smirked at each other, waited until he drew level with them...and then attacked.

He didn't feel a thing.

And so, returning back to the smelters with BoCo's body in tow, the two diesels grinned maliciously.

Diesel 10 was finally to have a body.

* * *

 **A/N:** Okay, wow. This is...going to be a massive risk.

So, let's discuss the reasons why I just did what I did. Spoiler warning. I killed BoCo. Now, why did I do this? For a number of reasons. I understand if people do not like what I have done, or think it was poorly executed, but let me just give my personal bit of reasoning for it, and then make your own mind up.

Okay, first of all, BoCo is probably the one remaining character, from the first three or so seasons, that has just vanished off the radar after Season 5. Other characters who aren't currently in the show, like Terrance, still made appearances in several episodes of the show up until the switch-over to CGI. Even Daisy, who appeared in less episodes than BoCo and Terrance, still got a brief cameo in Calling All Engines by name, and returned to the show at the time in which I originally set out the plan for the Magic Railroad arc. BoCo, however, disappears after this episode without a reference or appearance in any special, episode or even learning segment of the show and has still not returned. Now, I could just have hand-waved that somehow, but BoCo is one who I've written to be one of the more consistent with his canon portrayal. Therefore, I wanted to give a reason why he completely vanishes in nearly all senses of the word after this season.

Secondly, I'm doing this to give a bit more of a personal stake in the eventual Magic Railroad story. While, yeah, the Lady storyline is okay and all for the story, I really wanted to give the engines a reason to give a crap about Diesel 10 doing all these horrible things. This way, Arry and Bert using his parts (And yes, I am aware that the Warship class was a real train, but I argue that since Diesel 10 is a character who has a whacking great big claw on his top, I can take a few liberties with the parts used to properly construct him) means that the other engines have a reason to want to get vengeance on him. In particular, my plan for some of the other engines who aren't in the movie proper rather depends upon it. I want to do stuff with Edward, and having one of his closer friends get killed and made into this creature gives me a reason to do so.

Now, what happens when they bring BoCo back to the TV show proper? You should know by now that I have plans for everything! Won't tell you what yet, but let's just see what the years have in store for us before we get there.


	117. Episode 13: Stepney Gets Lost

Well, hopefully I haven't just driven away most of my audience, and you're all here waiting for the next chapter to start! Or, alternatively, with pitch-forks and torches to lynch me! I'll address any concerns you have in the reviews, but let me just say first off, thank you for understanding my choice in the last chapter. This is probably the only time I'll do something like that. Probably. Maybe. Who knows, really?

 **AaronCottrell97-** I have not a clue! And it's so weird as well! It's not like he even gets a name-check, it's just...he's there! So for whatever reason they dragged his and Daisy's model out of wherever they stored it, but not BoCo, the one who'd make more sense! Not a bloody clue.

 **Game-Watch-** Thanks! Hope I don't let you down!

 **MattPrice01-** Thanks! Yeah, this one isn't one of my favorites either. It's fine, for what it is, and Derek was a character with some potential, but...yeah. Glad you enjoyed not only this but re-reading it all! Hope I keep up the good work!

 **Reality Rejection Service-** Yep. Not going to lie, I'm looking forward to writing his reaction the most.

 **TrainManiac-** Thanks! Don't worry. I have got a plan should he come back, but this was the only way I could write him out and have it mean anything.

 **Bronze Shield-** Thanks! Derek was a hard one to write, so I'm glad he came off well to you! Hope you enjoy this one, I've tried to maintain some level of the spookiness.

 **Hughie96-** Thanks! Very glad you enjoyed! BoCo's character vanishing is weird to me, hence me writing it the way I did. I actually agree with you to some extent, the first five seasons are great and amazing and all that good stuff! Season 6...eh, I have a soft spot for it, for the narration and music and writing, which is still on Season 5 level of humor for me. But you're right, a lot of the changes they made to the models don't look that great. Especially Oliver. I never liked how they gave him the more garish paint. Hope I keep up the high standard!

CUE THE THEME

* * *

"Bluebells, bluebells everywhere, and not a drop to...pollinate? I don't know."

"Doing okay, Stepney?"

"Just fan-frigging-tastic, Rusty."

Stepney was still working closely with Rusty the diesel on the Bluebell line. And it was fine, he supposed. It was fine that it felt like it was the millionth time he had traversed this particular piece of track on this day alone.

Since he had been rescued from scrap, he had become steadily bored with just how static the Bluebell Railway was. He'd muster up some energy for whenever the tourists came, of course, but for the most part he had to just grin and bear it as Baxter and Adams argued over whether or not the nose was a necessary design feature on an engine.

It was a good life, he supposed.

But whenever he saw Rusty, it made him a little bit peeved. Rusty's day seemed to be great. It stimulated the mind, as the little diesel told him what they had been up to, and it was fun to watch the idiots get in trouble.

As he arrived back at the shed (An old shack for the time being, as renovations were being done on the main sheds as they were) he was surprised to see that the Fat Controller was there to greet him. Without preamble, he launched into the hard sell. "Rusty tells me you're in need of change again. They went into quite a lot of detail. I've just met Captain Baxter, and I can see why. So, if you want, you can head off and join Toby and Mavis in the quarry. Thanks to BoCo, we're jammed up with trucks there."

"Thanks, sir! Sounds like a laugh. Will I be away long?"

"Well we wanted to use you for our own selfish interests- I mean, give you a break for longer, but the manager says that you'll only have today for that. And you'll need to be back by dark, rumors are that there are some diesels going around nicking body parts like some bloody Burke and Hare tribute act!"

"We will!" said the driver, who crossed his fingers. He wanted to get drunk, go to a bar and get laid. He didn't really care about getting back on time. That was the fun part of the holiday.

...

 _"So, where are you from?"_

 _"Complicated question, kid." Carlin tried to ignore the fact that he was currently talking to a far younger version of Sir Topham Hatt himself and grabbed hold of Glynn with great strength. The ride was rickety and chaotic, and every time they went round a tight bend, he worried that he was going to be thrown over at great speed. "Originally? Manhatten? Nowadays? ...Hard to tell."_

 _"Always lived here myself! You've heard of the Hatt's, of course?"_

 _"How could I not?"_

 _"Well, my brother is the next in line! He's so amazing! He'll really change things for the better and no mistake!" Topham stared ahead. "Strange, really...I wonder what I'll do with my life when he takes over."_

 _Carlin hesitated. "You're...you'll be fine, kid." To change the subject, he fastened on to something else. "Look, no judgement, but why aren't you out there with the other boys?"_

 _Topham laughed. "Can't. Flat feet. And Lowham can't, because he's...well he's taking care of mother at the moment. So we're both stuck here. Listen, I'll have to drop you off here. The station isn't far from here. Sorry, it's just that...I have to get some stuff for mother."_

 _"I understand. See you around."_

 _And so saying, Carlin watched as his future boss drove Glynn onwards. He waited until he was quite gone, before turning around and taking in his surroundings._

 _He was at the bottom of a rather steep slope. The line here crossed through an area that lead to what was known to Carlin as Henry's tunnel. He had always seen this large embankment, but had never ventured over it. He knew that not too far from here was the place where Kirk Ronan was to be built. The town was off in the distance. And yet despite that, Carlin had the distinct impression that wherever Benn was, it was to be found over this._

 _It was a hard climb, and by the end of it, Carlin rolled down the hill swearing he would never mock Gordon again. At the bottom, he noticed a few tracks, one leading to a pair of buffers, and the others leading off into the distance near a cliff. He walked along the line that connected to the buffers, for no real reason other than he felt that was what he should do._

 _Presently, he came to a small secluded glade. For a moment, a wave of desire to leave this place swept him. But Carlin was nothing if not stubborn, and pushed ahead determinedly._

 _"BLOODY NORA!" Benn shouted as he entered. "You took your time!"_

...

"Bloody hell! These parts would be bloody expensive if we were to sell them on the open market, eh, Bert?"

A grunt.

"Shame, you know, about that old green traitor. Another universe, another life, and he might have been a good mate. Still, can't think like that. All right, so we've got the wheels from that bloody Yank, the claw from Maithwaite, a couple of bits and bobs from the old Russian that we scuppered...pity we didn't get Ivan too, his buffers would have made a great little finishing touch. Ah well. And now, of course, the majority of BoCo's parts are now firmly in place. I do love my work."

A second grunt.

"Ah, Bert. Once again, you cut me to the quick. Of course we're not stopping here! So much more to do!"

 **"I'm glad to hear it."**

"JES-What did he tell you about phasing through walls?! And you know that thing that Graham Bell invented?! You know, the phone!? How about you use it once in a while!? Oh, you're still bummed about that little...accident we had when we attempted to reformat you?"

 **"Oh trust me, thought I'm still enraged at you, I almost have to thank you. But I bring news. An engine is coming here tonight."**

"Why do we-?"

 **"It's Stepney."**

A third grunt, this time very excited.

"Go on."

...

"-So I said to him "James, mate, Mavis is more than up to the task! The day she quits doing her work down here will be the day when the Island falls!" and then he did his usual thing of laughing at me and flouncing off."

"Thanks Toby...So how much do you have riding on me again?"

"Twenty pounds. And my dignity. Please don't lose me this bet."

"So kind. Oh, speaking of which, here he comes!"

Stepney cheerfully puffed up, having spent the remainder of the night crowing over escaping once more to Baxter and the twins. "What ho, you lot!" he declared proudly. "Guess who is back!"

"Is it Class 40?"

"Oh, shut up. Seriously though, nice to see you Toby. And...er, I don't think we've had the pleasure."

"Mavis. I was in the quarry when you came last time."

Stepney frowned. "Huh. Surprised I didn't meet you." He paused, and then grinned. "Still, better late than never, am I right?"

"We're glad to have you with us."

"Those my trucks?"

There was a pause as all three realized what an odd statement this was in an area surrounded by lines upon lines of trucks.

"Oh, those ones? Yep. Well...some of them. But there are tons more in the sidings."

"VIVA LE REVOLUTION!"

"Shut up, Fred!"

"You shut up, Rickety!"

"The more the merrier! Let me at them!" Stepney paused as Mavis moved off to get his first lot ready. "Oh, and by the by, Toby...Duck about? I was curious to see how he's been doing."

"Ah, sorry, he's off the Island for the day. Apparently he and City of Truro are meeting up to have a chinwag about whatever mysterious organization he works for, and whatever weird thing they've got him doing on the Island."

Stepney frowned. "Hang about, you know that? Did he take my advice and come clean?"

"Nope. I worked it out."

"...How?"

"You really think I can't hear the weird shit he mutters about under his breath when he thinks no one is listening?"

...

TWO WEEKS AGO.

"Got to get back and tell Truro about what happened with the Juggernaut that night. Hope he believes me-"

"HI DUCK!"

"AAAARGH! TOBY?! Someone should stick a bell on you!"

"They already did! Ding ding! Watcha doing?"

"I was doing, er, the comic books!"

"...The comic books."

"Yep! I do love the Juggernaut, he's probably my favorite Marvel villain there is! WELL LOOK AT THE TIME, NON SPECIFIC EXCUSE! I'm just going to...er...MY PIANO LESSONS! OH BOY DO I LOVE THE PIANO OKAY BYE."

"...Pfft. Smooth."

...

Stepney laughed. "Piano recitals!? Seriously?!"

"Trust me, that's not the only time I've caught him talking under his breath and doing 'ominous' things. Eh, I'll just act super surprised when he brings it up. If he brings it up. Ever."

"Hey! Less chatting and more working!" snapped Mavis.

Stepney worked as hard as five engines, or ten James's if you want it in metric. The dustier he became, the harder he worked, and the more his nose acted up. Mavis and Toby were impressed, and wondered if they could trade both Bill and Ben for Stepney. Then they realized that perhaps burning down the Bluebell Line wasn't the way to go.

Soon, the quarry was almost empty, and the foreman spoke to the Bluebell Engine's driver, who was currently more than a little drunk. "We've got this night special...well, it's more of a dumping ground for some of the older trucks, it heads off to the construction site of the new branch-line. They're thinking of re-doing Toby's old place. Want to take it?"

"is it just me, or are you a bit golder than usual? Sure, why not?!"

"Shouldn't you have asked the Fat Controller first?"

"Shut up, Stepney!"

Night came, as it often does. Stepney was coupled up to a line of trucks, and the driver and fireman hurried off to the bar to get one last lot of gin. This gave the engines chance to say goodbye.

"Thanks for your help, Stepney. Careful as you go, now."

"I will, thanks for a lovely day! I do hope I can come back again!"

Toby scoffed. "The way this railway is run? I can almost guarantee it!"

Mavis jumped as the owl hooted. "Bloody owls! They should be shot! The track you're heading on can be spooky. Take care."

"Bye!" And so saying, Stepney puffed off. "Thanks the warning!"

Mavis and Toby watched as Stepney disappeared from sight, and then looked at each other. Another bloody boring night at the quarry.

Stepney made good time, and soon arrived to drop off the rock and stone for the workmen. Butch the Breakdown Crane was there as well, and tried to get a speaking part in the episode. But thankfully, we don't have to pay for his salary, as his scene was promptly cut.

Then he set off for home.

...

"Tonight, Bert?"

A harsh sort of growl, the kind that started from the stomach and clawed it's way up through the throat answered Arry's remark.

"Yeah. You're right. This is going to be fun."

...

"We're lost! Again! Bloody lunatic!"

"We are NOT lost, Stepney! Look, we're doing perfectly fine! See! We're right on course to the Vicarstown Bridge! So on point! It amazes me sometimes, how good I am with a map."

There was a pause as the fog set in, then the fireman turned the map the right way up. The driver glared at him, before glancing down. "See! This is still great! We're not too far from the Bridge-"

"Doesn't it say at the top that this map was printed in 1821?"

Silence for a moment.

"OHHHHHH FU-"

At that moment, Stepney let out a blast on his whistle, hoping to attract someone's aid. Unfortunately, they weren't too far off from Hawin Lake, which had been abandoned since Old Bailey had gone slightly off the rails. No one was around.

"God, Mavis was right. Suddenly everything does look spooky! And someone needs to prune these trees, someone could seriously hurt themselves on them!" They carried on in silence for a few more minutes, before at last, the driver spotted a signalbox with the light on.

"Ah ha! See! What did I tell you!? My sense of direction is perfect! Oh, and look at that, a green light! Must have been expecting us! And you doubted me! Ha! You're just like my parents."

He was wrong, of course. The signalman was bored out of his mind, and had fallen asleep. Like a real trooper, of course. Stepney continued onwards into the night, passing by a windmill that he was pretty sure he hadn't passed coming in. The points ahead were set to take them even further off course, but in the mist and dark, Stepney couldn't tell.

"Home, here we come!"

And then things went from bad to terrifying in an instant. They stumbled into an unknown area of the Island, where rarely anyone ventured. The mist and smoke from the massive furnaces made it hard to see what was going on at first, and so Stepney didn't cotton on where he was for the moment. But the driver and fireman were now both keenly aware that they had made a very bad choice indeed. The former made a decision. "We'll have to stop here until everything clears up."

Then came the sounds. The sound of metal being torn apart, the sound of crackling fires being stoked with things that were definitely not coals, the sound of metal crushers pounding things into new shapes.

"What are those strange sounds?"

Then the fog lifted.

"Oh...oh nonononononono, we can't be! We mustn't be! We're not in the scrapyard, please! Please god alive, please! LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!" Stepney frowned, and looked back to his cab. "GUYS?!"

The fireman and driver had departed as the mist began to disappear to find help in one of the sheds. They hadn't spotted the same thing Stepney had. Desperately, the Bluebell engine tried to back away, but his wheels refused to move. Truly it was awful. Around him lay dessecated corpses. They might have just been rubber props for all he knew, but the ghoulish looking bodies, bodies that looked eerily similar to Thomas and Gordon and James, and the Twins, and even one hung up in an almost mocking way that resembled City of Truro, struck fear into Stepney's heart.

And then, from behind, he heard the sound of wheels moving, and a familiar voice echoed around him.

"Gotcha now, Stepney. Oh, what fine scrap you will make indeed...buffer him, Bert. Let's give him a little tour."

Bert growled, and locked his couplings around Stepney's. There was no way out, no magic diesel coming to the rescue, no one would know once he had been dragged off. As hard as he could, Stepney fought, but the two Grim Reapers of the scrapheap had him trapped.

They took him to Shed 14, the large Smelting Shed. The bright red light filled everything, temporarily blinding Stepney as it did so. Arry and Bert were used to it, and ignored it. As they did so, they moved him into position.

"Bye bye, Stepney!" said the diesel, and they backed off. Stepney started and tried to pull back, but clamps from beneath shot up and took hold of his wheels. Wincing, by chance he looked up. Above him was a huge grabbing claw, one that looked as though it could crush even Gordon with no effort whatsoever.

"AAAAAARGH! THIS ENGINE'S NOT FOR SCRAPPING!"

The claw didn't listen as it continued downwards. Why would it? It's a claw. Stepney shut his eyes and prayed that the end would come quickly. He felt the sides of the grabber press against his boiler...and stop.

"IT'S A GOOD THING THAT I'VE CHOSEN TO COME HERE TONIGHT...and bloody convinient too...SAVING YOU FROM SCRAP IS A BAD HABIT! PLEASE STOP IT!"

"God!? You sound much more like a Yorkshireman than I would have guessed!"

"It's me, you bloody fool!"

"Yep sir! I've realized something!"

"Yeah?"

"No place like home!"

"Then what are you doing here!? Get off with you!"

"BLUEBELLS FOREVER!" wailed Stepney as he crossed the bridge with such speed you would have thought it was the Flash himself. His driver and fireman, however, promptly got smacked by everyone in the vicinity for being such a pair of twits.

...

Arry and Bert watched as Stepney puffed over the bridge to safety. The latter snarled angrily, but the former took it with surprising grace and calm. "Ah, pity. Would have been fun to see that one fry at last...ah well. Always next time."

They entered the shed far away from that that Stepney had exited. This was Shed Number 17. The area was designed to be a testing ground for all of their worst and most deadly weapons. The Rusticide Plague, that could reduce an engine to scrapings on the floor within weeks. The Misty Island Project, in which whole Islands could be created at the drop of a hat. Marklin's own special project, kept away from everyone who wasn't named Arry or Bert.

And of course, HIM.

There was a flash, and a strange series of noises as a portal opened up, and the Fat Director and Captain Zero staggered out. They had deposited the treasures they had stolen somewhere for the Fat Director of the past to find and make his fortune. He turned and stared in wonder at Diesel 10's framework. "Magnificent" He gasped, and made for the larger than life diesel. Tentatively, as if it would shatter if he held too tightly, he brushed against the frame. He tried not to smile. He failed. It was the most terrifying image any of the workers had ever seen.

"Oh yes. You will be beautiful."

He turned around and looked at the others. "I do believe-" he remarked "-that we have a certain favor to pay Mr Gotch. Zero, get your ships ready. We're going after Hargreaves."

...

 _Carlin recovered first. "God above! Benn, you bastard, wait for me next time! I nearly got blowed the hell up!"_

 _"That's not grammatically correct-"_

 _"YOU'RE NOT GRAMMATICALLY CORRECT!"_

 _"You're overreacting."_

 _"I NEARLY DIED."_

 _"Enough! Both of you! For me's sake, can't you just calm down!?"_

 _Carlin looked at Lady. He started in surprise. Time had not been kind to her, clearly. Her paint was cracked, and fading away. Large cobwebs seemed to cover her cab and boiler, and especially her buffers. Her face, which had been so alive and intelligent, looked rather grey and dulled now. Her eyes had lost their glow, her face seemed more wrinkled, and she seemed to have her mouth locked permanently downwards._

 _"Of course, Lady." Mr Benn sighed, apologetically. "Sorry, Carlin. There was an incident. Halfway through the portal, I got dragged back to the shop by something. It's been three or four days since I saw you last. Getting here's been a nightmare."_

 _"Yeah...sorry too." Carlin looked around. "Where are the others? Why aren't we at Great Waterton?"_

 _No one answered for a bit. Then Lady looked Carlin in the eye, wearily. "We...Great Waterton fell into disrepair a long time ago. We had to abandon it in case it got worse. And the Island...it shifts. Every so often the entire geography of the place switches around and no one notices. So...we left. All of us. Some went off to other areas...I heard that Posideon and Tubby headed off a long time ago to the Bigg City Port and Flitterwick Harbor respectively. Others have gone to...far off places...Dream Street, Harefield Airport, Tarrytown, Halifax Harbor, some London Airport...they've gone off to live their own lives."_

 _"And others? Where' s Proteus?"_

 _Lady looked away, and almost choked on her words. "Gone...he's...gone."_

 _There was a long and awkward silence, before the sound of chatting brought them back to the present. Much to Carlin's surprise, three teenagers walked on through the glade as if it was nothing. The two boys and the girl stopped their rather cheerful nattering away to stare in surprise at Carlin, who in turn stared back with an equal amount of shock._

 _"Sorry, Miss Lady." said the first boy. He was tall, sort of the stereotypical farmboy you'd see in very naive pictures in the war effort, blond hair, brown eyes and a slight deepness to his voice. "We didn't know you had company."_

 _"It's all right. Neither did I until a few minutes ago."_

 _"Is he a threat? Do you want me to take care of him!?" said the second lad. He was a good deal shorter than the first, with a pair of spectacles, a rather muscular build slightly hidden by a black jacket and trousers combo and brown hair bordering on black. He looked rather aggressive, before the girl placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. She too was a brunette, albeit one with a far lighter complexion than the boy, and her somewhat Edwardian dress hid a wiry figure._

 _"Not a problem. Let me introduce you. This is Carlin." Lady winked. "He's a Conductor."_

 _The three gasped. Carlin coughed and looked from left to right as if someone was listening in. "Wow, dropped that in quite fast. Pleasure, I'm sure."_

 _"It's great to meet you! I'm Burnett Stone."_

 _"I'm Tasha Bower."_

 _"And I'm Pete Boom! Remember that name!"_

* * *

That's right. It's time for the MAIN EVENT.

Quick notes. Tasha's last name is a reference to the actress who played her as a child. I struggled for ages with a nickname for P.T Boomer, but eventually went with Pete Boom as a reference to how it's often incorrectly mentioned by fans.


	118. Episode 14: Toby's Discovery

Hello all! Good news, Christmas is coming up (And I'm working on a very special Christmas edition of Tales From the Abridgement, so look out for that) and that means that I will hopefully have more time to write chapters. With any luck, I'll have Magic Railroad up maybe by the end of January, early February. Now, let's focus on the episode!

...Which to be brutally honest is probably one of the hardest ones to write thus far. I mean, I like it, don't get me wrong, the scenery is great in it, and the actual time they spend building up the spooks is fun...it just feels like a lot of padding. It's also where I think that the writers of the later seasons got the idea of Toby being a bit of a worry-wort from. There's nothing that wrong with the episode (Honestly, even a average Thomas episode from the Classic Series is often tons better than most kids shows now), it's just that it's sort of run of the mill. Plus, it introduces the character of Bertram who...well, see at the bottom for my feelings on him and what I've done with the character. To compensate for what I feel is a somewhat subpar offering by myself, I've also included three parts of the main storyline in this one. First one deals with Carlin, the second one will hopefully show the engines in 1944 and the third is a mystery! Ooooh.

Review Time!

 **MattPrice01-** Thank you! Very much so, although this episode is a bit of a smaller one when it comes to story. As for Norris...well, we'll just have to see.

 **AaronCottrell97-** I can tell you right now, if I ever bring that Timothy into the story, it shall only be for the purpose of mocking him, like the incredibly well done parody of him by D199. Shed 17 was mentioned because I think it was well made enough and because I figured it would be a nice shout out.

 **Bronze Shield-** Mwahahaha.

 **Game-Watch-** I hope I do not disappoint!

 **trestonfortson2016-** Thanks! But I'm glad it's getting an actual reaction from people. I have something very different planned for Splatter and Dodge, and it might not be what you think.

 **Reality Rejection Service-** Damn straight VHS tapes for the win! Always found it weird that they got toned down so severely after this one episode, which I shall also be explaining.

 **TrainManiac-** Agreed! This really was a unnerving episode, primarily because I loved watching Rusty to the Rescue as a kid, and seeing Stepney in trouble again was a nightmare for my young mind. Glad you liked the reference, who knows...it might even come back again later.

 **LoneDrifter213-** Thank you, I'm glad you appreciate it!

 **Radical sandwiches-** I've already responded back, so I'll just say THANK YOU for the kind words and the lovely praise! I hope I keep on doing good work.

 **Ninjalinda-** Ain't I a stinka!? Ha! Glad you're enjoying it, and yeah, it's very easy to see Arry and Bert doing that sort of thing.

 **UGX7-** Kind words are always appreciated!

 **UltraGX66:** Ha! I didn't think it would be! Regarding Theodore, while I don't have any plans at present, there's no reason why that can't change! Who knows?

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"Britt, what are you doing?"

"Packing, David, what else?"

"...For a holiday?"

"Yep!"

"Which we are going on?"

"Indeed!"

"...Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you trying to squeeze in a camera? And Asquith? And Angelis? I don't think the bag will fit, first of all, and secondly, don't they have other things to be doing?"

Angelis shrugged "Me career doesn't seem to be going anywhere at the minute. Sure I've got time to be kidnapped off the street by a crazy lady and stuffed into a bag! Why don't you? Maybe you should ask yourself that question?!"

Britt sighed. "Oh come on, David. If we see something while we're holidaying with Sir Topham Hatt that's truly breath-taking, you will lose your mind if you can't get a shot of it! And besides, it's the Island of Sodor! What are the odds that anything, anything at all, will go right?!"

"You make a fair point. ...And why are we bringing Mike and Steve with us again?"

"I dunno. Fun, I guess?"

...

One morning ("COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!" screamed a rooster, who was shot for being too bloody loud on this particular day), the Fat Controller arrived at the ramshackle old shed...and no we're not talking about Toby, ha ha, laugh it up. They had made this shed mostly to shut Toby up about whining over how there needed to be more room at Tidmouth for other engines. Toby had accepted the gift with all the grace of James being told to stop waxing his boiler, i.e. none.

"Come on, Toby, we're going t'seaside! We're all riding in Henrietta!"

"WAAAAAA-" stated...or moaned...or argued...or mumbled...it's hard to tell really, the tram. "It's six in the morning, sir?"

"And we've drank a lot of caffeine! It's going to get CRAAAAAAAZY."

"Ugh. Yes sir."

One long, long journey later, they arrived at the little seaside station of Norramby, not too far from the fishing village of the same name. The Fat Controller, the Lady Hatt, the _former_ Lady Hatt, his grandchildren and Allcroft's crew disembarked.

"Is this it?!" Angelis remarked to no one in particular.

The children didn't seem to care, they rushed onto the beach and immediately began to make a sand castle. Mitton shrugged and headed off to the ice cream van to get them all a treat, while Sir Topham Hatt went into the sea and sank faster than you could snap your fingers.

This left the two Lady Hatt's to awkwardly sit down and look at each other oddly until such time as Hatt managed to recover and drag himself up the beach for a lie down.

"So...er...how's life been?"

"Great. My husband sleeping with another woman, I'm being portrayed as the bad woman in this situation, I'm still not invited to the Christmas dinners-"

"Didn't you threaten to castrate your own son's balls when he took Topham's side?"

"Irrelevant."

"Well this is fun." remarked Britt, glumly. Elsewhere, three members of Greenpeace attempted to pull the Fat Controller back into the water, believing him to be a beached whale that had gone way out of it's normal swimming grounds. And much merriment was had. Mostly by Sybil, who watched with great glee as Topham, the coast guard and the Greenpeace officers got into a massive fight.

Once that was finished, Hatt ambled over to see the castle. He was greatly impressed. "Nice work, kids!"

"Thank you, Grandpa! It would be nice if our parents actually paid attention to us once in a while, instead of constantly throwing us to you to look after!"

Hatt laughed awkwardly. He wondered if Richard and Charlotte were having fun with their adventurous lifestyle, while he basically had to take over as the caretaker for his grandchildren. "You seen one like this, anywhere?" He asked hurriedly, changing the subject.

"Yeah! It's on the Island!" And Stephen pointed to a map.

"That's...North Wales, Stephen. We need to get your geography lessons started back up again."

"On the back."

Hatt turned the map over, and grinned to himself. "Hmmm...I wonder."

"Ha! Come on, children, we shall go off and enjoy a nice quiet and peaceful and utterly relaxing day-"

"Or, alternatively, you can come with your grandfather and I and go on a wild goose chase looking for a castle that may or may not exist!"

Which one do you think the children picked?

Yep. You're smart.

"TOBY!"

"AAAAAARGH! SIR, DON'T CREEP UP ON ME LIKE THAT!"

"We're going exploring! It shall be a great adventure, and it'll get us away from the ex!"

"Do I get a say in this?"

"Shut up Toby."

"Ah. As I expected."

...

"We're lost, aren't we?"

"Of course not, dear!" Hatt stared at the map, then realized that he had it upside down yet again and turned it around. His eyes widened as Toby hit a rather bumpy section of the track and proceeded to jump up and down more times than a Mexican jumping bean. They were now in the wildest part of the Island, where the rails had long since been abandoned. Some would have thought taking his grandchildren on such a path would have been dangerous. Oh how wrong they would have been.

They arrived by a lonely signalbox, where a signalman rushed out waving a shotgun around and had to be talked out of shooting the 'Nazis'.

"Where are you off too?"

"We're trying to find an old castle, er...Norris, I believe? I've met your son, he's...interesting."

"Wow, are you really that bored?"

"Oh yes."

"Yeah, I know of it. Small junction up ahead, you just need to switch the points. I think. Maybe. I'm pretty insane, in case you couldn't tell, so I might be wrong. As I often am."

So when the fireman switched the points, the adventure really began...badly, as it turned out, as Toby promptly came off the rails and had to be shoved back on by the film crew who were recording narration and visuals pretty much on the fly. Things got worse for the poor tram, as he hurried on through bushes and branches, scratching his face and causing him to swear up a storm.

At last they reached a second junction. There were two signs, one that said 'TO THE CASTLE' and another that said 'TO THE MINE'. The Fat Controller got out and examined them. Henrietta breathed a sigh of relief, as the massive weight was therefore removed from her aching chassis, even if just for a time.

"We'll go t'castle first!"

"Do we get a choice in this!?"

"Nnnnnnno!"

"Fair enough".

Toby stopped by an old water tower. And when I say by, I actually mean quite a few feet away from it. The von Hatt family disembarked and looked at an old, rotting castle.

"THERE IT IS!"

"Yesch!" said Hatt, who was now very drunk.

They stared at it for a good three minutes.

"Bored now."

"Yeah. To the MINES!"

...

 _1944._

 _"My my." Carlin stared at the very large spread of food laid on for him. "This is truly how you greet a f**king hero, am I right, Benn?"_

 _"If you say so."_

 _"Go ahead!" Lady coughed. A slight bit of dust exited her throat. "You look hungry."_

 _Carlin practically laid waste to the first three plates that he came across. He slowed down a bit when Benn gave him a look, but was cheered by the fact that Boom seemed to be eating just as much._

 _"So-" said Carlin, once he had finished the food, "-what's the story with Wendy, John and Micheal over here?"_

 _"I've been on my own now for a very long time. Since about...the eighteen hundreds? Maybe? It's been so long...anyway, silly old me ended up getting caught up in the Blitz. Some stupid Germans dropped a bomb next to me. The only reason I'm alive now is because of these three. They dragged me off to this siding, and they've been slowly repairing me ever since."_

 _"It's easy." bragged Pete "A little tinkering here, a little case of rewiring there-"_

 _"And I assume all of that stuff is for cleaning her up?"_

 _"Yes, sir!" Burnett looked as though he was about to salute, which Carlin dearly hoped he wouldn't do, because he might start laughing, and he didn't want to hurt the poor idiot's feelings._

 _"And what are you three doing on the Island to begin with? You sound American."_

 _An awkward pause followed._

 _Carlin grimaced and massaged his temples. "Right, the war...sorry. That was stupid of me." He groaned. "So, where are you lot from originally?"_

 _"Shining Time."_

 _Carlin's eyes widened. "Shit! You too?"_

 _"You live there?!"_

 _"Yeah, I do. Or I will. Or I am...it's very complicated." Carlin paused, tried to sort his feelings out and sighed. "Okay, Benn, what's the plan?"_

 _"Plan?"_

 _"Where's the wrong to right? First we had to stop the big evil shadowy thing from killing everyone-"_

 _"The what?!" asked the three kids._

 _"-then it was God Save Us From the King Godred. What's the problem here? What do we have to do? Assassinate Hitler? Kick Stalin in the balls? Send Mussolini packing?"_

 _"Definitely not any of those. No, this time...this time I have no earthly idea what the hell we're supposed to be doing!" And here, to Carlin's immense surprise, for the first time Benn allowed the calm and composed mask to crack slightly. What was underneath it was hard to describe, but it was very angry indeed._

 _Lady coughed, discreetely. "Listen, the three of you. I'd get back now. Your guardians will be worried about you."_

 _"But-"_

 _"Come on, Pete." said Tasha, taking him by the shoulder. "They've got 'grown up' business to talk about!"_

 _"See you tomorrow, Miss Lady?"_

 _"Of course!" As they walked away, she turned her attention to the two men. "There's an old shed not far from here. If you wish, you may sleep there for the night. Things shall look better in the morning, but getting a good night's sleep always helps with that."_

 _So they did, little knowing that in the coming days, weeks...even years, what they did now would change the course of history for Sodor forever._

...

A long time ago, back in the olden days, the mines had been worked by the little engines of the Mid Sodor Railway before the changing times had forced a shutdown on a grand scale. The lines were still there, albeit rusty and abandoned. Several large carcasses of engines had been dumped there over the years, including that of a brakevan that looked like Toad, and disturbingly, several engines that looked eerily like Thomas.

"Okay, Topham dear, we've got to talk about taking the kids to a place where they could potentially get tetanus."

"HOW IMPRESSIVE!"

"Yeah, if you like constant reminders of your own mortality." Toby shivered, though he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was the rusted remains of his fellow engines, maybe it was the sudden pain once again, or maybe it was just because for summer it was very cold indeed. He wasn't at all sorry when it was time to go. But back at the sheds, the Fat Controller was seeing pound signs prancing around.

"That castle and mine will make me a TON OF MONEY! Also, great stuff for visitors, but mostly MONEY! CASH! MEGABUCKS! ROLLING IN DOUGH! It'll take a lot of hard work, of course, which is why YOU, Toby, shall drag me up there as often as possible!"

"Yes sir." said Toby through gritted teeth.

The plans were soon put into action, as much of the surrounding area of the mine was cut down and removed despite the protests of Henry, who considered it to be pissing on Mother Nature's hard work. One day, Thomas arrived with some trucks. Toby was there, and the two grimly surveyed the area.

"Still can't shake the feeling that this place is haunted." Toby remarked at last. He shuddered, another spasm of pain spreading through his body, which he passed off as a reaction to the cold.

"Sucks to be us then, cause it's our turn to stay on guard tonight!"

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF- Oh, yes, WHY NOT?!"

"Beware of the ghost, Toby!"

"What ghost?!"

"The Old Warrior! Every night he lights his fire and goes a-hunting for fresh victims and firewood! So you're both in one!"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, THOMAS!"

"Toot toot, goodbye!" And Thomas hurried off, leaving Toby to wonder why it was that he had such shitty friends to deal with on a regular basis.

...

 _"Can't believe it!" Eagle spat out his drink and glared at Thistle. "Don't ever change your day job. I'm pretty sure that the vineyards will go out of business if you ever get your grubby little buffers on them!"_

 _"My wine making skills are perfect, thank you very much!"_

 _"What do you do, Thistle?" Biggles sighed as he stared into the glass. "Slosh it around in your boiler every morning?"_

 _"As it happens, yes!"_

 _Edward bade his driver remove the glass, and suddenly looked very pale indeed. "I think I'll keep off the booze for the next few...decades."_

 _"You fools just don't understand the fine vintages I can brew in an instant!"_

 _"Aren't vintages supposed to be high quality? Doesn't that imply that being brewed in an instant does not in fact connotate that such a wine is vintage?"_

 _"Shut up Albert, you wordy bastard."_

 _Gordon's remark got a great deal of merriment from the otherwise somewhat morose engines. Thistle cracked a smile at his cousin's defense, and Alfred waved off the insult with good humor. The engines were all gathered in the shunting yards of Knapford, discussing the days events as the sun began it's slow setting._

 _"It's never been five years!" Biggles said, at random._

 _"It's been five years." Henry said, glumly._

 _"Not to worry, it'll all be over by Christmas!" Thistle said, with grim humor. The chuckles this time were less, and lower, and shorter for that matter. Before the war the group of them had approached the thing with a great sense of adventure and humor. Now...now it was getting exhausting. Bringing the troops back and forth the training grounds and the ships taking them off to die was emotionally draining. The bombs meant that getting a good night of sleep seemed to be a myth. And the constant threat of the jackboot hung over their heads._

 _This contemplative silence was broken by the rather nasty sound of the last two engines entering the yard. 98462 and 87546 swaggered about, sneering at the others and rudely shoved aside both Biggles and Eagle to get at the bar. However, referring to them by their numbers got really old, so for the purposes of making it easier, they referred to the former as Nine and the latter as Eight. Pay attention._

 _"Well well well, look at all you slackers! My word, we're in a truly diabolical situation if you're the best we've got to offer!" Eight's smirk could have curdled milk it was so rotten. "You all have the collective usefulness of a tram!"_

 _Everyone winced. In less enlightened times, trams were considered to be sub-par in enginekind._

 _"I was planning on ordering something. But seeing the pig swill you have on offer here, I think I'll pass." Nine growled. He turned and bared his teeth at Edward and Alfred. "Awww, I didn't realize they let the toddlers out at this time!"_

 _"You shut your mouth, you prat!"_

 _"Oh yeah, Blue Engine? What are you going to do? Hmm? Take me on? Come on then, shortstack!" Nine backed up, ready for a fight, while Eight began to guzzle down water like he was dying of thirst. Edward moved forward to attack, but Alfred blocked the way._

 _"Now now, this isn't going to solve anything."_

 _"But it'll make me feel a lot better!"_

 _"All right, listen, Fatty's going to be along in a minute. We should get out of here before he catches us."_

 _And thus the meeting ended, as each engine headed off to get the freight or passenger trains that they needed. All save Nine, who stayed at the bar and glowered angrily. Little engines shouldn't talk back to their elders, or so he thought._

 _He wasn't alone though. With a faint humming noise, a second and far smaller engine drew up to him. The two didn't look or speak to each other for some time, until they were quite sure that they had the yard to themselves._

 _"Well?"_

 _"There's going to be an attack in a few days time."_

 _"In a few days? Give me something concrete here, Davidson."_

 _"Can't. Not today, anyway. But tomorrow I will definitely know. I advise you to get to the farthest side of the Island, out of the way of the docks. Something nasty is going to happen."_

...

Night came.

As it often tended to do.

In the dark, everything looked spooky as all hell. An owl hooted, scaring the living crap out of Toby. "Bloody owl!" he hissed. "Why the hell are there so many of them around!? Don't they have anything better to do that mess about with engines!?"

Suddenly, he heard a ghastly wheezing sound, like someone trying to breath with a massive hole in their chest. "IT'STHEGHOST!"

"What ghost!?"

"THE OLD WARRIOR! HE HAS COME TO HUNT ME DOWN!"

"Don't be so daft! We'll go and investigate! Honestly, trams these days, so bloody scared of their own shadow- WHATTHEHELLWASTHAT!?"

"That's a leaf, mate. Stay here." The fireman strolled off into the darkness. He returned soon, grinning. "The Old Warrior wants to meet you! Says he's never met a tram before!"

"Can't we just wait until morning?! You know, like most people in horror films should!?"

"Ghosts don't work day-shifts." remarked the driver.

"You are in no position to mock him, mate."

So Toby crept forward, bravely. "Well bless my bell and call me Sally!" There was a little old engine on a siding, looking rather baffled and embarrassed as a larger than normal asthma pump was being attended to. For whatever reason, Duke's old shed was also there.

"No ghost, Toby!" declared the insane signalman. "This is Bertram! We call him the Old Warrior because he's so brave, and because he won't shut up."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"...Humans are weird."

"They are that."

Toby and Bertram are now firm friends, and they take visitors to the splendid castle and the...okayish, mines. And if there are any ghosts there, they certainly make the place feel happy.

There's a moral to this story.

I don't know what it is, though.

...

1994.

"Hang about, I found something!?"

 _Wha-_

 _What ...what was going..._

"Bloody hell, it's a generator!"

"More than that, you clot head! Hey, Mr Gotch, you might want to get over here!"

 _Who is...Gotch? Where are..._

 _Dukey?_

He coughed and spluttered and inhaled lungfuls of air as fast as he could. But it felt as though his whole chassis was on fire.

"Holy- Listen, get him on the truck, we're taking him back to HQ as fast as we can!"

That was all he heard before sweet oblivion claimed him once again.

When he woke up the second time, he was able to open his eyes. Not much, admittedly, and it took all his willpower to keep them open as the harsh light hit them, but it was a step in the right direction.

"He's awake."

"Good...how'd you get him out of there without anyone noticing?"

"Telly, as per usual, boss. The idiots over there are too busy getting caught up in all the drama of Drampf and that idiot tank engine going head to head to notice a few things that shouldn't quite be there."

"Fair enough. Though I can't help thinking that we should...no, another time. Can he hear me?"

"Our analysis states that it's entirely possible. We're still not quite sure how the engines hear, without ears."

"Good...Hello there. Can you hear me?"

"...'Yes."

Faint. Faint and weak, and broken. What was wrong with his voice.

"Who are you?"

"Manager...said...make me useful...at last...make it stop."

The man asking the questions turned to his assistant. "What...is he?"

"His name's lost to time. I was able to find a few things out about him. He was the number 2 on the old Mid Sodor Railway, rode roughly, so the board agreed that he was to be removed from the rails and transformed into a generator for the sheds. That was before it was abolished, of course, the Really Useful Punishment. Engines condemned to live forever as part of generators and boilers and donors for the others."

"I'd be disgusted if it wasn't insanely hypocritical of us. On the whole, that's rather brilliant. I suppose that law went out of service around about the time of the purges?"

 _Why aren't they noticing me? Am I dead?_

"Indeed. We found this one in Crock's Scrap Yard. Got away before Edward saw us, but apparently he was one of the many things removed by the dig team from the site of the sheds."

"So sorry, old chap. We've been ignoring you, haven't we? Listen to me, what happened to you was...horrible. Very, very horrible." A lie, of course, but at this point he was willing to listen to anything this man said. "Truth be told, we've been thinking... do you remember Duke?"

Which was when he began to scream. And scream. And scream and scream on and on for what felt like forever, as lights shattered, power surges crackled across buildings and areas, as the men jumped back.

"Right-" said the speaker, once he had calmed down "-clearly you do. And there's no love lost there, clearly. But understand this...he's back on the railway. He's been fixed up and put back into working order. If I were you...I'd be very, very angry. And you are, clearly, from that little incident you just had. But what if I were to tell you that you could get him back for the indignity's he forced upon you?"

A pause. A very, very long pause.

"...Hhhhhhow?" He rasped.

The process was long. Flawed. Painful. At first, it had been intended that he be transferred back into an old tank engine body...but then Davidson's bombing attack on the Other Railway had had happened, and the project was set back by about a year. So they decided to make him in Duke's image.

He hated this body. It was flawed and diseased and a painful reminder of whom he had once known, hated, trusted, been betrayed by. It was heavy and hard to move on his own, so two crew members from this 'Other' Railway were assigned to him to take care of him.

"Now then-" said the man that many called the Director "-how are you feeling today?"

"Rough. When do I get-"

"Tomorrow, good sir. Tomorrow you shall be shipped out to the Island of Sodor once again. We've had to make a few minor changes to the plan, that's all. You'll be hidden away somewhere near one of the old castles. That way, you'll be given quite a bit of publicity. All the engines shall come and see you, and you'll be able to get amongst their ranks quicker."

"Fine. I want to get this over with."

"One last thing. We've been thinking that we may need to give you a change of name."

"...Like what?"

"I was thinking Bertram. The Old Warrior."

And now, here he was. He had a bright brown coat of paint, the run of a line which barely any of the other Narrow Gauge engines ever used, a nice shed to call his very own, and the perfect opportunity to start causing some major chaos.

So the real question that Bertram, or Smudger, or whoever he was now was asking was this.

Now what?

* * *

Yep. Bertram and Smudger are the same engine...so why did I do this? Simple. Bertram, as it is, does not say a single word, does not have a personality outside of being thought to be a ghost, and doesn't even have a proper model. It's Smudger's face put onto what appears to be a repainted Duke's body. Give Derek this, at least they gave him a voice and a personality, even if apparently naming him was too much the trouble. So, why not make him Smudger? Way, way back in Bulldog, in the opeing scene, I had Gotch load up an old generator from the Mid Sodor Railway, spotted by Edward. Well, an entire season later, here's the payoff to that. Smudger's reveal was planned for several episodes, including his reveal as the Stunt Double in Passengers and Polish (Nixed because I wanted to have him play a bigger part), and right at the very end of Mind That Bike (Scrapped because it was long enough as it is.) so here he is! Really excited to do that.


	119. Episode 15: Something in the Air

A relatively plot free story this Something in the Air is a great episode full of some of the funnest dialogue of Season 5, and it was truly a pleasure going back and revisiting this one. As you can tell by the quicker update speed, this one flew by.

Now, something I wish to run by you. The final episode of Season 5 is 'Snow', at least in the UK version which is what I am going by considering that, well, I am a UK citizen. Now, that alone is a pretty poor final episode before we hit Magic Railroad, so I was thinking of beefing it up to make it seem like more of a proper final episode, a la Toby's Flood or Mind That Bike. It won't reach the heights of Mind That Bike, it's just sort of a larger story about what the engines were doing over Christmas that day, give me a chance to end on a high note while preparing for Magic Railroad. Thing is, I know that kind of episode can be a bit tricky, namely because it runs the risk of overemphasizing plot over the abridging. So, what do you think? And be honest, as well. I'm curious.

Review Time!

 **MattPriceo1-** Thank you! I figured that giving Norris more to do would be another way to mock how badly organized the Island of Sodor is! Bertram was one that I had in mind from the very beginning as one I could do more with. Because there is literally nothing there that I can ruin. It's funny you mention that, but when I reach the 2010's, I was considering having the engines love Netflix. Probably Edward and Toby, cause they don't have much going on in their lives. XD.

 **Reality Rejection Service-** At this point, it's so thick one could literally drown in it.

 **TrainManiac-** Thanks! Well, the thing is...who says that we're not going to see him again in THIS story? Wink wink.

 **AaronCottrell97-** Interesting stuff! Funnily enough, back when I first started this, I had a list of voices for the characters in my head. I'll work on finding it, and I'll share it if you like. Matter of fact, if anyone else fancies sharing what they hear the characters sounding like, I'd love that! Try including it in the reviews, I'd love to see what you think!

 **Game-Watch-** Holy shit, he kind of is!

 **Bronze-Shield-** Funnily enough, that was the exact reaction that I was going for! Back when I had first began trawling the internet for Thomas fanfiction, I came across the story ' **Behind Your Shed, I Never Move Again'** by **Saffron Panther**. If you hadn't read it, I highly recommend it, it's bloody great stuff, even if it will make you feel incredibly depressed! So I was a little inspired by that. Also, it gives me a chance to do a bit of world building. A great comic series I recommend is 'More than Meets The Eye', a Transformers series where the author takes little bits of the canon that I'd gotten used to over the years and turns them on their head. In this case, I applied the same to the constant repurposing of engines throughout (One was a reference, I believe, to Godred and to the implied threat to Duncan to have his funnel removed). So yeah. Now you know!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"It doesn't half stink here!"

"Are we talking about you, or the docks?"

"Funny, you're a funny fireman, that's why you're going to get fired last! I, on the other hand, am going to last FOREVER! I AM UNKILLABLE!"

"You're a pain in the arse, that's what you are."

Thomas was at the quayside, near the small village of 'Smelly by-the-Sea'. No, that's not it's real name, but I doubt you'll remember it by any other name. The early morning catch of fish were being brought onto the side to be loaded into vans for the Flying Kipper. Thomas had drawn the short straw, and had been stuck here for most of the morning making sure that each box was uncontaminated and placed snugly in the vans. They'd even gone to the extra trouble of making sure that a lamp was firmly attached to the back of the van.

It had taken a long time primarily because Smelly-by-the-Sea's fisherman had only old equipment in the process, which worried Thomas. "God, this is an accident waiting to happen! This is why British Rail is in such a shitty situation! Besides, I'm going to be late for Henry at the docks! And he gets bloody cranky when he's late. In fact I distinctly recall him threatening to gut me from footplate to funnel if I was late! PLEASE HURRY UP!"

The crane moved incredibly slowly.

"And-"

Thomas was rudely interrupted as a crate of fish smashed down upon his funnel, sending kippers and haddocks everywhere. Spitting out salt water, Thomas's eyes wiggled all over the place in shock. His driver and fireman laughed, as they were unsympathetic to any plight that the little blue pratball brought on himself.

"Phew! What a bloody pong!"

He felt much better as he sped along the coastal route, the wind whipping away the smell of fish (But sadly not the taste) and the lovely warm sun shining down on his water-flecked paintwork. As he neared the lighthouse, they saw a man waving a red flag. His driver stopped, for he wasn't exactly familiar with semaphore at the best of times.

Thomas, of course, found fault with this. "Oh, what fresh spawn of hell is the matter now?!"

The man, a fisherman who looked like he had wandered off the set of Portland Bill, explained. "High tides have been damaging this 'ere track, ooo arr, I've marked the spot, matey!"

"Thank you, strange pirate man, we'll go and check it out." said the driver, who was baffled as to how many weirdos lived on this Island. They puffed on past the flag and onto a section of the track that seemed to buckle and bounce. Thomas looked on as his crew inspected it. At last, the driver spoke. "If it was a fatso like Henry, we'd have a problem all right. I think it'll be safe if we cross over it."

The suspiciously Ringo Starr-like guard arrived with a oil lamp and a pole, leaving it by the side of the track to warn the other engines. "When we get to the docks, I'll tell them to close the line."

"Henry won't like that."

"Screw him." Thomas said, eloquently, as they started off once more.

...

 _1944_

 _Benn and Carlin woke up at roughly the same time. A quick glance outside told them that it was still night, or at the very latest, very early in the morning. The bright lights of the docks and the humming of generators not too far from the shed illuminated the dark sky, and gave Carlin comfort. He liked the sound of industry, it meant that the Island was alive._

 _He turned his attention to Benn. "Hey."_

 _"Hello."_

 _Neither man really knew where to start. Benn coughed. "So, you're probably wondering where the Iron Circle are, huh?"_

 _"Thought crossed my mind."_

 _"...You are no doubt aware that there is something that Lady is not telling us. About Proteus and the other Old Ones. From what I've been able to gather, some of them, such as Meredith and the Nogs, left to have a more peaceful existence. Did some research, actually. Meredith ended up becoming the first Earl of Sodor. The Noramby's are related to him, somehow. The Nogs died out, they couldn't last beyond the Normans and the Saxons for too long. Catweazle and Alias went missing a long time ago, flicking back and forth between time periods. Could be dead, or they might be alive. I don't know. And Willo-"_

 _"Is right here, my dearie-o's!"_

 _There is nothing quite as frightening as turning your head and finding Kenneth William's grinning head staring at you from the other side of the bed. Carlin and Benn both screamed and lept into each others arms, leaving the ghoul cackling to himself fiercely._

 _"What are you doing here?!"_

 _"Me, darlings? I'm a ghost. Ghosts are already dead, ergo, time has no effect to me! I'm surprised the old sap down there didn't tell you about me!" Willo's smile slipped a little. "It's...been a while since I had company. Hence the state of said house! I knew I should have bought some new dollies! But oh no, apparently the shops won't sell them to me. Some silly lie about 'rationing' and 'there's a war on' and all that! They're just anti-undead!"_

 _"So, what did happen to Proteus and the others?"_

 _Willo sighed, and for a moment turned seriously. "Believe me, if I could tell you, I would. But I've been sworn to a certain vow, and we Wisps, we need to keep our vows. Whatever the cost. I can tell you what she's been up to! All of them came here to get 'inspiration' and oh boy, did she give it to them! Brunel, Trevithick, Stephenson, Gresley, the ones behind the Big Four Railway companies, all came here. She whispered in her ear and BANG! Steam engines up the wazoo all around the world. As long as she lives, steam will live on forever!"_

 _Carlin sighed, and tried to settle back to sleep._

 _It didn't quite work._

...

Henry didn't like pulling the Kipper at the best of times. Rational or not, he associated the train with pain and things going very, very bad. He waited in impatient anger as he heard Thomas pulling in with the final vans for the train. He was not in a good mood, as Thomas soon found out.

He sniffed and recoiled. "PHWOAR! That reeks! Have you been slathering yourself in fish oil for the mermaids?!"

"You do that one time! I can't help it, it's the fish!"

"Don't talk to me of fish! I know fish! And besides, you're ten minutes late! I'll have to make up lost time, and that's a dangerous combination with this train!"

"There is danger on the line, man!"

"You're the only danger on the line, Thomas! Now shut up and finish the train so I can get moving!"

The insult was such a good one that Thomas was momentarily lost for words, and so did as he was told without any more fuss. Elsewhere, the driver and fireman made their case passionately to the dock manager, who did not really care that much, nor listen. Which explains why, as Henry moved off, he barely reacted. The crew did though, and they watched as he pulled away with the long Flying Kipper train.

As he passed by their window, the driver remarked "Hey, so what route is Henry taking tonight?"

"Coastal route, it's quicker and cheaper."

"WHAT PART OF IT'S DANGEROUS DO YOU NOT GET, ASSHOLE!?"

More to shut him up than anything, the dock manager put a phone call through to the signalman at the end of the docks, who was in charge of diverting Henry onto the track.

"Hey, Henry! Watch out you don't have another accident!"

"Screw you James! I'll make up for lost time or bust!" shouted Henry as he roared past the signalbox.

But due to all of the loudness of it being, well, a dock, the signalman couldn't hear a thing. And by the time he did, Henry was picking up good speed and rushing headlong towards Smelly-by-the-Sea.

But as he grew closer to the coastal track, the fog rolled in, and both driver and fireman slowed him down. There went his hopes of a fast run. Henry growled and moaned as he forced his way through. "I can't see a bloody thing!"

"Er, not to worry you, but neither can I!" said the driver. He moved to slow down, but at this point it was far too late. When he could see the lamp, it was only as Henry thundered along the track. All three shut their eyes.

The line sort of came apart, and Henry slammed into the water at great speed, dragging his train along through it for a good five feet before coming to a rather undignified stop on a slope.

Henry spat out the water. The fish, on the other hand, were having a whale of a time as they quickly escaped back into the sea. His driver and fireman waded out, leaving Henry to black out.

"Bloody Kipper." muttered the fireman, with no shortage of hatred in his voice.

As soon as the tide was low enough, boats fished Henry, his tender and the vans out of the water. Henry was so out of it on pain medication that he didn't even realize he was in the presence of extras from Tugs. And to make his day even better, Sir Topham Hatt came to give him a lecture.

"Engines don't swim, Henry. You're meant to deliver fish, not swim with them. I'd have thought you, of all engines, should have learnt that by now."

"THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, YOU FAT ARSE!?" Henry paused, and then tried to sound to contrite. Which was impressive given that his teeth were gnashing so tightly that they could have ground flour. "Yes sir. Sorry sir. Three bags full sir."

Then, because karma could occasionally be very nice indeed, Hatt staggered back and fell in the water. Whereupon he was mistaken by a whale for the second time this year and was chased out to water by over-zealous environmentalists, all while Henry howled himself silly.

"Perhaps it won't be as bad as I thought after all!" said Henry.

...

Henry was right. It wasn't as bad as he had thought.

It was worse.

The barge turned him through Brendam Docks, where an entire school appeared to have emptied out to mock and throw rotten tomatoes at him from a Rotten Tomato store that was doing great business. Cranky the Crane once more looked down at him.

"My my, you'll have some fishy tales to tell! Take my advice, have a long hose down first!"

"YOU CAN SHOVE THAT HOOK UP YOUR ARSE!"

"Look, all this fish, and they've shoved a green whale in there too! What a whopper!"

"It's not a whale, you uncultured swine! It's a monster! Probably killing itself with it's comfort eating!"

Henry growled and sustained the taunts until he was rammed none too gently back on the rails. Despite it all, Thomas couldn't help feeling a bit bad for Henry. "Come on! You'll enjoy a nice hot wash down, driver says. And luckily, the sheds are pretty empty tonight, so you'll just have me for company."

Henry couldn't decide if this was a positive or a negative. But one washdown later, he felt a great deal happier. "Ah, sorry I was rude to you, Thomas. You know how it is."

"Yeah. That's okay! But...phwoar, can you smell something!?"

"W-w-what!? I've had enough quips-"

"Fresh air!"

"Oh yes! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU'RE DEAD YOU LITTLE SHIT HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"


	120. Episode 16: Old Slow Coach

Hello all! Glad to say that this one was a lot of fun to write! Old Slow Coach sadly isn't going to be showing up outside of this, Happily Ever After and possibly a cameo in the Magic Railroad, as she's sort of a one and done character. They didn't really give her anything to do, so I can't quite work off that. So, I haven't really given her any particular characteristics in this one. Hope you understand that!

Quick note on a couple of the things mentioned here. The stories Lady tells are basically sort of little explanations that might be expanded on at a later time. Likewise, City of Truro's letter contains stuff that I was originally going to try and put into the next chapter (Thomas and the Rumors being a good episode to base around rumors, plus it's going to advance the plot a bit more) but didn't have room to fit in. Hence the rather rushed info dump. By the way, if you think that the 'problems with communications' line is getting old...well, there might be a reason for that.

REVIEW TIME.

 **Bronze Shield-** That it does, Bronze. That it does.

 **TrainManiac-** Aw, I'm glad!

 **trestonfortson2016-** Duly noted! I think it'd work also because it also sets the stage somewhat for things to come. I can't wait to write it. Chances are it'll not be out by Christmas, due to the writing issues. But hopefully you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

 **Radical sandwiches-** Thank you! Poor Henry. I feel so bad for picking on him, yet I still enjoy it. To answer your questions: YES. The Nitrogen Era is...okay, I love these episodes, right, the ones we're doing right now. And think how much I've sort of transformed them into complete parodies of themselves. Now, imagine what I'm going to do to the BAD episodes. Mwahahaha. The Emily stuff is interesting, it's pretty close to an idea I do have.

 **Reality Rejection Service-** Yep. You could pretty much sum up the entire episode as such. Which you have. So, yeah. I don't know what I'm drinking either.

 **Game-Watch-** Go for it! Tell me how it works out for you.

 **MattPrice01-** ...You've just given me an idea. Mwahahaha. Glad you enjoyed! I love writing sarcastic Thomas, he's great fun.

 **AaronCottrell97-** Someone who understands that! And the Kipper is indeed cursed. That's not going to get any sarcastic explanation either, it's just one of those things.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Thomas, Percy and James were looking at the early morning sky. They were at the Tidmouth Hault sheds, having been drafted over to give assistance on the Little Western for the time being, while Duck headed off on another part of the Island. Of course what no one suspected was that Duck was actually formulating a plan with Jinty and Pug on how to take out the Juggernaut, permanently.

But enough of that.

"Everyone is oh so happier when springtime comes!" said Thomas, reading off of a billboard not far from the shed. "That's why you should try 'MR BUBBLES'S VIAGRA IN A BOTTLE' for when there's not much spring in your step!" He blinked. "Bloody odd place to put an advertisement for that."

"Isn't viagra usually in a bottle?"

"Oh my god, this is a conversation that we are having." groaned Percy, and when he was the sanest one there, this was a clear sign that there were problems. "Besides, it's Summer, isn't it?"

"Well, even so-" James said, quickly changing the subject "-apparently everyone's happier except the Fat Controller! ...He seems to be working us harder than ever, and considering what his usual track record is like for working us hard, that's saying something! I never thought i'd say this, but these coastal runs can go fu-"

"James! Calm down. He just wants everything to be ready for the holidays! That way, he gets to relax and fall asleep and dream of eating cream buns! And then wake up and eat those buns, obviously."

The three glanced to the cottage not far along the beach. It was constructed with the intent of housing a new branch of the Sudrian Firefighting Brigade. Why they were building a house by the coast is a mystery to me, so we'll just move on.

"And anyway, the salty air makes my smokebox all excited!"

"Keep your kinks to yourself, you deviant! The only place to be is the countryside, and that gets me riled up all right! Good day to you!"

"Bye James-"

"I SAID GOOD DAY!"

...

Thomas and Percy stared nervously at what they hoped were the plastic decorations made to look like scrapped engines. Cause if it wasn't, this was about as creepy as asking cows to collect their fallen brethren from the butcher's. They hurried out with their trucks filled with metal as fast as they could. They shunted their trucks into a siding, before spotting an old coach.

"She's got a face." muttered Percy.

"Oh, thanks Percy, I'd never have noticed that.

"You're welcome! She shouldn't be here! Go on, ask her!"

"You ask her! You're the one who keeps taking home strange things!"

"You fibber! I never have!"

"Dare I remind you of the dog situation? That bitch was crazier than the ones down at the strip clubs! How long did it take for us to auction off all those pups in the end? We had to break Douglas's heart, James ended up getting fleas and we almost had to put you down! You bloody ask her, if you want to take her home so much!"

"Fine!" Percy coughed. "Excuse me-" He hesitated and made a wild guess "-marm, but what are you doing here?"

"They call me Old Slow Coach!"

"Why?"

"I don't know, to be frank. Apparently I'm not useful anymore, so they shoved me here and told me to wait." OSC looked around and sighed glumly. "As you can see, the company isn't that great here. Now only the mice ride in me, and let me tell you, mice are horrible passengers indeed!"

"Well, you look a bit dusty, but otherwise you appear to be in perfect shape!"

Percy glared at Thomas. "is now really the time to start flirting with her!? Have thou no shame?"

"No, I thought we'd covered this."

Luckily, before this could get any weirder, the manager arrived. He was in a right to-do. "Come on you horrible lot, I have trucks waiting for you!"

"Excuse me-"

"You're excused."

"-can you tell me about that coach, please?"

"Old Slow Coach?"

"MY NAME IS GLADYS!"

The manager shrugged, for it wasn't his job to care. "She's been here for quite a long time. Don't quite know why, but then again, it's not my job to ask actual questions about the potential murder of sentient life. She'll be broken up when we find the time!"

This callous statement made the two tank engines feel very sorry for OSC. Thomas awkwardly coughed. "We'll try and help you." But of course, he had no bloody idea how. He wondered if they could blame a sudden spur of the moment escape on Edward and Douglas and get away with it.

...

 _The next day, the three teenagers return. They look pale, and harried, and scared. And despite every cynical bone in his body telling him that he should urge Benn to move them on to their next destination, Carlin can't leave them like this._

 _So they stay. And they watch as they take great care to repaint Lady, who rewards them by telling them tales. She speaks of flash floods, the kind that could wreck an entire Island, and how the great wizards Meredith and Catweazle solved this problem by creating the various rivers that run through the Island, with names like Hawin Lake, Croka, Russagh, Ooyre, Doorey, Ab and many others like it. She speaks of the Shadowkyn, hideous creations of something she dodges around by calling it only a Malevolent force, that attacked the Island when all came down with a sickness, and how though they were defeated, they lived on in the body of strange painted devils by the name of 'trucks'. She speaks of heroes and villains, light and darkness, black and white and everything betwixt._

 _That is how Carlin told anyone who would listen to him, much later. But even he could not capture the way that Lady told these things. The warmth, the hushed tone, the genuine excitement at seeing the faces of the youths stare in wonder and shock, the twinkle in her eye as she retold a particularly awe-inspiring battle._

 _That, Carlin never forgot._

 _Eventually, it was decided that she was clean enough, and as the paint dried, Benn coughed and pointed to his watch. But Carlin still felt that his work wasn't done. It couldn't be, otherwise where was the portal?_

 _"As men-" Burnett remarked, proudly puffing his chest out "-I believe it is our turn to fetch the coal and water for yon fair maidens!" Boom nodded, as if trying to look cool and failing very badly._

 _Then both tumbled over a nearby log and fell flat on their faces._

 _Carlin would have hidden his face in his jacket to laugh himself silly, only he didn't because Tasha burst out cackling hysterically at the sight of the two tripping over themselves to get back up, so he didn't bother. Laughing, the two of them head off to get the coal and water for themselves, leaving a smirking Benn to watch the two rather embarrassed youth struggle to their feet._

 _At first, they continued to laugh as they walked, but eventually they settled into a nervous, yet rather companionable silence. They gathered some spare coal and water left at the village of Kirk Ronan, and then started back along the long path._

...

Elsewhere, James was merrily chugging through the countryside with nary a care in the world. "THIS IS THE LIFE!" He chortled very loudly as he passed the Flour Mill. He was feeling in a particularly smug mood on this fine day, and was showing it off to all and sundry. The fuel tankers would have normally given him some worry, but he was feeling so confident that he felt as though he could tank a nuclear warhead.

But he was heading for trouble, and for a long therapy session. One of the tankers was leaking. Why no one had caught this is a mystery for the ages, and an entire section of workmen were laid off or transferred to less dangerous jobs on this alone. And then, to make matters worse, it caught fire.

"OH SHIT!" bellowed James. "HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLP!"

His driver decided to blow a slide whistle. It did not help matters.

His fireman, on the other hand, was far more practical, and raced for the nearest telephone box as soon as they uncoupled James. "IT'S FUEL, AND IT'S DANGEROUS!" said he, before hanging up. He had to phone back a moment later as he realized that he had not told the firemen where to find them.

Three minutes later, on an old siding out of the way, James watched in slack-jawed horror as the firefighters did battle with the blazing inferno. He was covered in rather a great deal of gunpowder and was terrified at the thought of a spark lighting him up. Then matters just got a great deal worse as Thomas and Percy puffed around the bend and decided to give their own brand of commentary.

The guard waved them down with the red flag, and remarked to them. "Sparks from his funnel set the tanker alight. Not his fault, of course."

"Well there's a first time for everything!" Thomas said.

"You know, you told us about how the countryside runs got you fired up, but I bet you didn't think it quite so literal."

"PAH!" snorted James. Or rather, he tried to snort like that. Truth be told, he sounded a bit scared. "Come on guys, I nearly died just now. It was the stupid truck's fault, not mine."

The fireman, who appeared to have stolen a church bell and placed it on his head, walked up. "It's safe now. You can proceed onwards! Come on lads! Let's get back to station!"

The two tank engines felt a bit sorry for James, who sat there, miserably, until such time as the destroyed tankers were removed out of the way. Then he left in silence, a clear sign that he was shaken up. For the rest of the day, no one heard a peep out of him.

...

 _1944_

 _"So, er, what do your parents do?" Carlin felt somewhat embarrassed, but he felt compelled to ask._

 _"Oh, you know. Bit of this, bit of that. Actually, my dad was considered to be a fighter pilot, you know. But he...he didn't get out of the last war intact. That's what mom says, anyway."_

 _"No one ever does get out of war intact, if you ask me." Carlin was pensive for a moment, then brightened. "What do you think of the Island, then?"_

 _Tasha turned around, and he was dazzled by her smile. "It's beautiful! For all the factories pumping out smog, it's quite wonderful! The River Els is amazing, and that view from Culdee Fell, and the little towns, and the-" She paused, slightly off put._

 _"It's fine, y'know. If you want to talk, we'll talk. If you don't, we won't."_

 _"...Sorry. Can we just talk about something else?"_

 _"Sure. How'd you meet up with TweedleFonzie and TweedleAyran back there?"_

 _The blank look on her face gave way to understanding, or at least, sort of. "Burnett and Pete? We kind of fell into a friendship, us living in the same house tends to do that. They're good folks, but they don't really have time for kids like us. And Burnett and me look out for Pete whenever the kids decide that he's an easy target. Which they often do. He's over the top, but he means no harm. Sometimes he manages to sneak us up to the cliffs, and we can sit there and watch it all."_

 _"Me and Percy did that a while back. We snuck out at the dead of night, when no one else was really active and the mail train wasn't due, and we just drove for miles. Just miles, seeing all the f**king beauty...all of it. Silly idealist loved it. I don't really care, but seeing him enjoy it...made me care, if that made sense.,,,,he was one of my engines. The finest of the lot. Ah well..."_

 _"...What other engines are there? Where you come from?"_

 _"Oh, there's Henry...bit of a whiner about everything, but a good chap really. And Gordon...bluster and egotism all out in full force, but again, great heart beneath it all. Thomas's a cheeky bastard-"_

 _And they spent the rest of the morning chatting away about the engines of the Island of Sodor, for though Carlin never said as much, he dearly missed them._

...

Duck received this letter on the very same day that James had his accident.

 _Dear Montague._

 _So good to hear from you after so long! You can imagine the delight when I received your information, and on the whole, it has been very informative. I am certain that in the next year or so, we shall have a proper breakthrough in the search! I know it has taken far longer than you expected, but never fear, we are drawing nearer._

 _The death of St Eustace has shaken us here to the very core. Scotsman has gone almost silent, and has retreated back to visit his cousins, including Duke of Boxford, or as he now calls himself, Spencer. I imagine that any sadness he feels will be amplified after having to listen to that prat's annoying voice. As of yet, there is very little information as to how Eustace was ambushed so quickly, and how the Juggernaut managed to get past the Vicarstown Bridge without us knowing about it._

 _Your request for information has been granted. However, considering the communication difficulties that plague us still, there might be a delay of a few months in the sending of said information. I can provide a little bit of helpful insight, however._

 _In 1944, myself, Scotsman and Eustace were on our way to give assistance on the Great Western Railway. As luck would have it, we arrived on the Island of Sodor on the twelfth day of May, the date of the bombing attack on the docks at that time. As I recall, that was the day that your friend Edward lost four of his friends to a Nazi splinter group. They were sent, I recall, by the Fuhrer to secure possession of Miss Lady herself. When we arrived, we managed to send several of the Nazi's packing, and we even found out that Davidson the Electric Engine was using his contacts to gather together a great amount of technology not yet tested or ready to be released. We banished him from the Ministry of Defense and would have brought him back for trial, had he not escaped._

 _Why do I bring this up? Because on that very same day, we found the dead remains of an engine. It was impossible to tell who it was, so much had been done to it, but it has been suggested that it was one of two engines who later went missing under the cover story of being 'sent away'. These two were numbered 98462 and 87546. It is our belief that one of these was a victim of the Juggernaut, a Soviet killer. If you want to start somewhere, there is the best place for it._

 _Wishing you luck._

 _City of Truro._

...

It wasn't long before the engines reached the station and stopped to take on water. The two were just discussing which of the Spice Girls they were thinking of flirting with at the next TV awards (For the record, Percy was thinking Sporty Spice, and Thomas was quite curious about Posh Spice), they suddenly heard a commotion.

"What the hell is that?"

"That, Thomas, is a bell."

It was rare that Percy was smarter than Thomas. It was rarer still that Thomas said something so stupid that one might have easily mistaken it for Percy saying the words. Thomas was shamed into silence.

The workmen ran around in panic as their hut began to burn down rather quickly. "We'd better see what we can do!" declared the driver, and off they went. Thomas for whatever reason was grinning as he gazed upon the pyre. He quickly became more seriously when everyone stared at him disapprovingly. The fire truck hurried over as fast as they could. Too fast, for they overshot the mark and crashed into the sea.

"PUGH, PUGH, BARNEY MCGREW, CUTHBERT, DIBBLE, GRUB!"

Everyone stared at Thomas, who once again decided to shut up.

Then there was another problem. "AH SHIT!" bellowed the fire chief. "NO BLOODY WATER! Why do we let this happen! ALL THE TIME! And the sea water will clog our works! OH WHAT A TO-DO! We'll just have to let that building burn!"

"You're bloody shite fireman!" snarled the driver.

Then Thomas had a rare good idea. "Why don't you use the water in our tanks?! We've just refilled them!"

"WHY DON'T WE THINK OF THESE THINGS!? TRULY WE ARE TERRIBLE FIREFIGHTERS! I, CHIEF FIRE OFFICER NORRIS, HAVE FAILED THIS ISLAND!" No time was wasted, and the drivers praised the engines for being so clever. Percy hadn't done anything though, so Thomas felt cheated. The fire was soon out, but the hut was ruined beyond repair.

"We'll need a place to house the men, they can't sleep on the beach!"

"Why not?!"

"Shut up, Harry."

Percy grinned. "How about Old Slow Coach? Or Gladys, or whatever her name was! The workmen can sleep in her!"

"She'll be comfy, too!" agreed Thomas.

"What a good idea, Percy!"

"I'm here too!"

"Shut up, Thomas!"

They phoned the Fat Controller, who agreed at once. "She'll be schpick and schpan by the time ya get her!" He slurred, before collapsing through the desk, having gotten high off of the cream buns.

And she was.

"I can't thank you enough! I've never been so happy in all my life! This is the first time in years I've had men inside me!"

"I...don't even know how to follow that up!"

Everyone agreed there was nothing old or slow about Coach, and she is still really useful indeed! She loves having the workmen inside her- THIS IS FILTH YOU ARE ASKING ME TO READ. FILTH!


	121. Episode 17: Thomas and the Rumors

As I am uploading this on Christmas, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! To all those reading after the holidays...hi, I guess. Thomas and the Rumors everyone.

 **REVIEW TIME.**

Hughie99: You are not alone. Shed 17 is freaky. Really freaky. Watching the Flying Kipper is somewhat harder than it used to be now. I'm glad you're liking 98462, hopefully you'll like what I did with him this time. I'd be very interested to see if your guess is right. I'm sort of toying with keeping his identity a secret for a bit longer after Magic Railroad, if he stays around for that long. But who knows!

Game-Watch: Funny you say that, that's the entire plot of the HIT Seasons...see, even I don't know if I'm joking!

AaronCottrell97: Glad you enjoyed!

TrainManiac: Thank you very much! I can't wait for Spencer to come around. Arrogant characters are the best to write! And I have the perfect plan for him. At least I hope it'll be perfect.

Radical sandwiches: Ha! I'm so mature. Thank you, I'm glad that you like Carlin. Him taking a more serious role was always a bit of a risk, but I wanted to do something different with him.

UGX7: Technically they are! And a bit of both on Gordon's part.

Reality Rejection Service: Percy really doesn't learn. The thing with the trucks was one of the things that I really wanted to work into the Godred chapters, but so much was happening already that I couldn't really do it. I honestly thought that Gordon and Spencer being cousins was canon! Basically, the idea was that because Nigel Gresley worked on Scotsman and on the Class A4's, there's a really complicated family tree in there somewhere.

MattPrice01: Sarcastic Thomas is best Thomas. I know a lot of people think that Season 5 is where Thomas starts to get a little bland, but personally, I love the idea of Thomas just slowly developing into Edward. Able to see just how much bullshit goes on in this Island. Also, wait and see...Mwahaha.

Bronze Shield: The thing about Season 5 is that it's actually the closest thing to my fic in the show. It's got these wonderfully offbeat moments, that come out of nowhere and disappear in similar fashion, like James and the fire. So, getting to write lines like that is really fun.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Thomas the Tank Engine loves his branchline. In other news, the sky is blue, the sea is wet and politicians lie a lot.

"Why is there so much HAY!?"

"There are some questions you are not meant to answer, Thomas."

As he puffed along the branchline with Annie and Clarabel one again giving him no small amount of grief, he wondered vaguely why it was that he felt a tad uneasy. Something was in the air, and it wasn't smelly old Henry, that was for sure.

Or maybe that was just the slight panicky feeling that he often got when he approached Callan. Since the Bikegate incident, he had become aware that he was a bit of a pariah there. He'd managed to get out of making stops there for the most part, but now he was unable to avoid it. But to his surprise, as he came to a stop, he noticed that the children gathered there looked rather glum. And not, strangely enough, at him!

"They've closed our playground and our favorite sand pit down!"

"Hello to you too!"

"Teacher says the sand is too soiled and dirty to play in!"

"Why are you so happy about that? Were you the one who soiled it?"

"Please help us Thomas!" they cried.

Thomas grimaced, gnashed his teeth together and looked around in the vain hope that someone else by the name of Thomas had showed up. He liked kids, and for the most part, they tended to like him, And though this was clearly a job that was better suited to the Mayor or to the local MP, he couldn't refuse them. "I'll try." He muttered under his breath, and tried not to feel guilty at the gleeful expressions on the kids faces.

He had hoped they had been exaggerating somewhat, but as he passed it, he saw a sign that read 'PLAYGROUND CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THIS MEANS YOU, YOU LITTLE TROGLODYTES'.

"Kids were right." grimaced Thomas. "Now, how does one go about saving a playground?"

"That age old question?"

"Shut it, Annie, no one asked you."

"No one ever does anymore."

He puffed into the sheds, and was about to tell the other engines about the playground (Though why, he wasn't sure) when Percy ran in screaming bloody murder. "BLOODY MURDER!" He screamed.

"You look troubled little Percy, what's up?" Gordon remarked, in a patronizing sort of way.

"The Fat Controller told driver that he's cutting back on potential accidents by using Harold to show a special visitor around the Island. Instead of us!"

"Another special visito- Is this going to be a trend?!" remarked Edward.

"DESPICABLE!" said Gordon, always one to blow things far out of proportion.

"DISGUSTING!" Henry paused. "We, er, skipped, didn't we? Gordon, you usually say-"

"TO HELL WITH WHAT I USUALLY SAY! I AM NOT TAKING THAT LYING DOWN!"

"Does anyone here think we're overreacting just a tiny bit?" Edward asked. But his voice was soon drowned out by the enraged and mortified squawks of James, so he decided to cut his losses and head for the quarry.

"Engines are meant to take visitors round the Island! Not that stuck up, egotistical, show-off whirlybird thing!" No one commented that this was pretty much the Pot calling the Kettle Red coming from James's mouth. So furious were they that they swore that they would kill Harold the next chance they got.

A little bit of an overreaction, one might say.

...

 _The nights grew colder. Benn and Carlin had taken to walking the Island alone for a bit, just to see if maybe the portal had somehow appeared on another area they didn't know about, to no avail. As they did so, however, they noticed several things._

 _Firstly, Lady seemed agitated for some reason. As they assisted the three kids in making sure she was spick and span, they saw the Old One's eyes turn to the overcast sky. They assumed that it was something to do with the blitz and the Luftwaffe, but soon it became clear that she was aware of something else._

 _Secondly, every time they walked by the railway, they saw the engines working harder and faster, carrying munitions and vehicles and anything else military related. This wasn't abnormal in and of itself, as Carlin's knowledge of history was enough that he knew D-Day was soon. No, what made it odd was the strange looks they kept giving each other. Soon they'd learn that this was because the Flying Scotsman had delivered personal news to Gordon that one of his cousins, Sir Ralph Wedgwood, had been killed in a bombing accident. While this had taken place two years ago, communication was such that it had taken this long to get the news out. Gordon was silent, and none of the engines quite knew how to deal with this._

 _Thirdly, Carlin's military uniform was starting to draw notice. So as the night of the infamous bombing approached, Carlin had partnered up with Privates Sand and Heaver to meet up with the local Home Guard and survey the area._

 _"You can't."_

 _Carlin paused as he finished tying up his last button, and turned to face a weary looking Benn. "Can't want?"_

 _"Stop them."_

 _"Stop?"_

 _"...Oh. You haven't heard. Or remembered?"_

 _"What?" Carlin looked nervous. "What, is...is this bombing raid bad then?"_

 _"Carlin...you were there for the mayoral race?"_

 _"Rather. It was a bloody nightmare, a disaster. So many people dropped off during that, it was a wonder we had any watchers and supporters left. Still say that Thomas should have won it. Ah well, at least Drampf didn't. Can you imagine an asshole like him being the leader of an actual country?"_

 _"Carlin, focus. I believe one of Drampf's tricks was to...release footage from this night."_

 _Carlin didn't get it. And then he did. "Oh god...the...the Nazi's try and invade, don't they?! And they kill four of Edward's friends, right in front of him! I have to-"_

 _"NO!" Benn grabbed hold of him. "Listen to me-"_

 _"Damn it all, you know how this messes him up!?" Carlin struggled. "Let me go! I have to warn them! They can divert Edward and the others back onto the loop line! It'll get them to Knapford, out of the way, and then no one will have to worry about a damn thing! I can save them"_

 _"You can't!"_

 _"Oh why!? Why!? Because you, the all mighty Mr Benn says so?!"_

 _"You can't, because it won't do any good." Benn looked glumly around. "Trust me. I've tried. So many times I've tried to change it all. I went back once and convinced a hunter to give up his extermination of one of the rarest jungles of the world. I introduced a small kingdom on the other side of the planet that no one has even discovered yet to the concept of diplomacy by making peace between a king and a goddamn dragon of all things. So I went a little further. I went back and started saving people. Nobodies. The Titanic, the Hidenburg, the destruction of so many cities and villages by the Romans and the Saxons and the Nazis and all of them, and even some of the things that are coming. Oh god, Carlin, you can not even begin to imagine how much your world is going to suffer once the twenty first century comes around. But I couldn't do it. No matter how many people I saved, no matter how hard I tried...history wants to happen."_

 _"I can't accept that!"_

 _"You have to. I had to. It was the only way I could live with myself. Do you realize what's happened because of me? The Clangers have been driven to near extinction when I went up to the moon to try and save them. The last remnants of their race are in that sci-fi show and in Hargreaves's own museum. I'm responsible for the destruction of Mars in the year 2068 and the ensuing war held by it's inhabitants and our own! You can't do anything!"_

 _"...I can try."_

 _And so saying, Carlin left. The mist was coming down, and soon Benn could no longer see him._

...

Gordon was the first to see Harold that day. As he puffed along with the express, Harold swerved over his boiler, offering a cheeky "Sorry chap!" as an apology before he took off once again.

Gordon was not impressed. But when was he ever? "He thinks he can go faster than me!? I'll show that tosspot!"

Henry was the next one to let his fears get the best of him- I mean, see Harold. "Ha! So, Fatty chose Harold because he thought he was more important than me?! HA! I LAUGH AT HIM! HE'S NOT! HE CAN'T FLY THROUGH TUNNELS!"

Henry was halfway through the tunnel when he realized that this was not a viable reason for choosing flight over rails. In fact if anything, it was an actual positive. He then proceeded to sulk silently until he got back to the sheds.

Percy was the next to spot Quicksilver Harold, as all of the engines had taken to calling him due to his ability to seemingly teleport, near a field. The little green tank engine stopped by a field on his branch line. Well, actually it was Thomas's branch-line, but Percy had gone slightly power mad due to most of the jobs moving Thomas back onto the main line for the time being. There were some sheep grazing in the field, baaing away at each other and discussing the mysterious disappearance of the ram that had eaten Hatt's hat.

It was the talk of the sheep world.

Harold hovered for a while, then buzzed away, after staring at the sheep intently for a good few minutes.

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" said Percy, reaching James levels of noise. "HE'S COUNTING SHEEP! Oh I am a genius!"

"You're something, all right." muttered Alec. The little green idiot puffed off along the line, feeling far more cheerful and happy to be alive in this world. When he arrived back at the sheds, a indignation meeting was in full effect.

"He blew grass in my face!" shouted Oliver.

"He dinnae show nout care for me and Douggie's paintwork being ruined!" snapped Donald. Douglas, oddly enough, didn't seem that bothered.

"He gave me a lewd wink!" James wailed.

"...That sly dog! I'd have never guessed he was that way inclined!" Edward paused. "How do you know it was directed at you?"

"He looked at me, smiled, and then...Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite as lewd as I made it out to be!"

"In fact, one could argue that he was in fact doing something normal like...I don't know, off the top of my head, blinking?" Edward's tone was drenched in deadpan. He puffed off, calling back a moment later for the three Little Westerners to "Get a move on!" which they reluctantly did.

"Harold-" said Gordon, sounding more and more like a Joseph McCartney in engine form more and more "-wants tp cull us! Murder us all in our berths! You can see it in the way that he smirks like he has no other face!"

"And he doesn't need tunnels!"

"Shut up, Henry."

"He's not trying to kill us!"

"You see! Thank you, Percy! Someone smart, and sensitive, and thoughtful-"

"He's just counting sheep!"

"I give up." Toby hurried off, while Gordon turned red and spluttered even louder than usual.

"PAH! HE IS COUNTING HOW MANY LITTLE ENGINES HE CAN PICK OFF AND SKIN ALIVE! TOMORROW I'LL SHOW HIM!" WE MUST BE ON OUR GUARD!"

"But why!? Our guards have never done anything to us!/"

"GO FU-"

As the fight continued, Thomas wondered idly if it was worth bringing up the playground. But solving the mystery of Harold, the special visitor and just what was in the water that was making all of his fellow engines so much more angrier was more important.

...

 _Nine was left to his own business inside the shed. He was glad of the peace and quiet. But he was not left alone for long, as the Beetle soon joined him. With little preamble, the larger steam engine spoke grimly. "You're not supposed to be here, you little-"_

 _"Damn it, Nine, just shut up and listen to me!" Davidson appeared to be sweating, if such a thing was possible. "My driver's gone off the radar! Says that he's done working with me, and that I shouldn't come after him if I know what's good for me! Oh, and worse?! I got a visit from your pal Gordon's bigger and meaner brother. He and these two thugs in gleaming paint have cut me off from the Ministry all together!"_

 _"Huh. So no more extra rations for me then?"_

 _"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!?"_

 _"Despite my best efforts, yes." Nine growled, baring his sharp teeth to the little electric engine. "Listen to me, Beetle. I really don't care about you or your problems. So what? I can't save you. None of us can save anyone. The best thing you can do is hide away like the little-"_

 _He paused. For a shadow had drawn across him. He looked up at the massive armored train, and calmly responded. "Davidson, go. I shall hold him here."_

 _Davidson didn't need telling twice. He had seen the files. He knew what the armored train was._

 _But as he scurried away, he did notice something rather surprising. Cracks in the armor, sections where clearly an engine did reside. But that was all he saw fit to remember, as he hurried away, he made a note to himself to use the old quarry as a way to hide under the radar._

 _Nine was left alone with the massive creature. His bravado cracked the second that the Beetle was gone. "W-w-what do you want!? I'll give you anything! Extra chocolate rations! Vera Lynn's autograph! One of the seven veils from the Dance of the Seven Veils!"_

 _"Water. Now." The voice was distinctively Russian. Nine had a deep distrust of the Soviets, but even so, he was not so stupid as to believe that he could take even teh very injured mastodon in a fight. So he backed aside. The engine huffed forward, steam leaking from it's boiler, billowing into thick black clouds of dust that covered the shed. Groaning and snarling, the water drickled down...and then spurted out of his boiler, from which cracks were starting to show._

 _"What are you?"_

 _"Джаггернаут."_

 _Nine didn't know much Russian, but he knew what that word meant._

 _"J-Juggernaut?"_

 _The Juggernaut nodded. Suddenly Nine saw that it was wounded. Badly. A long and jagged scar reached from the tip of the cab to the smokebox. The internal workings of the engine were exposed for all to see, a mass of metal and strange grey flesh that leaked something not quite blood, but something very much like it. Nine moved closer. Clearly this engine had some power, but it was mostly due to the armor._

 _The armor._

 _"You are thinking how is it that I am in this position?" growled the Juggernaut, his eyes fading. "It is stupid plane. Stupid bomb cut through the armor." He wheezed, and for a moment Nine got sight of the face of the killer. Much to his surprise, it looked almost like him. In fact, the more he looked, the more he realized that this was an engine of a similar class to his._

 _"Ah. I see. How...unfortunate."_

 _"Do not offer pity. I am glad that I shall die, for the Motherland. But this armor...it is a curse. The experiments that need to be done to me..." The Juggernaut looked up, into the eyes of Nine, and saw that none of what he was saying was sinking in. He shrugged. "Best do it quickly."_

 _Eight arrived a few minutes later to a horrifying scene. Nine grinding his wheels into the face of another engine of a similar class as themselves. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" He roared, starting forward, but Nine let out a command to stop. Despite his best efforts, Eight did so, and watched as the life in the old Russian's eyes faded away._

 _"Now-" said Nine, a glimmer in his eyes "-if your crew can gather the armor...I think it's time we left this hellhole."_

 _And so they did. That night, as the docks burned and people died and their co-workers were tortured and murdered, the two engines headed over the Vicarstown Bridge towards the Other Railway, where they were greeted by a certain someone who was very interested in the armor._

 _What happened next?_

 _Well as they say, that's a story for next time._

...

Back to the light stuff!

The next day, Gordon was travelling to collect his next train, for some reason. Then he saw Harold. That was a red flag to a very, very, very angry metal blue bull. But to be fair to the blue twit, it wasn't just him who was seeing red.

"We'll show that whirlybird upperclass twonk how fast you can go!" snarled the driver, who had also partaken in whatever the hell was in the water. The fireman was alarmed, and jumped clear. Wisely too, for neither engine nor driver was paying much attention to the rails, and Gordon headed down a different siding. He was travelling towards trouble, terribly terrific trouble at that too! Ahead was a tunnel under repairs.

Gordon did not give a single shit. ...His driver's reaction was somewhat delayed, at first merely pointing to it in excitement! He rarely got to go through tunnels any more. Then he noticed the warning signs and braked hard.

There was a very loud crash and hullabaloo as Gordon rammed straight into the scaffholding inside the tunnel. And also onto the gunpowder which was, for some reason, stored in there. With an all mighty boom, sand shot out of the tunnel for no reason.

"Why do we keep storing gunpowder in places engines can easily hit?!" asked one workmen to another. His friend shrugged. He had no reasonable answer for this.

Later, when Sir Topham Hatt arrived in Harold and found a very sandy and bewildered Gordon sitting near the breakdown train, he stared and shook his head. "You know, every morning when I get up, I think...this will be the day. The one accident free day! The first of it's kind! ...And you continue to disappoint. Well, I suppose you're not actually to blame for this one. OI! KEITH! GET YOUR FAT ARSE OVER HERE SO I CAN SHOVE A PINK SLIP UP IT!"

"Oh heck." muttered the driver, who was aware of the severe talking too he was in for later.

"Will Gordon be scrapped, sir?!" asked Thomas, trying and failing to sound upset.

"Why would I do that?!" said the Fat Controller, having reached Maximum Yorkshireness in his speech.

Thomas decided that 'in for a penny, in for a pound' and ignored Gordon's death glare. "Because the idiots think that the special visitor is trying to get Harold to replace us for whatever reason because again, idiots. And when I'm saying that, you know that there must be a problem."

The Fat Controller laughed. "HO HO HO, THE ENGINES ARE WRONG."

"No need to be so blunt, Santa."

"This gentleman who definitely isn't Jeremiah Jobling's long lost brother is looking to make a new playground for the children! It was easier to find a suitable site from up in the air!"

"Oh hey, so that all came full circle. Also, I'm pretty sure that there were several easier ways that could have avoided the whole 'steam engines are out to be replaced' mentality that was spreading amongst your workforce. You know, while you were off being an aviator and completely ignoring what gets pretty much all of the essential supplies on this Island around. And also ignoring a potential revolution. Were the bullets that Henry shot at Harold not a good enough sign?"

"Shut up, Thomas."

"And-" said the inspector, seeing that a full blown argument was about to break out "-that tunnel sand will be perfect for small children to play in! Found by accident and rumor, you might say!"

"Well, we might say it, if it made any sense whatsoever."

"Yeah Jobling 2.0, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Can I go home now?" asked a very tired Gordon.

...

The Fat Controller still uses Harold to fly above the Island. Because he's rich, and like Scrooge McDuck, he takes advantage of that every chance he gets. All the engines know that Harold isn't spying on them, but being in his own way very useful.

Now as for spying on sheep though, that is another story for another time.

* * *

Yay for more obscure references! Originally I had a scene planned where Benn took Carlin to the moon and they ended up meeting Clangers. I cut these scene for the reason that I really don't think anything justifies it. Plus, it allows me to expand on the differences in Benn's character compared to the TV series, which I felt could be interesting for someone to actually explore. And the Mars mention? That's Captain Scarlet, from the creator of Thunderbirds. And while i have no idea how to fit this into the fic proper, I kind of have this theory that the sentient cars and trains end up causing the tech revolution of Gerry Anderson's work. I'm a nerd, is what I'm saying.

The idea of 98462 and 87546, being connected to the Juggernaut and working for the Other Railway was a fun one for me. Primarily because I figured they were characters with whom I could do a lot with. Funnily enough, that's actually why I didn't kill them off back in Passengers and Polish. Bet you were wondering why I just ignored them. Well, even if you didn't, boom, there you are.

Next time, we catch up with Gotch, we see Edward's worst day happen, Carlin meets up with yet another classic British TV character and oh something about our favorite dumb Great Westerner stumbling into a weird house.


	122. Episode 18: Oliver's Find

HOLY SHIT WHY IS THERE OVER 4,000 WORDS OF THIS CHAPTER?

I swear I didn't mean for this to turn out that way! I was originally going to make it a calmer chapter, but this just ended up allowing me to get rid of some loose plot-threads dangling, and to get things moving for the two part climax (Two part in that Rusty and the Boulder will end most of the dramatic battle stuff, and Snow will set up Magic Railroad).

Oh, and review time!

 **MK:** Ha! I'm actually not sure. I'm pretty sure that he's one of the people in the vehicle that first triggers the war on Mars. But who knows?

 **Game-Watch:** You'll never know what insidious plot the sheep have planned! They and the chickens are in league! Those devious so and so's.

 **Train-Maniac:** Oh yeah. We're going to be revisiting it, very soon.

 **Bronze Shield:** Thank you! There appears to be quite a lot of random piles of it lying about, especially in later seasons!

 **AaronCottrel97:** I agree! While this episode is a fun one, not least because it continues the great Micheal Angelis's performance as angry Gordon, there are some very telling plotholes in it. And it's always fun to write Thomas being sane for once.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Inch is the key word. It's a constant battle at the moment to get some free time for myself to write.

 **Radical sandwiches:** Yep! Thank you very much! Something that I love about the model series, and something that I feel the Nitrogen era lost a little bit, is the sense of background characters. Part of the reason that the humans we get named have their own little personality quirks as well is because they appear in the background a lot.

 **MattPrice01:** Yep! Thank you very much, man!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Oliver was being a whiny little shit again.

Oh, I'm sorry, you want some picturesque opening? Tough. You've met Oliver before, and you know that he has a big fat mouth on him that regularly gets him into trouble, and also that he's never satisfied with anything.

"The narrator seems incredibly angry today, Mr Oliver." Toad looked around, grimly. "I wonder if he's had his meds yet."

The answer to that question, Toad, is that I'm not credited in the opening credits anymore! What is that all about?! WHERE'S MY RECOGNITION DAMN IT!?

Ugh. Anyway. Oliver and his brakevan love working in the big yard because why not. On this particular morning, Toad noticed that Oliver was very unhappy, probably because he hadn't gotten to speak properly for seventeen episodes and being left in the dust. Toad decided to confront Oliver on this.

"Anyway, do excuse me, Mr Oliver, but things are, how to say this, not well at all with you? I mean, you've barely mentioned that you were once saved from scrap at all for a good few months now, and that's not like you." Toad didn't add that he was secretly rather happy that Oliver hadn't mentioned that, as he felt that would rather upset the applecart, so to speak. "If you forgive me for mentioning it, and if you don't, well then bully for you."

"Does he always speak like that?" asked Mavis, to Henry and James. The two bigger engines looked at each other and shook their...heads, faces? I don't know. "God, Oliver's whining about not being in an episode this season, when's the last time I got a spotlight in any of the episodes!? Huh!? What about that, Miss Allcroft!? Sexism, I cry, sexism!"

"How long before the press get a hold of that comment and blow the thing out of the water?" muttered James to Henry.

Oliver meanwhile was confessing. "You're quite right Toad! All I do is shunt these trucks onto the turntable-"

"OH WHAT A UNDERPRIVILEGED LIFE YOU MUST LEAD!" shouted Mavis from the farthest side of the yard.

"-And I long for a nice long run. It's what an engine really needs. Aside from coal, water and not being scrapped. Which I nearly was."

"Yes, Mr Oliver, I was there- ANYWAY-" said Toad, sensing that Oliver was about to go off on one. "-I quite understand, Mr Oliver, so why don't you go and speak to the Fat Controller about your problems?" He silently added in his head that this would hopefully get him out of the yard as well, for he was having several questions relating to why he even bothered.

"I give him a day before he screws up." Henry remarked to James as Oliver stormed off to shunt some trucks.

"I give him half a day." James looked to Mavis. "How about you, Mave, want to get in on the action?"

"Huh? Oh, an hour."

"Right! Closest one gets a free drink at the Sidings!"

Oliver stormed about the yard in a foul mood. The trucks, whipped up by Rickety and Fred Pelhay, decided to make themselves known.

"You're no good Oliver!" called Rickety.

"You're dangerous!" hissed U.L.P.

"We want Percy! Which is the first time I've ever said that!" Fred mocked.

Oliver decided he had had enough. "PAH! Percy is far too bloody busy to bother with the likes of you! Bloody shites!" And he bumped them so aggressively that they sailed merrily down the tracks and into the turntable well. Oliver's eyes rolled around in shock, as Toad slowly groaned.

"Nice job, Pelhay!" cheered Rickety.

"HALF PAST TWELVE!" said a concussed Fred.

"YOU BLOODY SILLY SOD!" shouted a workman. "What is your problem with turntable wells!? This is going to take ages to fix! Confusion and delay will ensue! CONFUSION AND DELAY!"

Reluctantly, Henry and James headed off to get Mavis's drink for her.

...

It had been a long time for Gotch. Hargreaves's gorillas came in every so often, insisting that he would tell them everything if they merely applied a bit of leverage. All the usual things were used against him. Family, friends, acquaintances, a complete stripping of all finances and mention of his name stricken from the record...all of which was quite wasted on Gotch. He'd been doing this a long time now.

And every so often, Hargreaves would come in and talk to him about his killings.

The Reverend Teddy. Sir Handel Brown. Peter Sam, formerly the Thin Controller. Mr Hugh the repairman. And many others whom he had long since forgotten about.

If it was a ploy to try and make him beg, he had another think coming. He had already confirmed this with them. It was just a matter of saying why he had done so. And that was something he was not prepared to do.

On this particular day...or night, it was rather hard to tell in the cell he was in, Hargreaves came in and sat down opposite him once more. For the longest time, they simply sat there, looking at each other.

Hargreaves spoke first. "Well, Mr Gotch, it's been a long time for you in here, hasn't it/ Now, I've been thinking-"

"Terrible habit for a civil servant to do."

"Ha. No, but I'm here to make a deal with you. Give me the name of your employer and his associates. I'll let you go, and what is more, I will make sure that you stay free from jail for the next four to five years. I'll set you up with a new life somewhere, personally."

Gotch was silent. "I'll need time to think on it."

"Of course. A day will suffice."

As he walked away, Gotch suddenly spoke up again. "Does your brother know what you're doing here, Sir Norramby?"

Hargreaves didn't react, outwardly at least, but Gotch felt distinctly that he had touched a nerve. "See you tomorrow, Mr Gotch."

As the door shut, Gotch lay back and sighed.

"Did you get all that?"

Marklin materialized in a somewhat mistier form than usual. **"Yes...clear...work..."** He seemed to be flickering in and out of the room. With a shrill whistle, he vanished, leaving Gotch to wonder what the hell was going on.

...

"GOD DAMN IT OLIVER!"

"But sit-"

"DON'T BUT SIR ME! YOU HAVE CAUSED CONFUSION!"

"...And delay-"

"AND DELAY- I WAS GETTING TO THAT!" Hatt was madder than a March Hare. "Why is it that every time we take a step forward, we leapfrog back five! You think you can control trucks?! Well you're taking over the mail train tonight, maybe the night air will clear your smokebox! And maybe reactivate whatever lump of fat is in your head in place of your brain!" And so saying, he stormed off, ranting into the night.

"Cheer up, old chap! Mail run's a great run for a engine like you!" The driver crossed his fingers as he stated this. Oliver smiled, but he still felt he had let everyone down.

Which he had.

They headed along the coastal route, now repaired thankfully, which gave Oliver no small amount of joy as he finally felt the fresh air of the ocean. And then he got smacked in the face by a massive wave, which put a literal and figurative dampener on things.

At last, they arrived at Callan. They had to collect some important mail from Harold the Helicopter, and they were making good time. That soon changed. They waited and waited as the massive Countdown clock ticked down, and Henry rushed by with the Flying Kipper, whistling mockingly. That was until he promptly crashed headfirst into Edward, whose misery at being separated by BoCo promptly expanded even further.

"COME ON HAROLD!" Oliver paused. "Oh shit we left Toad behind!"

Toad was having the best night of all of them, as he was cheerfully having a chat with Mavis. The two of them were merrily watching Last of the Summer Wine while talking in a disparaging manner about some of the idiots they had to work with.

Three years later, for that was what it felt like, Harold finally touched down in a rather bumpy fashion. He ended up nearly decapitating poor Tom Tipper, who sought comfort in his mail van the only way he could.

"Sorry I am late Great Western! Bally bad luck at the club, doncha know! And then a bloody problem with one of my arms, keeping me down when I was meant to be up, you know how it is!"

James let out a high pitched cackle as he hurried past the green twit. The driver saw that Oliver might seriously harm himself trying to kill Harold in a minute, and so responded only with a grim "We know we'll be late for our first run!" and quickly began slinging the mail bags in.

Soon they were on their way, randomly puffing this way and that, along the same line that Stepney and Henry had puffed when they had had a few nasty incidents. And once again, it led them to a completely different place than the last time. Oliver didn't know this, of course, but the Island itself was actually in a great state of agitation recently. Not only had this been responsible for the spate of paranoia not too long ago, but therefore, the Island was trying to keep...something a secret.

But anyhow, they saw a red signal-light up ahead, and Oliver braked hard. The fireman banged his shin on the side of the cab, and was in a foul mood. Another thing neither of them realized was that yet another bloody dozy signalman was on duty tonight, and was currently dreaming of a rather lewd threeway between himself, Felicity Kendal and Denise Richards.

"We're going to be here forever!" snarled the fireman. He barged the driver aside and blew Oliver's whistle several times, but again to no avail.

The driver took matters into his own hands. "Bloody signalman must be off his rocker again. We'll head on slowly, stop by the signalbox. I don't care if Fatty tears us a new one, we're not risking death." They started onwards, but they never reached it. Instead, they reached a set of points, which were switched to an old set of tracks that hadn't been used in a long time. Yep. Another one of those.

As they headed on the wrong way, Oliver's fireman stared in worry at the water level. "Better find a stop for a drink soon! Hang about, I swear that's Old Bailey's station! ...Or that one that got tarmacked by George the Steamroller a while back...or one of the other million lost station- OH SHIT A SHED!"

One minute later, a very baffled Oliver looked around and spat out some spare sawdust. "THE HELL HAPPENED?!" he asked. No one had any answer.

...

 _Sand and Heaver had met Carlin on the road to the Wellsworth sheds. They had insisted on accompanying him to wherever it was that he was going. Carlin was rather worried by this, as he really didn't want a testimony to how lost he was._

 _They arrived at Callan station and climbed aboard an open topped carriage. No one else was there. With a strange whistle, the engine pulled off and set along it's way to Wellsworth. Both Sand and Heaver couldn't see anything with the mist being so thick, much to Carlin's relief. He did not want awkward questions when he arrived back from this time period. He was a little worried about the way Sand kept playing with a knife, though. They chatted a bit about nothing in particular, before Carlin broached a topic he was curious about._

 _"So, what are you boys doing after the war?"_

 _"Hopefully Sid here will shave off his Hitler mustache!"_

 _"IT'S NOT A HITLER MUSTACHE! It is a Charlie Chaplin one, thank you very kindly!" Heaver was in a sulk._

 _"But yeah, seriously, I don't know what I'll do once this lot is all over. Can't see myself becoming one of the rank and file drivers or fireman of this railway...and if I did, I'd have to find a pretty damn good engine to work with."_

 _"Here here!"_

 _And thus the conversation went on for a bit in this vein. Until at last, they stopped a little way off from Wellsworth. Sand and Heaver got off to inspect, while Carlin stayed onboard. He walked forward and tapped at the cab._

 _There was no one in there._

 _Carlin grabbed hold of Sand's knife and looked around._

 _And now the entire carriage seemed to be filled with figures. All of them were pale, scared, baffled looking people, of all shapes, sizes, genders, races and ages. All of them looked as though they'd been through hell. Carlin rushed for the doors, but they were locked. He tried to clear the carriage and jump, but hit only a solid and invisible wall. He glanced back along the train and saw the carriages filled with all kinds of people, and even a few ghostly engines at the back. He looked at the engine, properly for the first time._

 _It was a little green engine, not like Percy, but a tank engine. It had two wheels on either side, bright red ones they were too, and moving aside, one could make out the writing on the side. At the top, it read 'M &L' and beneath it 'R.T.C.L' in solid black lettering. It's dome and funnel were adorned with gold, but it's whistle was the most curious thing of all. It wasn't a normal whistle, rather it appeared to be three organ pipes attached together, accounting for the peculiar whistle._

 _No, scratch that, the most curious thing was the engine's face, attached to a red bufferbeam._

 _It didn't have one._

 _Carlin felt a little sick. "LET ME OFF!" he wailed._

 _The engine whistled, and inside Carlin's head, he felt the engine speak. **ALL IN GOOD TIME, DON'T WORRY** , it said in a way that indicated that it was completely unpertrubed by all of this. **WE JUST NEED TO HAVE A LITTLE CHAT FIRST, AND THEN WE WILL BE ON OUR WAY.**_

 _"What are you!?"_

 _A pause, and then a second whistle. **I AM THAT WHICH IS THE ULTIMATE JUSTICE. THE ULTIMATE JUDGE. THE ULTIMATE JURY. THE ULTIMATE DELIVER AND DESTROYER. ...BUT YOU CAN CALL ME DEATH.**_

 _"...You're Ivor the Engine."_

 _ **THAT IS WHO I AM, YES.**_

 _"Ivor the Engine is the train grim reaper."_

 _ **YOU CATCH ON QUICK. I AM THE OTHER. I WAS THERE WHEN PROTEUS AND LADY DESCENDED FROM THE HEAVENS AND GAVE LIFE TO MY BRETHREN. I WAS THE ONLY STEAM ENGINE THERE FOR YEARS UNTIL THE CREATION OF THE FOUR SMALL ENGINES. AND IN TIME I LEARNED THAT MY DUTY WAS NOT IN THE BATTLE AGAINST THE MALEVOLENCE, BUT WHAT CAME AFTERWARDS. I TAKE THE SOULS OF THOSE PASSED ON. EVERYTHING HAS A TIME. EVERYTHING HAS A BEGINNING AND A END. JUST AS LADY IS LIFE, SO TOO MUST THERE BE A DEATH.**_

 _"But why Ivor?"_

 _ **I WOULDN'T HAVE BLOODY CHOSEN IVOR AS A NAME, I ASSURE YOU. HOWEVER, MY RAILWAY, IN THE AFTERLIFE, WHERE ALL GOOD ENGINES GET TO GO, GAVE IT TO ME. THAT IS WHAT THE WRITING MEANS, SEE. THE MERIONETH AND LLANTISILLY RAILWAY TRACTION COMPANY LIMITED. HEAVEN FOR ENGINES. NO MORE PAIN OR SUFFERING, AND WHERE EVERYTHING IS ALL RIGHT. I COME HERE SOMETIMES, TO COLLECT. MY DRIVER, JONES, TOLD ME THAT TONIGHT WAS THE NIGHT THAT FOUR ENGINES DIE. AND YOU ARE GOING TO TRY AND STOP ME.**_

 _Carlin was a little put off by the calmness of Ivor. First of all because it was Ivor the Engine and he was somewhat different to what he had thought. Very different. And secondly, he was running out of time. "I need to-"_

 _ **YOU WISH TO SAVE THEM**. Ivor sounded sad. **I UNDERSTAND, I WISH I COULD SAVE THEM ALL TOO.**_

 _Carlin feebly struggled to get free of the carrage. Again, to no avail. In the distance, he heard the sound of gunfire, the sound of screaming...the sound of Edward's screams rising above the horror...and the pattering of feet._

 _"COME ON!" shouted Charlie Sand, as he wrenched the carriage door open. Carlin ran blindly after them._

 _Edward was a complete wreck when they arrived. He was covered in massive quantities of engine blood, his eyes were wild and unfocused and his screams were so loud that no one could hear anything. They fired off shots and hit each Nazi straight in the chest, killing them instantly. As Charlie and Sidney rushed to drive Edward out of the way, and comforting him as best as he could, Carlin's shoulder was grabbed. He turned around, spotted a sorrowful looking Benn..._

 _And through the portal they went._

 _In the silence, Thistle, Biggles and Eagle looked at each other, baffled. "What...what was-"_

 _ **IT IS TIME TO GO...YOU WILL SEE YOUR FRIEND SOON ENOUGH.**_

...

Back at home, the Fat Controller was having a right mare. "OLIVER IS MISSING! I AM A TERRIBLE CONTROLLER! DAD WAS RIGHT ABOUT ME!" He rushed out from Kirk Ronan to his car, urging his driver on to Dryaw. Soon he was high...and also in the sky, with Harold. "COCAINE IS A HELL OF A DRUG!" he declared to the pilot, who didn't have the heart to tell him that he was in fact drunk on cough syrup. They swung over the entire Island, until at last-

"THERE HE IS!"

Oliver blinked and tried to remove the splinters from his eyes. His driver and fireman had backed him up somewhat, but he was still feeling a bit rough.

"It wasn't, for once, Oliver's fault!" said the driver.

"I am aware of that. Still, how many abandoned stations are there-"

And then Sir Topham Hatt went silent. For a moment he appeared to have turned to stone. He didn't move, or speak, or react. The guards rushed forward, as if to try and steady him, but he suddenly started forward. He had noticed an old house, and went to inspect.

He stared in awe at it. He gently took hold of the rusty gate, feeling the curves and the bumps and dents. He walked forward towards the door, gingerly wiped the dust off of it and felt the brass door knob with something approaching reverence. He twisted it, and with a creak, the door slowly opened up. He stepped inside and, almost as a muscle memory, wiped his feet on the mat. He stared at the old picture of his father hanging in the passage, standing there, proud and tall with the board of directors besides him. He strode into the living room, and closed his eyes...it took him back.

 _"Glynn's working, dad! He's going to be great! We can set up a museum of sorts!"_

 _"You're a idiot, Topham! Always have been, and always will be! This is why Lowham, for the joke that he is, is a far better controller than you'll ever be! Glynn is going in the siding at the end of that shite old branchline, and you will be grateful that I do not have him torn apart!"_

 _"If anyone is the idiot here, it's you! You're the one who has trapped this railway in a sinking quagmire when it comes to finances! You were the one who supported Moseley and his poxy Black Shirts! Look how well that got us! We're hated by every aristocratic family there is, except the Norramby's, and even that's debatable! You're a fat bastard who sits around doing nothing but stuffing your face full of cream buns and doesn't do anything of worth! You're a horrible businessman and you're a horrible excuse for a father!"_

Hatt looked in the mirror sadly, and patted his sizable girth wearily. He headed on into the kitchen. It was falling down, so he just stood on the outskirts, wearily looking in.

 _"Lowham, why are you doing this?"_

 _"Brother, the rubber chicken market is so flexible right now! I can't miss out on my calling! No more than you can miss out on running this stupid railway!"_

 _"It's not stupid!"_

 _"See! You get passionate about this when I can't even care about it! It's more than money to you! It's a family! Can't think of anyone better to run this while Dad is, um, indisposed."_

When he returned, he spoke as if in a dream to Oliver "You've just found another attraction for our Island that we'll probably never see again! Once we make this house as good as new, visitors can have tea and crumpets there while they...i don't know, wait for death!"

"Mmmmmmm-" said Oliver, who was hungry "-getting lost is interesting, but getting found is far more exciting, especially when it makes an engine feel happy. Reminds me of the time I was rescued from-"

He paused. Everyone had gone home.

"Well screw you too!"

...

"...Am I dead?"

"That...is unconfirmed." Benn sounded flustered. As Carlin opened his eyes, he helped him to stand up and brushed him down. "Are you okay? You appear rather pale. Surely you're used to time travel by now?"

"...I just saw one of my friends suffering. And I met the Grim Reaper of trains, who looks like a beloved cultural icon. Okay is not a word that I'd use right now. You were right by the way. Didn't even get a chance."

"If it helps, Sand and Heaver are going to stick by Edward for life. You've saved his life in a different way, tis all. And...well, after we get out of this, we're heading back to 1945, to see Lady again."

"Really? Why?"

"Because once again, we have unfinished business...but first, we appear to have been thrown a little far into the future. For whatever reason."

Carlin finally gave where he was a proper look around. He appeared, according to the large amount of hippies congregating around the steps holding placards and shouting various sayings of words, to be in the 60's. "Why...why are we here/"

"I have no idea. Probably some loose ends to tie up." Benn sighed. "Look, here's some period accurate cash, never leave home without it. Go and buy yourself something if you want. And...you know, here you go." He handed him the bag with the blueprints that Catweazle had given him. "It might help you...or it might not." He shrugged. "I...I think we need a bit of fresh air."

"Yeah. All right."

So saying, they parted ways temporarily. As he headed off, Carlin noticed a gift shop. He quickly bought a second whistle and a shoebox, before crossing to the other side of the road and heading into a familiar looking shop. He smiled as he saw the little girl tending to the counter, and the familiar saggy old cloth cat at the front.

"Hello sir? Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Listen, I'm going to need to leave these here for a bit." He opened the shoebox, and placed in it Sand's knife, his conductor's cap, a freshly cleaned whistle that he had just bought from the shop and a slightly musty and damp photo of he and the other engines. Then he got out a pen, and wrote on a piece of paper the girl provided for him the word: TRANSYLVANIA.

Then he tied the shoebox up, and handed it to the girl. "When someone called Mr Carlin comes to call for it, please give it to him!"

"Yes sir!" Emily grinned, and as Carlin left her, he gave a jaunty wave backwards to Bagpuss.

By a stroke of luck, he ended up bumping into a very familiar figure. "CATWEAZLE!"

"I don't know you!"

"I know, but...you will."

One long explanation later, Catweazle stumbled away from the crazy looking American soldier with the blueprints for the Old Ones in hand. Carlin dusted his hands and bought a newspaper. He skipped a few of the dodgier stories (Trumptonshire Area Afflicted With Devastating Disease, Boffins Baffled As to Existence of Soup Dragon On Moon, Spottiswood and Company Unveil Sentient Conveyer Belt Line) and sighed. Clearly nothing in the news was good even back then.

Then he headed back, wearily, to join Carlin as they went through the portal to 1945. Unaware of what was about to happen.

...

"Hello there, can I help you?"

"Ah, hello. Yes, I believe I have a appointment with a Mr Hargreaves?"

"Let me just check." The receptionist pressed the panic button, and continued to examine the computer in an attempt to look like he was doing something. The man in the motorcycle gear grinned wolfishly at him. "What is your name, sir?"

"Boomer. But you can call me whatever the hell you like."

Then Boomer shot the receptionist. As the guards hurried downstairs, and raised their guns, he smiled and held up his left hand. They had just enough time to see, carved into his wrist, the symbol of the Other Railway glowing bright blue, before their lives ended.

Ivor watched angrily, as instead of appearing in the ghostly forms that he was used to, the souls immediately shot towards Boomer's arm. With shrieks, they were absorbed by the glowing blue symbol. Boomer grinned, his body seeming to crackle with some new magic, before advancing onwards, guns at the ready. Behind him, his gang advanced.

 **THIS IS NOT GOING TO END WELL.**

* * *

All right, a lot of shit to mention!

First off, Ivor the Engine. I am aware that what I've done is basically gone incredibly out of left field with him, but I think it kind of works. I like the idea of the somewhat rosy and peaceful setting of Ivor the Engine being a place where dead engines can go and rest in peace. It's a completely innocent and safe show. Plus, it also gave me the chance to introduce him as a more powerful figure.

His mode of speech is based off of Death from the Discworld books, who speaks in all caps and no speech marks, just like Ivor. In fact, the character of Death as a whole was an inspiration for him. I wanted someone to contrast Lady and Proteus's more godly attitudes with someone who clearly cares and has to do this unfortunate job.

The references here are a-plenty. I wrote back in Passengers and Polish that Sand and Heaver were the soldiers responsible for saving Edward's life, but I hadn't had much chance to expand upon that, so I used it here. Likewise, the scenes with Emily and Catweazle were to effectively tie up everything there for the future, so that I don't kick myself later on when I realize what I need to do. Likewise, the three references were to events I had previously alluded to. The Trumptonshire incident being one that I mentioned a while back in Mavis, whereupon the Fat Director and Captain Zero used the gas that accounted for the stop-motion appearances. The Soup Dragon is a character from the Clangers, linking back to the previous chapter. And Spottiswood and Co was the company in Bertha, which I alluded to in Tugs Abridged (On the subject of which, work on the second part of the third episode is progressing. Updates on that are sporadic) and I felt it would be nice to tie it together.

Oh, and the Topham stuff was because I felt the music that accompanied the scene where Hatt looks around the house felt much more bittersweet than what the scene was in canon. I mean it's such a beautiful and odd theme that never gets used again. And I always felt that his recognition of the house was not just because he saw it as another tourist attraction.

Hope you enjoy! Next time, we make someone happy!


	123. Episode 19: Happily Ever After

WOW I AM PICKING UP SPEED. Next chapter has come out really fast! So why wait?!

Once again, I am amazed that I didn't drive anyone off this weird story. Now, quick thing about Magic Railroad. I want to discuss a couple of things with you, so I'll just leave you to mull over them. Firstly, considering that this is the grand finale, I've effectively upped the amount of original content! I understand that this might not be to people's likings, but the Magic Railroad is a shockingly threadbare film when you get down to it, and I want to give you something really special. Secondly, I will be including as many engines as I can from the show itself (Edward, Duck, Oliver, the Scottish twins etc.) just because I feel like it. And thirdly, it's almost a different movie all together.

Just keep that in mind, and I hope you'll enjoy it!

REVIEW TIME!

 **MattPrice01:** 1: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed! 2: Ta! 3: Don't worry, I don't understand it either, and I wrote it!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** He was, wasn't he? That was the last truly screwy bit of time travel stuff from me! For now,...perhaps? Hope this chapter's a bit easier for you! I did like writing Mavis's interactions. Hopefully she'll get a bit more to do as we go along, because I do like writing her!

 **Game Watch:** Glad you liked! Death from Discworld is one of my favorite characters. He's just so...gah! Awesome! I have no idea. This furthers my other belief that Sodor is in reality the last safe haven in a Mad-Max esque world where everything went to shit.

 **UGX7:** Trust me, I too am excited to see how I tackle the CGI seasons! Yep! Eight, and now seven, left to go! BRING IT ON!

 **AaronCottrel97:** Yep! Poor Mavis, all on her own. Give it a watch again! It's a nice bit of fun!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Yep! Hope it was all okay. I do like throwing James a bone every so often, so I didn't have him suffer that much on the last chapter!

 **Bronze-Shield:** Damn fecking right! I'm glad you liked it, that was what I was going for! Next episode is here good sir!

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

He waited and watched.

The day was a long, hot one. Summer had not yet let it's grasp on the year go, and autumn had a long fight ahead of it. In the armor, one could have boiled several lobsters. But to the Juggernaut, such trivial things like sweat no longer had any meaning.

At last, the other arrived. He looked at the Juggernaut, coldly.

"All right." said Duck, grimly. "You wanted to talk? Let's talk."

...

The engines love holiday time.

When it's their own, of course.

But when it is holiday for the humans, most of the engines begin to grumble very, very loudly and whine about how 'we get no rest' and 'we need another engine' as they are wont to do. But they have to knuckle down and do it, otherwise they won't have any grounds to create a union for themselves.

For instance, Percy was taking some trucks to the docks when he passed by the Muddy Field. It had no other name than that, except perhaps the Gate to the Underworld. It was called this because of it's sole occupant come rain or shine.

"Hello Percy!" said Terrance, his smile stretching wider and wider. "Nice day for it, isn't it?"

"To get your eyes moving again? I mean, you haven't moved them for the past...what is it, fourteen years now? I can't tell. Nice day for what, you-" Percy hesitated, and quickly swapped out the insult for a compliment. Just in case Terrance remembered it on the day of the Apocalypse. "-good tractor person, you!?"

"Mrs Kyndley's daughter is getting married today!"

"Congratulations, Terrance!"

"I'm not marrying her, you nit. Apparently someone's got her up the duff, and the boyfriend has to marry her now so that Callan doesn't try and roast her alive at the stake."

"Oh yes, of course!" Percy tried to sound happy, but secretly he was wondering something that most engines wonder around the time of weddings. Can an engine love? He puffed through the Hackenbach tunnel towards the cottage. Of course, he knew that there were some attachments that might be classified as love, such as Toby and Henrietta, but engines were somewhat limited to expressing their emotions. There was no way for them to hug, no way to kiss, and there was certainly no way to...er...do anything sexual.

Thank god for that.

But as they drew closer to the cottage, they saw one of the Kyndley sisters waving a red flag. Percy came to a stop, fearful that there was yet another landslide up ahead and he'd have to listen to his driver's inane attempts to get money from the Bride's family.

"What's the matter?"

"I've forgotten about the good luck package for the bride!"

"And this is a problem for me, a driver who has never seen you before, why?"

"What's a good luck package?"

"it must contain something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue!"

"Well that answers my question." muttered Percy, dryly.

"I'm counting on you. And who knows...perhaps there'll be something in it for you?" She winked at Alec, who ignored Percy's protests and instantly agreed on the spot. Besides, it was rumored that he might be the father of the child, so getting in on the family might not be a bad idea.

"We'll certainly try!"

...

It was a slow day at the yard. Edward, Toby and Mavis were on a tea break, and just shooting the breeze.

"All right. Got a hypothetical for you both." Toby swallowed down another bit of tea, winced as the pain suddenly came back, and carried on. "So, you're in charge of making a movie, right? And you have to make a film of an British cartoon. Which one would you choose?"

The other two considered this.

"I'd go with Raggy Dolls." remarked Mavis. "If it wasn't for the fact that Toy Story ripped that off a few years back."

"Captain Scarlet for me." Edward said. "I reckon one could do some really dark but spectacular stuff with that. A mediation of death, war, the human condition, past wrongs coming back to haunt the present...ah yeah, good stuff."

"I'm surprised neither of you chose our very own show."

"Ah-" Edward said, with an air of authority "-but they'd just screw it up! You have to remember that unlike those two shows, we transcend cultures! I hear that they've got some random celebrity down on his luck off the street to do redubbing over in America!"

"Which one?"

"I think it was one of the Baldwin brothers...Billy, I think. But the point is, if we did have a movie made, the Americans would probably bugger it up somewhere."

"Oh what, like include random magical elements that are completely at odds with the lore established thus far?"

"And having the story focus on what they've done over the states instead of what actually made it popular over here?"

"And randomly cutting out an engine who was pretty important to the entire show up until that point, yeah!"

"Oh come now Edward. No one would just cut an engine like, say, you out of the final product? What would the point of that be?" Toby laughed, and the others laughed along with him. What a silly idea!

"So, this hypothetical movie, Toby. Who'd you cast?"

"Well, for myself, I'd go with Peter Sallis. Gordon would be Micheal Gambon, Thomas...Ringo Starr? Maybe if we could get him back?"

James whistled to Percy as he drew in. The red engine was still feeling the after effects of the fire that had very nearly claimed his life.

"EDWARD! YOU'RE BLUE!"

Everyone looked at Percy. "Yeeeeeeeeeees." Edward remarked, carefully. "Your point being?"

"I NEED TO STUFF YOU INTO A PACKAGE."

Edward sighed. "Okay. Toby, Mavis, catch up with you later."

"Sure thing." Toby and Mavis rang and honked their bell and horn respectively before hurrying off back to the quarry.

Edward returned his attention to the somewhat baffled Percy and put on his most worn and patient looking smile. "All right, do you want to run that last bit by me again?"

"We've got to find a good luck package so that Alec can get in good with the Kyndley family and maybe not have to pay child support for whatever reason. Do you know what that is?"

"Oh yes. It's a load of old tosh that's what it is. Let's see...something old, something new-"

"Something borrowed and something blue, thank you Edward, I got that bit! But where the hell do I find one?! And, by the way, we do have a railway to run after all, so I have no idea why I've been gang-pressed into doing this stupid work!"

Edward smirked. "Because your driver is a right prat?"

"Aside from that, I mean."

"They're probably staring you in the smokebox...or in your face. Oh, hang about, have to get the special train ready! Isn't that right Bo-Oh wait he's on the mainland." Edward's smile cracked a little. "Ah. Well. Taking special guests to the wedding sounds like a blast!"

Edward later locked himself in Wellsworth and started banging his head against the wall.

...

"You are taking this well." The Juggernaut looked this way and that. "I suppose that your two saviors from the night of the Flood are around here somewhere, are they not?"

"They are. I don't suppose you think me stupid enough to try and take you alone for a second time?"

"I do not believe you to be a stupid engine, Montague. You are unlike these Sudrians." The Juggernaut's breathing came across as rather heavy, weary, like someone who had grown far too old for this sort of thing. "You're on the wrong side."

"Ah of course. The side that wants to take over the world, kill everything that dares to have a different opinion and is made up of a bunch of assholes. Yes, I'm definitely working for the wrong side, me."

"Those same words could be applied to your aristocratic friends. Scotsman, Truro, Duchess of Hamilton, Mallard, Green Arrow, you really think they care about you and this Island? This is a wild goose chase they have sent you on. Lady, if she ever was, is no longer here." The Juggernaut seemed to realize that he was getting a bit too emotional, and calmly returned to what passed for a stoic voice. "You think it was I who killed your boss? St Eustace, wasn't it? Much as I wish it were true- For I held no love lost towards the fool -I got there in time to extinguish only the final embers of life."

"Oh? Then who was it then? It was you who attacked the convoy, I'm sure of that."

"It was. But if you look for who was it that killed St Eustace in such a bloody manner, it was not me. I do not kill engines like that painfully. Why would I? It leaves a calling card that can be traced back to me. No, if I had done it, I would have rammed him off a siding somewhere, or blown him up with the rest of your little friends."

"So who was it, then?"

"Truro."

"Now I know you're nuts." Duck laughed. "Did you hear that, lads!? He's telling us that City of Truro, of all engines, killed one of our best advisers! You might as well accuse Cliff Richards of being a hitman for hire!"

"Oh, you don't know as much as you think." The Juggernaut laughed- Actually laughed! It was a horrible noise, like he had forgotten how to, and with the various filters on his speech, it made him sound positively demonic. "You think you're working for the side of the Angels!? You're not! Your friend Stepney had the right idea, believe you me. But like I say, you are smarter than that. I believe you already know something is wrong with this whole setup. So I'll leave you with this little morsel to consider..." He leaned towards Duck, who braced himself. And he whispered one sentence.

"There are no communication difficulties."

So saying, he backed away and vanished from sight the second he rounded the bend.

...

When Percy arrived at the docks, he looked all around him, and then stopped, because the salt water was getting in his eyes. But once he had stopped his watering eyes, he spotted a bright shiny pair of buffers. "Bloody hell!" he remarked. "Is that what they look like brand new?! Ours just look like shit! And we've found our new thing!"

"Quite right, Percy. You're the best wingman. I'll speak to the foreman." Alec ambled on over, and soon returned beaming proudly. "Foreman said we can take them, and borrow the truck as well! Two things off our list!"

Somewhere, James screamed in terror as he came off the rails entering Kirk Ronan. "WHERE THE HELL WERE THE BUFFERS WHEN I NEEDED THEM!?" he wailed, before someone threw a brick at his face.

Back at the docks, Percy was worried. "B-B-B-But what about the old?! I can't convince Toby to head over here, and Edward's off doing...his own thing. "

"We'll find them as we do! Now, we best be on our way. We have actual work to do, of all the rubbish I've ever heard, that takes the biscuit!"

Soon, they reached Tidmouth Hault, where Oliver was busy nursing a hangover, whilst Douglas tutted sympathetically. Percy heard a voice as he shunted the trucks into the siding.

"Hello Percy!"

"GOD!?"

"Close. It's only me, Gladys."

"Old Slow Coach!"

"That's not my actual name-"

"You're old!"

"...Yes Percy, I am. Rub it in my face, why don't you?" Percy explained what the hell was going on and OSC reluctantly agreed to do her bit. But Percy was still not satisfied.

"Now, all we need is something blue."

Alec coughed.

"Something blue."

Alec pointed to his blue uniform.

"Something...blue."

"Oh for- You'll see!" And soon Percy's unusual and very unreliable train was on it's way through the tunnel in the cliff. They arrived at Smelly-by-the-Sea in good time, where the wedding was to take place. And there was an old engine shed at the end. Bulstrode was nearby having his face removed. Yes, it was the first time that any sentient vehicle had had a face-lift. BA-DUM-TISH!

But in the engine shed was a certain blue bastard.

"What do you think of this?"

"It's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"Do you mind?! We went to a lot of effort finding confetti for this!"

"Bust my buffers, Thomas, how much did they offer to pay you?"

"Excuse me, I'm the Something Blue, I demand a bit of respect."

"Jog off, asshole."

"NOW PERCY-" said Alec, sensing a brawl between the two of them "-Mrs Kyndley's lass has asked you to pull the wedding train! And be her special guest! Work with e on this, I will give you a payrise!"

...

"And the winner of Miss Sodor 1945, is...drum roll please..."

"Ye gods, I remember why Jobling had to file for bankrupcy back in the 70's now. He was shit at hosting." Carlin sighed as the drum roll continued on for what felt like forever. Benn had passed out in a alcoholic haze a long time ago, and as the designated driver, he had to stay awake.

"-Miss Kyndley of Hackenbach!"

The young Miss Kyndley took to the stage and bowed and thanked everyone, while Miss Shining Time quietly backed down the stage towards the exit. Standing up, Carlin gave a slight wave. Tasha beamed as she recognized him. "Hello there!"

"Sorry we left so abruptly. Timeline change."

"I know. Lady told us. It's good to see you both!" She frowned. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Jury's still out on that." Carlin grinned. "You should have won by the way. Her looks are going to go right down the toilet after this!" As she laughed, he held out a milkshake. "Fancy a sip?"

"I'm technically an adult now, Carlin...do you have a first name?"

Carlin shrugged. "I used to. Once. Long time ago. Where's Burnett and Pete?"

"Hello there!" Pete grinned. "That bitch cheated you, Tash."

"Pete!"

"I was about to say the same thing...slightly less coarse, of course." Burnett sighed and looked at his watch. "Fancy a ride to see Lady, guys?"

"Sure. Help me with Benn?"

One half-stumble, half dragging later, the four of them dropped Benn on the floor of Jock's cab, and they were off to the secret location.

...

"This is boring." complained Percy an hour later. Edward and Thomas agreed with him. So far they'd sat outside the church with the smell of fish wafting over them and turning their stomachs.

"Is it too late to ask that we just go home?"

As soon as the bride and groom left, the Fat Controller addressed everybody, before the groom got to...undress the bride. WA-HEY! "Ladies and gentleman!" Already he sounded like he'd had a bit too much to drink "May I preschent the good luck package! An old bag, a new piece of tat, a bit of stolen junk and a blue engine I really need a refund for!"

"That's no way to talk about Edward!"

"He was referring to you, Thomas!"

"All found by a little green caterpillar with red stripes!" Alec elbowed him hard. "And his crew, and his crew!"

Whistles and cheers rang out. Mostly because the speech was over.

"Thank you Thomas!" said the bride. "And thank you, Percy! It's the best good luck package ever!" And then she kissed Percy.

Thomas stared in horror. "THE LITTLE TOERAG IS ONE UP ON ME ON THE KISS COUNT!" he screamed as Percy turned bright red and was unable to say anything. As the bride moved away to join the groom, who appeared to be rather in a hurry, Percy grinned stupidly.

He didn't open his mouth until they were back at the shed. "I like weddings!"

"Enjoy your kiss?" growled Thomas through a fake smile. Percy grinned and pretended to be asleep.

...

The next morning, they awoke to three things. One, the news that the groom had promptly run off back to his home country, having successfully gotten his visa, while the bride promptly headed over with Nancy, the guard's daughter, to get out of town for a bit.

Two, the father of the unborn child was still being hotly contested by, but not limited to: Alec, Jem Cole, Jerimiah Jobling, Bulstrode, Mr Percival, Him From Chippy, The Italian Barber, The Firelighter, The Stationmaster, Farmer Finnay, Farmer Trotter, Farmer McColl, Old Bailey, anyone of the family Norris, Hercules from the Bigg City Port, the Fat Clergyman and Bobblehat.

Three, James was angry.

"TAKE MY BUFFERS, WOULD YOU!?"

"Oh shit." said Thomas and Percy.


	124. Episode 20: Sir Topham Hatt's Holiday

Guess who else is DONE! THAT'S RIGHT. You know it! I'm getting there, you guys! Next time, A Surprise For Percy!

But first, it's REVIEW TIME!

 **MattPrice01:** Glad you liked it!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** That she does! Thank you very much! It's always been interesting to try and unpick the idea of romance, especially in characters that have no real way of expressing it like humans. Might be something I explore further on. As someone who has a soft spot for Magic Railroad, it felt cathartic to point out the weird stuff that never made sense to me as a kid. I shall consider the idea carefully, thank you!

 **TrainManiac:** Mwahahaha! What's going on? Even I'm not fully shown!

 **Game Watch:** It would. Unfortunately, it along with most of the other bills for similar damages are currently what keep the Island going energy wise.

 **UGX7:** Hmmm, interesting! I'm actually trying to limit myself to just UK actors. Tim Curry as Gordon would be interesting, but I feel he plays villains a great deal better! And Eric Idle as Henry would work!

 **AaronCottrel97:** She does that! Personal favorite of mine! Yeah, that was an odd one, even by the comedic parts of Season 5. I enjoyed writing it, and watching it was nice.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Yep! I'm inching far faster than I was thinking of!

 **Bronze-Shield:** Thank you very much! I admit I haven't done much with Tiger Moth, primarily because...well, there's not much to work with, but as he cameos throughout the rest of the model series, I'll do more with him, I swear!

 **MK Inst:** HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST ANYTHING IN THIS STORY IS SILLY? This is high art...in that it is art, which I made when I got high. Nah, just kidding. Part of why I did that was for shits and giggles. I was just like...you know what? I'm going to do it. WHY NOT. WHERE CAN I GO FROM HERE.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"NO!"

"But David-"

"N-O SPELLS NO!"

"Oh why are you being such a big baby about this!? Last time we went on holiday with Hatt, it was fun!"

"For you, maybe, Britt. I, meanwhile, got stranded at a bloody mine for two and a half hours, Asquith got tetanus from all of those rusty remains and Angelis is still M.I.A! So no! I am not going on a bloody cruise with the Hatt family again! I mean, it was just painful on top of all that to have to listen to the ex's arguing!"

"But-"

"NO!"

...

TWO DAYS LATER.

"Are you enjoying your holiday, Mr Mitton?"

"PAH!"

"He's just a bit cranky." Britt smirked as she relaxed backwards on the wooden seat. "Someone didn't get much sleep last night!" She ignored David raising up two fingers at her, and instead concentrated on trying not to get splinters in her back. Hatt had asked Thomas the Tank Engine (Using his full name, so you knew he was serious) to take his wife and grandchildren to the seaside.

Again.

To be bluntly honest, Thomas was beginning to think that they just wanted to reuse Smelly-by-the-sea to save on the budget. True, the sun shone and everything looked splendid, but it had done that every other time Thomas had been dragged down here.

He wasn't the only one. Lady Hatt was feeling hot, and tired. And not hot in a good way. "BLOODY HELL TOPPERS, CAN'T WE GO SOMEWHERE ELSE THAT ISN'T THE SEASIDE FOR ONCE?!"

"But dear-" fawned the fat man. She paid him no heed.

"THOSE COACHES-" she pointed to Annie and Clarabel "-are old and uncomfortable! Use them as beach-huts instead! By god, you've got rid of all their other friends, why are these two still kept around?!"

Thomas was fuming. Not at the treatment of his coaches, more the fact that he wasn't allowed to speak to Hatt like that, which he desperately wanted sometimes. He then noticed the two coaches twittering to themselves in outrage, and tried to act like he was really scared for their safety. "You won't let them turn Annie and Clarabel into beach huts, will you?"

"Nah! Day's still young. Mind, she's not wrong about the color. And the seats. I'll see if I can't get the guys who did OSC's-"

"MY NAME IS GLADYS!"

"-repairs to have a look at them."

I will give you three guesses as to what happened to Sir Topham Hatt once he lay down on the beach. The first two didn't count.

No, this time he didn't get mistaken for a whale by Greenpeace. No, this time a crab came up and snapped it's claws somewhere where no man should ever have to suffer injury. He retired to the actual beach hut early, where he spent the rest of the afternoon with a large icepack on his...swollen area.

...

"Get back to work!"

"...Fine, you silly old bat-"

"WHAT WAS THAT!?"

"I said yes marm!" Growling the diesel began to move the trucks about, pointedly ignoring the latest song they were singing. He was in a foul mood, as he always was, and as per usual he had no one to take it out on save for the trucks. He bumped and bashed them quickly, moved them out of his way and looked around for the nearest oil depot. Perhaps he could get some of the good stuff-

It was then that he became aware that the trucks had stopped singing.

He backed up onto the turntable.

He came face to face with...him.

Scrabbling backwards, he became acutely aware that he was now screaming in terror. He prayed to god he hadn't oiled himself.

"Diesel...hi. You remember me, then?"

Diesel continued screaming.

"Oh boy, this is going to be a long day." Duck sighed and tried to get comfortable.

...

The next day, Percy took them all to Dryaw for a ride on Harold the Helicopter, Hatt having grown tired of the beach and of things going wrong there. His grandchildren wondered why grandad was sitting in such an awkward way. Lady Hatt ignored him, and began reading a magazine article about Alicia Botti and her many conquests. They got off, Hatt still waddling awkwardly, and were just about to head onto Harold when it happened!

"OH BLOODY NORA!"

The voice came from a rather inebriated pilot who appeared to be driving an antique plane all over the place. Specifically, right next to Hatt's head. The fat man dived to the ground, just narrowly saving his head, but making his previous injury ten times worse. The plane did a loop-the-loop, rallied for a bit and then dived and weaved, crashing through a henhouse, barn and eventually a greenhouse before disappearing into the clouds once more.

"WHAT. WAS. THAT." panted the Fat Controller, half because of how shaken he was, partly because of the pain on his...down-belows, if you get my meaning. "WAS IT DEATH?!"

"No. That's just the bally silly sod Tiger Moth. They got him out of the mothballs after the flood, and...well, you can see the result." Harold grumbled. "Even by my lax standards, he's rude and flies too low!"

"Wow, if even you admit he's a blowhard, I'm terrified!" laughed Percy. Harold snorted, and took off the second that the Hatt's got in.

"PLEASE TAKE US UP HAROLD, BEFORE THERE IS ANOTHER DISTURBANCE!"said Hatt, his accent growing worse and decided that staying on the ground was a better idea. A pity she didn't tell Mitton her plans, as he was in the air before he realized what had happened.

A few days later, Harold still hadn't gotten them to where they were supposed to be going and was thus annoying his passengers enormously. "HAROLD!" shouted the Fat Controller. "PUT US DOWN!"

They crash landed at the holiday home a few minutes later. While Alice and the twins headed off to unpack, Topham spent the next few minutes heaving hysterically into the grass until he got his nerve and his breath back.

Then the pilot got out and remarked "Tiger Moth's gone missing. He's crashlanded somewhere, apparently, and the pilot's wife is getting concerned. Want to join in the search?"

"MUST I!?"

"Yes!"

"Then I think I better get an air sick bag!"

As he passed over the dam, Harold tried to ignore the sounds of the Fat Controller having a massive panic attack in the back. He also tried to ignore the sheep, even though he was pretty sure that they were up to something very horrible indeed. One should never trust lambs!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" screamed Mitton, who was currently hanging on for dear life to Harold's skids. At least he was getting some nice camera angles, said Britt later when he walked back in looking slightly deranged.

"THERE'S TIGER MOTH!" said the Fat Controller, pointing a field full of hay, and a biplane that appeared to be trying to inhale said field.

The second they landed, Hatt ran over and was sick all over the rails.

Once he had quite finished vomiting, he spoke to the pilot. "Now listen here, mate...oh god, my stomach hurts...you will not be showing off like a prat again! I'm talking to your manager, and grounding you for the foreseeable future! Bloody hooligan!"

"Yes sah!"

"JOG ON, FAT MAN!" said Tiger Moth.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to have my head looked at! And also enjoy my holiday, I guess."

"Jolly good idea sir!"

"Don't patronize me!"

...

"Hello there!" Lady smiled. Or at least, she gave the appearance of a smile. Carlin was aware that there was something else there that was rather more...sad. Old and sad. She was looking much better than she had been last time, and part of that may have been because she had some company. Willo, of course, was playing cards against himself (And losing) and there were the other three small engines.

"Hello old chap!" said the blue one (Bert, was it?) "Been a bit, hasn't it!?"

"Er, yeah. What are you doing?"

"We're just talking about how boring it is on the Small Railway at the moment." Rex smirked, grimly. "Not long after the Island was colonized, we were given a controller and told to basically shut up and shunt some ballast."

"It's a bloody nightmare!" snarled Mike. "Humans! So tired of them bossing us around!"

"Watch it Mike." Pete gave a slightly dangerous looking grin. "Or else someone'll take a wrench and-"

"Pete?" Burnett shot a warning glare.

"What? I'm having a bit of fun."

"You try getting your nuts screwed...well, I mean, you have, just not in the way I intended."

"You want to watch your mouth there, Jocko!"

"Calm down now, friends." Lady shot a glare towards Jock and Mike, who seemed to subside for the present. "Children, how about you show Carlin and-" She glanced at Benn, still out cold "-why don't you show Carlin how your lessons have been getting along?"

"Good idea!" Tasha smiled and headed off to change into something a bit better looking. Burnett ambled on down as Pete began cracking his knuckles. Carlin leaned over.

"I hope you don't think me rude...well, actually, I don't care if you do or don't. But the war is over now, right? Shouldn't you be heading back to Shining Time?" Carlin watched as Burnett sort of...stopped for a moment. "Shit, I put my foot in it."

"No, no, there's no way you could know. Umm...well, during that air raid on the Island, when you vanished, the people putting us up got bombed. Quite badly. They died, or got put into care home's, so we returned home once the war ended...turns out my folks ended up being killed in the war, Tasha's...just up and left, and Pete's dad is...he's a piece of work. So we didn't feel happy there, so we came back here!"

Carlin paused. "So, where are you living now?"

"Er, well, the guy in charge of the railway gave me and Pete a job laying down sleepers for this great new railroad...sorry, railway, he's building. And Tasha's seeing if she can't get a job elsewhere."

"Rrrrready!" trilled Tasha as she hurried back out. Burnett's smile came back on and the three took their places. "What should we do, Lady?"

"How about the fire blast?"

"I'll get the water." grunted Mike.

Burnett stepped forward, confidently grinning. He held up his hand, which seemed to be...glowing? Carlin was baffled. He became even more so when, all of a sudden, fire seemed to leap from nowhere and concentrated into a ball. Stone gave a thumbs up, and then with his other hand, he conjured up a second ball. Then, slowly, he began to juggle them. Once, twice, thrice- And then a third ball was added. And then a fourth. And a fifth. And a sixth. Soon he had at least a dozen going at the same time, moving so fast it appeared to be a full on ring of fire.

Pete laughed, lightly. "Not bad, Burn-ett." Everyone bar Tasha groaned. "But let's see what I can do!" He raised his hand, maniacally waved it around, and blue lightning crackled. Twisting it, he shot a huge whip like streak of it out across the grass, snaking along, burning all in it's path.

Tasha, meanwhile, snapped her own fingers. The entire forest suddenly moved. No, that was a understatement. The trees suddenly appeared to grow feet on the end of their roots, as they hopped out of the ground and were promptly levitated elsewhere. She then began lightly tap-dancing as saplings began to grow and grow.

"That's enough!" Lady called. Not a good thing to say when there was a tree directly over Mike's head, as he soon found out. They moved off to talk, leaving poor Mike passed out underneath the tree.

Willo paused, and then looked over to Ivor, whom no one else could see. "You enjoying yourself, ducks?"

 **GO FISH.**

"We're playing snap."

 **OH BLOW.** The engine let out a mournful 'pwoop pwoop' and sighed. Willo coughed, and laid down a card. It took Ivor five minutes to realize. **SNAP! I HAVE WON!**

"Oooh, you bested me and no mistake." Willo laughed. "So, er, is there a death?"

 **THERE IS ALWAYS A DEATH. BUT NOT HERE, IF YOU ARE WORRIED. NOT YET. I JUST WANTED TO SEE HOW YOU AND LADY WERE DOING.**

"Well, thank you."

 **I ADMIT THAT I WILL BE POPPING IN FROM TIME TO TIME. JUST ON CHANCE.**

"Of course. I'll keep the kettle boiled. Think you could bring the Grumley choir along? It's ever so quiet."

 **EVANS THE SONG IS A HARD MAN TO SHIFT. BUT I SHALL TRY.**

"...Why are you really here?"

... **TO SEE WHAT IT WAS LIKE. IN THE LAST YEARS OF STEAM. WHEN ALL OF THE ENGINES WERE...SAFE.**

...

"What are we doing, Toppers?"

"WE. ARE GOING. TO HAVE FUN." Hatt said, determined. He was going to take his family to meet Toby and Henrietta, who were already drinking at the sheer thought of the memory of what had happened last time, who were going to take them somewhere special.

They arrived at a small river inlet, where a piece of junk- I MEAN boat was waiting for them. It was named the Sodor Maid, after the woman who was quicker to go down than the Titanic for a sailor. It smelt of China Clay. And if you recall what China Clay DEFINITELY IS NOT, then you will understand why Toby was very glad he wasn't coming with the Hatts.

"It looks...lovely." lied Allcroft. Mitton simply got back on Henrietta and sat, waiting for the tram to go back to the station, where he would pack his bags and promptly leave. He wondered vaguely if Gerry Anderson was still calling.

"What a beautiful boat!" said the children, aware that their grandfather was on the verge of crying.

"It's my special treat!"

Allcroft turned around to see Toby taking off at high speed, and Mitton maniacally laughing as he did so. So they all got onboard the boat, clung for dear life and oohed and aahed as it started off.

"So nice to be far from the railway for once." said the Fat Controller, taking up the helm with his wife beside him.

"But we're right by the railway- Oh dear. Never mind! It'll be much cleaner too!"

Karma began notching up several arrows of varying size as she spoke. The boat began to drift somewhat aimlessly, not helped by the fact that Clark Hattwald was struggling to control it. "NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT!" he shouted, blithely. As they crossed under the bridge, Allcroft screamed and began beating at the water frantically with one of the oars.

"What is it, Britt?!"

"A MONSTER! A HORRIBLE MONSTER! KILL IT, OR AT LEAST GET IT ON FILM!"

Sure enough, there, rising from the mud came a horrible thing with plants stuck to it's skin and eyes bulging out, and a thick slurred speech. Hatt roared, ripped off his shirt and began to swing the oar around like he was Tarzan.

At which point, the boat stuck, sending the Fat Controller hurtling into the river, landing right on the monster. "BOTHERATION!" said the Fat Controller as he surfaced for air. "WE'RE STUCK!" And they were. Other boats tried to help, but sort of gave up halfway through. Jem Cole and his friend, who looked like a gnome, headed off to phone for help.

"Anything we can do for help!?" asked Alec, who had arrived on Percy.

"Yes indeed!" cried the Fat Controller. The monster waded up, and Hatt, having had quite enough, punched him straight on. Said monster slid down the embankment and wiped the mud from his eyes.

"The hell?!"

"Holy- ANGELIS!?"

"I BETTER BE GETTING BLOODY PAID FOR THIS!"

Three minutes later, the Fat Controller was heard to comment "This is the life" to his wife, as Percy pushed the Sodor Maid upon the breakdown train back to Tidmouth Hault.

It is not recorded for posterity what Lady Hatt said to this. It rhymed with clucking bell, though, according to eyewitnesses.

As they arrived, Hatt angrily phoned his deadbeat son and threatened to have him cut off from the family inheritance if he didn't get a shift on back over here and be an actual father to his children. There they saw Thomas, with the smart new Annie and Clarabel, who looked as good as new inside and out.

"My word, look at how pretty these coaches are! Better than those beach huts on wheels!"

No one could even summon up the ability to care anymore. And off they went.

That night, the coaches had a bitch at Thomas. "I mean it's nice that we get compliments every now and then, but no matter what, we'll always be your coaches, won't we, Thomas?"

"Of course, you old bats!" their friend replied.

The model Duck promptly broke into many pieces, leaving everyone quite baffled.

...

"So, a preserved railway...that's...nice."

"The shrew who runs it isn't."

"Ah. Pity."

Duck coughed. He had to, otherwise there'd just be this very awkward silence throughout the yard. The trucks had all been shunted for the next engine to take them, so all that was left was to sit down with Diesel and talk to him. Which was harder said than done. The last time they had met, he had told Diesel quite clearly that if he ever came back, or if they ever met, he'd kill him.

Which made things awkward.

"Look, why are you here, Duck?" Diesel had lost some of his oilyness. Some of his swagger. He sounded bored out of his mind, and scared. "If you're here to kill me, I'd be obliged if you got it over with."

"Why would I-" Duck grimaced "Well, I know why I would be over here to kill you. But no. We, er, do it by drone nowadays, or so I'm told." He laughed. No one else did. "Look, I'm sorry. You were an innocent. Okay, you were an asshole. Fine. But you didn't ask to be possessed, and you have no idea what it is that I do. In fact I probably tipped you off to the fact that I am something different from the way I acted, didn't I? Well that was me, letting the Sudrians get to me."

"Is there a point to you prattling on, or are you just here to clear your conscience?"

"No, actually, I am here for a reason." Duck coughed. "Have you ever heard of the Juggernaut?"

"Who hasn't? The best thing to happen to Dieselkind since our invention. The most revolutionary-" Diesel sighed. "-I can't even drag the old buzzwords out anymore. Yes, I have heard of him."

"Trustworthy?"

"You can trust he'll kill you."

"...See, here's the thing, Diesel. I've met the Juggernaut on two occasions. And both times, he's seemed off. Very off. And let me explain what I mean. You see, the first time, he stopped before he killed me when he saw two little tank engines coming. Now, he's a murderer. He supposedly killed three or four engines in a convoy, and then snuffed out the life of one of the greatest fighters I've known. He does not run from two little tank engines, even if it is in the middle of a storm. And then he comes and meets me, MEETS ME, mind you. None of the others did. None of the others who tried to take from me have ever done that before. It didn't happen with Bulgy, it didn't happen with you and it certainly didn't happen during the election year. No one has ever tried to get me on their side. Just after trying to kill me as well!"

"I have no idea what you are on about."

"It doesn't make sense. All right? City of Truro-"

"Oh, you listen to him, do you?"

Duck paused. "Wait, what?"

"City of Truro is staunchly Anti-Diesel. It's famous. My de-interrogation process was a nightmare until the Galloping Sausage's brother got involved and removed him from the investigation. Scotsman, you know." Diesel sighed. "Truth be told-" He suddenly paused. "Duck, I've recalled something."

"What?"

"Your worthy Fat-...Sir Topham Hatt. When he brought me over, I was possessed, right? Now, I don't remember anything, but there are these two words reoccurring in my brain over and over again. Shining Time. Now, I don't recall what significance they have, but-"

"No, you're right. As I recall, you never said anything...specifically about what I was looking for. You never mentioned anything about why I was here. And you still don't know anything about my mission. Those two words, and I clammed up, I panicked. But I've never heard those words in my life! Why do those two words mean so much?!"

Duck and Diesel stared at each other.

"A truce?"

"A truce. For now. There is something far worse going on than I could have imagined." Duck growled. "We'll need to find someone who can help us. Can you get cover for your work here? There are some loose ends that need tying up, and I know who we can go to for answers."

...

ELSEWHERE.

"Stepney, ye daft ****head! Some tosser's here ta see ye!"

The Bluebell Engine headed out of his shed, and spotted Duck and Diesel sitting there. His eyes narrowed as he took in Diesel, the memories of D1 filtering through. No. This one was real. He turned to Duck.

"I suppose you want to talk."

"Yes."

"Come on in. I imagine you have a lot of questions."


	125. Episode 21: A Surprise for Percy

Okay guys, I don't like doing this, because I feel like I've been pretty good so far with balancing out story and abridging, but the former is going to be a bit more involved in this chapter than the latter. Why? Because Surprise For Percy is pretty basic. It's not scary like some of the other stories, nor does it introduce any new characters, nor is it that much of a comedy episode. It's just sort of there. And again, for an episode that's just focused primarily on a runaway, it's fine, it's got good music and production values, but it's just...there.

So yeah, nothing new on the parodying front. The story front on the other hand, is quite a big one. I'm basically using it as a giant exposition dump for what's going on with the Malevolence's plan in the movie. Hopefully you understand it, maybe you won't, but if you do need me to elaborate, I shall do so in the next chapter.

 **MattPrice01:** Yep! And once we get to Magic Railroad, things are going to quite literally boil over!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** Thank you! Hatt is definitely meant to be sympathetic in these ones. And Alice is just having the frustration of her day to day routine get to her. It happens!

 **TrainManiac:** Thanks! Glad someone caught those references. Ivor's a fun character to write for, and I'm glad everyone found Diesel's return to be interesting. I felt that giving him one last hurrah before his return in Season 6 was a nice way of wrapping things up with him for now.

 **Game Watch:** Thanks! Hopefully it'll all bloody pay off!

 **AaronCottrel97:** Perhaps a little bit longer...but not by much, mind! Yep, this is the season where Angelis's Hatt becomes the definitive one for me! So, I'm glad everyone's enjoying his antics!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Beautifully sung!

 **Bronze-Shield:** Thanks! Glad you enjoyed, writing for Topham Hatt has been great this season.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

"I'm bored!"

"So we noticed, Percy." Toby yawned. "Anyway, I'm off to bridge. Catch you soon."

"DON'T ABANDON ME-" It was too late. Toby had gone already. Percy growled. He hated being left on his own in the coaling plant with only the silly trucks for company. For whatever reason, Hatt was in a bad mood as of late and had trapped him working the dead-end shifts. Perhaps he still wasn't recovered from his holidays. Percy had noticed the way he limped now and sat down with great care.

"Cheer up, Percy!" said Alec.

"Ah, thanks mate, you always try and cheer me up-"

"-because seriously, it's bringing everyone down, you selfish git, and there's no point. Fatty says we've got to be back here tomorrow again, so there's no use in feeling depressed!"

"See, this is why your wife left you. And why you're still not getting anywhere near the Kyndley's grandchild."

"Never say never! We all have to make the best of bad situations, even if said bad situation has come about because our fat dictator is a complete and utter tosspot. I feel as though I'm going off topic a bit."

"Uggh, I'll try and make the best of the bad situation of being stuck with you, you git."

...

"God it's somehow gotten even worse since yesterday!" Percy wailed. He looked around at the gaping, horrible faces of the trucks and shuddered. "God, this is why I should try getting a transfer to the docks again! At least there I could just drive off the edge into the water if I got bored!" And then, to make matters even better, the trucks began to sing.

Yes, we're in for a treat again.

"Percy, Percy, green and small! He's no use to us at all! Around the yards he'll puff and blow! But on the hills he's oh, so slow!"

"That was shit!" declared Percy ."Be quiet!" And he rammed into the nearest truck with some force. He paused, and looked around. He was aware that the trucks had become even more violent and determined to destroy anything that got in their way recently. And he knew also that he was in for...some retaliation after that. So wearily, he gathered together a train and began to puff towards the small town of Miner's Hault. He groaned as he began to puff up the large hill. "God, you guys need to lose weight!"

"Oi! My figure is perfect, thank you very much!"

Percy growled, but said nothing as he dropped the trucks at the top, and then set off back down the line to collect the next bunch. "This is my life now." he muttered rebelliously. "Nothing but boredom, boredom, BOREDOM!" Not even the cheerful sight of Bertie the Bus could cheer Percy up!

That was sarcasm, by the way, no engine has ever felt cheerful looking at Bertie.

"What's the matter, Percy?"

"You don't care, Bertie."

"You're right, I don't. Just curious if you had any alcohol."

"Believe me, if I did, it'd all be gone by now."

"Hmm...pity."

"Nothing exciting ever happens! That is what's the matter! It's just coal, coal, coal and trucks, trucks, trucks!"

"Oh you mean aside from the time you ended up being sent on the run, getting shoved into coal, demolishing a brakevan, getting covered in lime, treacle, hay, fruit and the shattered remains of a mine, running over a bicycle and botching a mayoral race, being scared out of your wits by a massive dragon, having to deal with a flood and one of your friends nearly being swept away...yeah, you live a boring life."

"Sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Tough, you're getting it, you ungrateful git. Besides, excitement is surprising, you'll never know when it will happen."

Percy stared at Bertie like he was made of cheese and lived on Mars. "The hell does that mean, you idiot?! Is that one of those ancient Buddhist koan things that isn't supposed to mean anything but gets you focused, or did you pull it out of your exhaust pipe?"

Bertie frowned. He thought that had been a particularly powerful fortune cookie message that morning, but now saying it out loud...so he merely honked his horn and shouted "TOODLEPEEP!" at a baffled Percy as he drove off.

"Be bloody surprising if something surprising happen. Nothing's full of surprises here. Hmm, make it a good song title, though."

...

"How did they get in!?"

"Walked right through the front doors! Bold as brass! Sir, what should we-"

"Evacuate everyone you can! Of course! Meanwhile, get me all the security officers still on the premises! No matter what, we have to make sure that they do not reach the offices!"

"I rather think that's going to cause a disagreement between the two of us, Mr Hargreaves."

Hargreaves spun around, just in time for Boomer to kick him straight in the head. Staggering backwards, he had just enough time to see his guards get slammed onto the ground faster than any normal human should have before he was punched.

"Who are you!?"

"I told the men downstairs, my name is Boomer. And I am rather tired of having to play third fiddle." With this, Boomer rolled up his sleeve once again. The guards had gathered together, pulled out their guns, and fired straight at him.

Hargreaves watched in horror as the bullets paused mid air, turned around and slammed straight back into his own men. He had just enough time to see a bright blue symbol glowing on Boomer's arm before all crumpled to the ground, dead in seconds. He pulled out his own gun and pointed it shakily at this...monster. "What do you want?"

"Oh, you know. World domination. Power. The usual things. At this particular moment, I'd like you to step aside, please."

"No way."

"Huh. A shame then." Boomer walked forward, and lightly muttered something under his breath.

There was a horrifying crack, and then a crunch, and Hargreaves screamed in pain as he fell to the floor. Trembling, he reached for his legs, only to discover that they had been broken very cleanly in two. Through the pain, he was just about aware of the sight of Boomer walking into his office. He crawled towards the fire alarm, he had to try and get as many people out as possible.

"Yes? Hello there, sir. Yes, I've taken care of everyone. About to get Gotch now, sir. Hargreaves? On the floor, broken legs. Yes, I'll deal with him in a moment. The files? Afraid that they caught on, got rid of them. I'll try and salvage what I can. Yes sir. I'll be back at Shining Time within the hour. I'll take Gotch with me, give him something to do. All right. Contact you again."

Boomer walked out, holding a massive amount of files that he handed to his biker gang. He then walked over and smiled down at Hargreaves. "It may interest you to know that I've absorbed your men's souls. So that'll get my magic really bubbling. Thanks for giving me a decent meal.

"You won't get away with this."

Boomer raised his foot and placed it down on Hargreaves's throat, gently. "I already have."

And he began to push down.

...

And now, for some mood whiplash!

Later, Percy stopped by the watertower for a drink. A sheep baaed at him. "Piss off!" snarled Percy.

"What did I do?" asked Toby, wounded.

"Not you, Toby. The sheep. Bloody sheep. They get to relax all day in a nice field eating grass! I wonder if I can get the boys down at the station to give me some. Anyway, how's the pain, Toby?"

Toby winced. "Oh, you know...diminishing." Another rough twang in his boiler made him rethink those words into something with a bit more effing and blinding. "How are things with you?"

Well, that set Percy off into his favorite subject as of lately, namely how bored he was, how boring everything in this village was, and how boring the jobs he was being made to do was.

"Well-" said Toby, aware of how patronizing he sounded but having little way of knowing how to deal with Percy when he was in a mood like this "-you could always have a spin on the turntable. That'll give you a jumpstart."

"Makes me feel giddy." said Percy, doing his best Eeyore impersonation.

"Or, you know, get drunk again."

"I've gone off beer."

"But you're the bloody bartender at Knapford! How the hell can YOU go off beer?"

"I don't know. But I have."

It was then, mercifully, that the driver interrupted this riveting chat. "STOP GOSSIPING, YOU SILLY HENS!" He was in a right pissed off mood and no mistake, for he was still enraged that he wasn't getting any from the waitress at the Dirty Sod, Miner's Hault's local bar. "WE'VE GOT ACTUAL WORK TO DO!"

"Git. Well, bye Perce. At least you'll know more about trucks than any engine ever, and that'll be exciting!"

"Toby, you're terrible at this. But thank's for trying."

When he returned back to the yard-

"OH GOD ARE YOU STILL COMPLAINING?! ARE YOU NEVER HAPPY!?"

-things did not get better, as one can tell. Things, in fact, seemed to get far worse. The trucks seemed to have started breeding like rabbits, as there appeared to be even more of them than there had been previously. Percy wept in frustration. He felt like he was in a Kafka comedy sometimes. And to make matters worse, the trucks decided to hit him where it hurt. "You're too small to pull all of us! We want another engine, or we aren't going anywhere!"

"It's not the size of the engine-" said Percy, feeling defensive "-it's what you do with it that counts!" He suddenly sympathized with Henry whenever he got insulted about his smaller than average funnel size.

"All night, all right, you can puff and blow! But on that hill, you're still too slow!"

"HA! Those limericks of yours need work, Fred! Slow yourself!"

"Temper, temper!"

Percy decided to ignore the trucks and began to pull the next lot back up towards Miner's Hault. As they reached the level crossing, he felt a slight bit of strain on his couplings, but thought nothing of it.

"GO TO IT, PERCY!" shouted his driver, currently the worst cheerleader known to man, as they began to climb the steep hill.

"Bloody hell, what am I? A Culdee Fell Engine!?"

"Too slow! More power! Be here all night! Tomorrow too! You're a poohead! I want a kip! Something smells! Don't repeat that! No, stop saying everything I say!"

"BE QUIET YOU LITTLE SHITS!" snapped Percy.

At which point, trouble decided to choose this time to pop up, as the coupling shattered completely, sending Percy sliding backwards up the hill, and the trucks the opposite way.

"HA! WE'VE DONE IT- Oh shit." said Fred, realizing that perhaps he had made a minor miscalculation. He tried to save face. "Ha! Surprise...surprise. Catch us if you can...OHHHHHHH balls I've made a terrible mistake."

"Oh NO!" shrieked Percy as the trucks rolled back down the hill. "MY PAYCHECK- I mean, MY TRUCKS!"

Bertie watched, baffled, as the trucks rolled backwards through the level crossing. Then a moment later, Percy also rushed through, his fireman having chosen now of all times to start practicing his bugle playing abilities, and also playing a slide whistle to boot. They stopped at the signalbox, and Alec forced his way in to phone for help.

Eventually, this reached the Yard Manager, who told Sir Topham Hatt. "They'll hit the hill in no time, but that might just send them rolling back again!"

"RIGHT!" Hatt sprang to his feet, then winced in agony as his...injury, flared up again. "To battle! We'll just have to stop them!" He waddled off towards his car, his driver already in the seat clutching the steering wheel. At once, the car took off, followed closely by Bertie, who wanted to get in on the action as best he could. Percy also set off, a bit more halfheartedly this time. He'd had quite enough of having to deal with runaways this year.

"God, the hell are you taking us, Perkins?!"

"Shortcut, sir!"

"Another bloody overgrown bit of railway, the hell ARE WE GETTING IT FROM!?"

At last, they overtook the trucks as they reached the hill. The Fat Controller and Bertie screeched to a halt near a convinient opening, and waited for the trucks to gently roll up the hill.

"All right, now, I shall leap onto the brake-van and hold it down with my tremendous weight! It is a great sacrifice of mine, to be sure." Hatt was about to make a grand leap of faith, when he saw the workmen put blocks of wood under the trucks to stop them from rolling backwards. "Huh. So that's a bit of an anti-climax."

Just then, Percy arrived, having missed everything. Really, there was no point to him even being in the story, we could have cut this very easily and missed nothing.

"Well, what do you think of that? Good chase, it's always exciting!"

"Well, usually, but I wasn't there for most of it. Alec had to go and get pissed first before we could properly find you. You were right Bertie, a really useful engine should never be surprised by surprise, surprise, I was surprised-"

"Oh god, we've broken Percy."

...

"Shining Time? My word, it's been a long while since I've heard of that." Stepney nodded to his driver, who handed out a few drinks to Duck and Diesel, who accepted politely. It was taking all o Diesel's willpower not to go on a massive rant about how diesels were far more superior even when it came to making soft drinks. But he managed to.

Stepney looked at them thoughtfully. "Before I tell you anything, so that I don't end up telling you what you already know, how much do you understand about Shining Time?"

"...Little." Duck frowned. "I know that...it's important."

"Not much. Just that whoever it was who possessed me told me that it was relevant."

Stepney didn't even blink at this odd revelation. "Well then, allow me to fill you in. Shining Time was a normal enough town in a valley, smack dab in the middle of the Indian Valley Railroad. Now, when the Railroad was redirected to go through the town, it ended up getting a lot of attention from humans and steam engines alike. There are some who believe that it's somewhere where latent magic can be activated."

"Okay...and that helps us how? We could have just consulted a leaflet to get that information!"

"Patience, Roderick-"

"Er, it's Diesel-"

"Roderick. Now, that's not all. The valley is also where many believe the famous lost engine of the legends is hidden." At the look on Duck's face, Stepney quickly continued "Mostly because of the huge amount of magic located there. We believed that, after her attack, she crash landed there at some point in time, and has been leaking magic into the land."

"No. My orders were specifically for Sodor."

"A bluff." Stepney sighed. "One of the things that myself and Truro discussed, back when I was considering joining that little group of yours, was the idea of using a decoy. We'd send one of our most competent engines over to the Island of Sodor, the last known place that the lost engine was seen before vanishing. Have them make a whole amount of noise, and lure the Other Railway to focus their attentions solely on that Island, while the real search could still go on in the background. While I was uncomfortable with the idea, I was willing to do it on a few conditions.

Firstly, the engine in question had to be fully briefed on that account. You obviously weren't. Secondly, he needs breaks. An engine is not an island, he cannot survive on an Island for 12 years, dodging death trap after death trap and fighting off any agents that come his way without a little time. You haven't stepped off the Island in so long on your own. Thirdly, sanctioned visits were a therapist, and unless Pug is hiding a secret degree under his rotund figure, you've never seen a therapist in your life. Fourth, and this was the most important, communications must be at all times clear. I wasn't about to send an engine off to potentially die without a way to transmit the important information to him.

And you've seen how well that turned out."

"So...there is nothing important on the Island of Sodor?"

"Yes there is. For example, the Island's begun to do a bit of leaking of it's own. Young Percy's got a few mental abilities, a small ability of being able to see into the future. The extreme amount of luck your engines face, in surviving the many accidents and occurrences that plague them on a daily basis, and likewise, the fact that luckily, no one has been hurt. Confusion and delay has always been present on the Island, but it's thanks to it's unique properties that it's actually one of the railways with the least amount of causalities on it." Stepney sighed. "And there is something else that I shall tell you a minute, but first, I believe Young Roderick has some questions of his own."

"My name is- You know what, forget it, I don't care." Diesel sighed. "All right. So you and Duck have had your little conversation about random things, and that's all well and good, but I want to know something else. The Other Railway. What's their plan?"

Stepney paused, took a sip of something and then frowned. "Honestly, I can only guess. Like I said, I was shuffled off quietly when Truro and the others began to find my methods a bit too...restrained, to deal with the current crisis. I was stuck here, and for the most part I've been kept abreast mainly by the papers and the few loyal engines I have in there. But I can speculate a bit. During our research, we found a symbol, carved into the ground not too far from a proposed battle sight between the lost engine and...the enemy. Now, this symbol is a rune. The Island's luck also works against it, all those who do die on there, are trapped between life and death. In doing so, there is a steady supply of trapped souls that can be harnessed into a power source by a machine that the Other Railway is creating. In doing so, they can then feed the Malevolence-"

"The what?"

"-and power him up a great deal. My guess is that this machine is effectively pumping the Malevolence full of steroids, absorbing the souls into him and keeping them there as a regular power source. That power can be gifted to others. Hence the Fat Director's plan to launch an all out attack on the world, with the powers of darkness backing him fully."

"You're insane." And Diesel backed out, muttering about how 'Sentimental' he was getting. He stayed outside, though.

"Duck. Let me tell you now. There is no chance that you can stop the Malevolence from returning. But, there is a chance that, once he does, you can defeat him. There is an old prophecy that I have only recently discovered, that tells of seven engines whom Lady can grant her immense power to. Using that, they may be able to stop the Malevolence in time."

"Well, let's hear it."

...

 _1950._

 _"They'll be coming soon." Willo said, anxiously._

 _"I know. Benn and Carlin are nothing if not punctual. All right, let's get underway." Lady paused, and when she spoke next, it was in a far darker voice._

 ** _"When darkness doth cover the earth_**  
 ** _May my children please find their worth_**  
 ** _On the blackest eve of the blackest day_**  
 ** _These simple words will I say_**

 ** _May the seven chosen few rise_**  
 ** _When the Malevolence does split the skies_**  
 ** _Red and Green and Brown and Blue_**  
 ** _Our saviors, the really useful crew._**

 ** _For them, my power, I shall leave_**  
 ** _And then their losses they will grieve_**  
 ** _And so that you know that I'm not telling a lie_**  
 ** _This prophecy is in rhyme, that's why."_**

 _"Yes, it's not your best, deario, I'll say that."_

 _"Oh do hush, Willo. Now, give this to Ivor when you see him next. You've written the other one down on the windmill?"_

 _"Yes, but I don't bloody know how I've managed to do that! Have you ever tried writing with disappearing ink that glows neon every time someone comes near it?"_

...

Boomer strode in, looked around, and smirked. "Well well well, Mr Gotch. Didn't think you had it in you." He walked over and lightly removed the cuffs from the soon to be ex-prisoner's wrists, taking great care not to be gentle. "You know, using Marklin to give us a way into our enemy's base was really quite brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that I wonder if you had anything to do with it at all."

"What happened to Hargreaves?"

"Dead. I've got his files."

"...But you're not going to give them to the Fat One, are you?" Gotch grinned. "He's under the impression that he's controlling Marklin. In reality, however, it's the other way around."

"You're perceptive, aren't you?"

"And willing to work with the soon to be most powerful man in the world."

Boomer looked at Gotch carefully. And then he grinned. "You know, you're right, Gotch. The Fat Director is far too comfortable with the idea that he's the big man on campus. Me and Marklin had a good thing going. And it's only going to get better." He slung a companionable arm around him. "Come. Let's discuss this over dinner, shall we?"

* * *

All right, so chances are, I've confused the hell out of you with the villain's plan. If I have done so, I'll explain it in the author's notes next chapter.

Next episode should be a bit more chaotic and fun! Hopefully.


	126. Episode 22: Make Someone Happy

So, after the somewhat exposition heavy episode previously, this one is pretty much a breather one. Not to say that there's no plot in this (There's a little with Carlin and co) but this is mainly just a comedy episode...and to set up a few hints of the future.

REVIEW TIME.

To the guest: Yep! Great Discovery and Misty Island Rescue are two I'm looking forward to!

 **MattPrice01:** You'll get both, no worry!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** The original plan was to kill him off in the final two episodes, but I figured that setting Boomer up as a threat should be done sooner rather than later, and you'll be hearing from him next chapter.

 **TrainManiac:** Like I said previously, it's not that I think that this episode is necessarily a bad one, it's just one that feels like it's there to pad out the season. The sets are nice, the narration's pretty decent and I have no problem with the music. The ending just sort of feels tacked on, and the runaway scene just sort of stops instead of having an end to it. I am actually considering a career in writing novels, actually, but who knows at this point? And I'll take the comparison is positive? I've never really read or watched Eragon, so I don't know. Yeah, pretty much. I'm actually going to be introducing a few new villains in the second volume, just to mix it up a little. I'm glad you followed okay! Oh, and Roderick isn't Diesel's name. Diesel is just an edgy son of a gun who likes to try and stand out. It fails. Badly.

 **Game Watch:** Pretty much. One of the benefits of getting to Season 6 and onwards is that I get to have Percy doing some really silly stuff, so that gives him a more defined character that way.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Pretty much! And, er, I'm saving my first F-Bomb up. Just to make it mean something more.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Funnily enough, I didn't realize until after I'd written it that that was what I was referencing! And yes, yes they would indeed! It'd be funny shit, though.

 **Bronze-Shield:** Sorry about the confusions. When the engines have to learn about it in Magic Railroad, I'll try and do it a bit better. And yeah, like I said, this episode isn't bad, it's just...there.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

It was another bloody hot day on the Island which meant that everyone had to work for whatever reason.

"Boyo, this is a sweltering hot one and no mistake!" declared Skarloey, his driver turning on the portable fan, which did jack all in this sweltering weather. "God, if the alternative wasn't spending all day with Duke, I'd be back at the sheds by now!"

"Ah, preach, preach my soul brother!"

"Rheneas, you're not black, or Vanilla Ice, you cannot say these things."

"Try and stop me, you square!"

Sir Handel grunted. "You think you have it bad? Look at me! I've been told that since I haven't signed the contract with my 'birth name', they can't let me be in this season! What idiot thought up that idea, eh?"

"The same idiot who figured out that dubbing over Duke's lines is becoming a bit pricey." remarked Rusty. "Mind, I have my own problems. You know sometimes last season they ended up botching my pronouns!"

"Oh, how terrible for ye!"

"It was, actually, Duncan! Imagine if your accent changed halfway through to Canadian, or something!"

"Er, I don't know what you're talking aboot! That'd never happen, eh! Bret Hart! Clover Leafs! The Mounties always get their man!"

Everyone was doing...some work, it was fair to say, even if because of budget reasons we had to resort to using shots from previous episodes and in some cases, previous season's to show this.

Except for James, who was being his usual cheerful self.

"THIS IS RABB-RUBBISH!" He stopped mid shout and glared at Thomas, willing him to make a joke. The blue tank engine smugly grinned and refused to say anything, allowing the big red nit to continue on with his rant. "Why should a splendid red engine like me take the messy old coal trucks like some common little shunter?! Why don't they get Percy or Oliver, they love getting down and dirty and doing nothing of any real value!"

"Okay, first off, we had this conversation about ten or so episode ago, and that's just on this season. Secondly, this is getting old, have you ever considered thinking about someone or something other than yourself for once?"

"You're saying words, but I can't understand them!"

"You'll be surprised how much better you'll feel!"

"Why the hell are you up on your high horse for, Thomas?! Unselfish and kind aren't exactly the first words I'd apply to you! Pah! Being important is the only thing for a splendid engine like me to think about!" And he puffed away, huffily.

"If I had a penny for every time he said the word 'splendid', I'd be a bloody millionaire." muttered Thomas.

...

"LOOK AT ME! I'M TIGER BLOODY MOTH!"

"We know." droned Oliver and Percy. The former had asked the latter to come down and give him some assistance with the branch-line for a few days, not least because Duck had requested time off for some reason. But, luckily for them, the jobs that had needed to be finished were over and done with. All they had to do at the moment was sit back and watch Tiger Moth flying around, banner attached to his tail, looking like a prat.

"Bloody plane's making a great deal chatter! You ever wonder-" remarked Percy "-that maybe we're all just really deadened to stupid things being said now?"

"What, you mean with constant proximity to Gordon and James and...the others who aren't Gordon and James?"

"Exactly! I mean, when I first started, I'd be tempted to challenge Tiger Moth to a race. But...you kind of give up caring about them after a while, don't you agree?"

"Yes. Being in the scrapyard-"

"OH LOOK HE'S COMING BACK." said Percy, quickly changing the subject. He read the banner out loud. "Visit Harry Topper's fair at Tidmouth Bay." He frowned. "Didn't even realize we had a bay at Tidmouth."

"Huh. More you learn, I guess. Harry Topper, he's that crook, isn't he?"

"He prefers the term 'man of mystery' but yes. Pretty much. Oh look, here comes Thomas! Speaking of stupid things being said now-"

"Oh HARDY HA!" Thomas grimaced. "What are you two doing here?"

"Waiting for death."

Oliver was a bit more forthcoming "The Fat One's sent us to pick up a special load from the docks, but we got halfway there and needed to chill for a bit."

"I think it's got something to do with the fair! I'm doing fortune telling there, and it's only four pounds per engine!"

"FOUR POUNDS?!" shrieked Thomas, Oliver, Annie and Clarabel all together.

...

Meanwhile, James passed by a animatronic Duck and stormed into the quarry yard. "BLOODY THOMAS!" He shouted to no one in particular. "And now I'm working in a goddamn quarry, getting dustier and dustier, in this heatwave! This is a nightmare!"

Then he saw his old friend (Sort of, not really. Apparently that one Christmas party they had with her sister really brought them closer together) sobbing on the corner. This was the one who wore the brown coat, the sister of the one who had warned Thomas of the landslide ahead. "She looks even more miserable than I feel! Which is IMPOSSIBLE, at this moment in time!"

The driver scowled. He hated having to interact with people outside of his fireman/secret lover. "Oh fine! I can't screw this up any more than Alec did." He got off and headed over to check on her. "Oi, you old bag, what's the matter?"

"Well, you're giving Alec a run for his money, at least." remarked the fireman.

Kyndley wailed once more. "My sister is trying to track down my niece, she's rung to tell me that she can't come to stay with me! And I was so looking forward to her visit! WOE IS ME! WOE IS ME."

"Woe is someone, certainly."

...

"THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING ME FOR?!"

"But sir, don't you care?!"

"This is a bloody railway, not a taxi service! Fine! If Harold isn't doing anything, send him to pick her up!" He muttered something under his breath about wondering if the surface to air missiles still worked as the bodyguard headed out to make the arrangements.

Harold took off clumsily, nearly decapitating a frightened cow and just barely avoiding ramming into Percy as he did so. He swayed and staggered around the entire Island for a good long while before touching down uncomfortably close to a car. James coughed and spluttered as the great steaming nit sent dust flying right into his face.

"All present and correct!"

"Is that your catchphrase of the day now, Harold/" dryly muttered James.

"Come on Mrs Kyndley, come onboard and fly the skies with me! Compliments of the Fat Controller!" This was not part of the deal, but Harold was in a bit of a vengeful mood for being messed around with for the past few episodes.

"Oooh, don't mind if I do! How lovely!" And so saying, she walked foward and wedged herself firmly next to the pilot, who looked as though he'd rather be doing mine defusing than sitting next to her.

"HAROLD YOU BERK! LOOK AT ME!"

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same, chap!"

"YOU'VE MADE MY PAINT DUSTIER THAN EVER!" He then had to put on a happy facade for Mrs Kyndley as Harold took off again, very narrowly clearing a bush and a terrified Douglas. Soon, the helicopter was high in the sky, passing over Smelly-by-the-sea and pissing off Donald to no end.

"I've never seen the Island like this before!"

"You, er, don't say." said the pilot, trying to be polite.

"It's wonderful!"

"Mind pulling the gear stick for me?"

"Of course!"

There was a long, pregnant pause.

"Mrs Kyndley, that's not the gear stick."

...

Meanwhile, Percy and Oliver had arrived at the docks, at last. "I knew we should have taken that left turning at Albuquerque!" joked Percy. Oliver ignored him, as he gazed up at the remarkably cheerful Cranky. "OI! You horrible lot down there! I'm playing lucky dip in the tramper's hold-"

"God that sounds wrong." murmured Oliver. Percy sniggered.

"And I come bearing gifts for you! All of these pieces of rubbish are for you lot! Take care that you don't ruin all my hard work, as you inevitably do!" He frowned as the workmen immediately began taking the tarpaulin off. "Wait, shouldn't you do that AT the fairground?!"

"Wooden horses! For the carousel ride!"

"Nothing gets past you, does it Perce?" Oliver sighed.

"It's going to be a very exciting fair! And me with my fortune telling, for just eight pounds!"

"EIGHT POUNDS?!" shrieked Oliver and the rapidly approaching James. "You must be round the twist!"

"Besides-" James said, loftily "-THE FAT CONTROLLER HAS TOLD ME TO STOP PULLING COAL TRUCKS AND GO TO THE STATION INSTEAD! SUMMAT TO DO WITH MRS KYNDLEY! HE ALSO SAID TO TURN DOWN THE VOLUME ON MY VOICE! BYE!" And off he went with no small amount of dramatics.

"Huh. What do you think of that?"

"Percy, I rarely get paid to think!" Oliver grimaced. "Come on, let's get these over to the fair. I want to get there before James breaks all the glass in the place with his uncontrollable volume level."

James arrived at Kirk Ronan with quite a dramatic entrance. The Fat Controller winced as he looked at the budget, before putting on his best fake smile he could. "Ah, Mrs Kyndley! Glad to see you-" He hesitated as he stared at the pilot, vomiting up his lunch "-enjoyed your trip! Now, for the next stage, James is taking you on a mystery ride and I'll meet you at your destination."

"Couldn't you just ride with us?"

"Oh, er, I can't, I have important...marking to do." This was a lie. Hatt just didn't want to be in the same coach as Mrs Kyndley, having received a bill for damages caused by Harold's somewhat erratic flying. As the guard blew his whistle, he headed into the car.

"Hope this works, Mr Topper!"

"Why Hatty, baby, the fair's been in the family for generations! It's always worked!"

...

 _1950._

 _Carlin groaned. "Oh my god, I'd have thought that Topper's fair was a bit better in it's heyday. And yet somehow it manages to be worse than I could have ever imagined."_

 _"Why'd you say that?" Benn smirked. "I think it's rather...er...no, no, you're right, it's terrible."_

 _The three kids, who actually seemed to be almost adults now, had headed off on their own. Carlin and Benn shrugged, and headed for a table so as to wait for a bit. Carlin ordered a cola, and was somewhat depressed to find the taste somewhat lacking._

 _"William."_

 _"Sorry?"_

 _"You...asked about my first name a while back. It's William. Well, it was my first name. I've had so many now."_

 _"Huh. Didn't have you down as a William."_

 _"Didn't have you down for not being George Carlin."_

 _"Fair point." There was a pause. "When I first...woke up, the other Conductors said that our race tended to take on the appearances of the famous. My cousins include Ringo Starr, Alec Baldwin, Micheal Brandon, Pierce Brosnan, John Gielgud, Richard Briers...our family has always been storytellers, so we take the most familiar voices and faces we can so that people will listen to them more." Carlin waved his hand. "It's all futuristic tech, I don't know how it works."_

 _"Oh, I see. So, is that where the Conductors come from? The future?"_

 _"Sort of- OW!" Carlin stared at the ball that had struck his face. "OI! WHO F**KING THREW THAT?!"_

 _"Sorry, Mr Carlin!" Tasha waved. Carlin grumpily got up and headed over to her. She sat there, watching as Burnett and Pete stood and tried to get the ball into one of the buckets. They were failing. Badly._

 _"So, this is going to last for the next...five years? Maybe?"_

 _Tasha smirked. "Boys? Mind if I have a try?" She stepped up, paid the price, aimed and threw the ball. With a single bounce, it landed squarely in the bucket. She wiped her hair out of the way and grinned. "So, what's your excuse?"_

 _Later on, they headed off towards the dodgem cars. Carlin stood on the outskirts, and watched as Burnett and Tasha climbed into the first car they saw. The two of them were grinning at each other, fondly._

 _Pete joined Carlin for a moment, staring at the two of them. Carlin was no expert lover, but he knew jealousy when he saw it. Pete gripped the railing tightly, staring at Burnett with something that was not quite hatred, but seemed as though it could turn into it very soon. It was unnerving to see. "So, Pete, how's life going?"_

 _"Oh, you know." His hands tightened a little bit more. "Just great. I have wonderful friends." The sentence seemed to be smothered in bitter, cold venom._

 _"Look, there's plenty of fish in the sea, so there's no need to go all Ahab on this particular one." Nice metaphor, idiot, Carlin thought glumly._

 _"I'm going to get some cotton candy." And so saying, Boom stormed off, his fists stilled clenched like vices around...something imaginary. Frowning, Carlin turned back, just in time to see Burnett kiss Tasha full on the lips._

 _Ah. Things are about to get difficult, he thought._

...

After a long and ambling trip down Mrs Kyndley's favorite coastal route, James arrived at Tidmouth Bay, where most of the other engines were fast asleep, having waited for ages for the Red Blunder to arrive.

"Oooh, you've brought me to the fairground, how lovely."

"Oh come on, Mrs Kyndley, sound a little more enthused! You're giving the opening speech!" Topper gave the comically oversized scissors to her.

"I declare this fairground open, okay, let's go!"

On this somewhat underwhelming speech, the lights came on everywhere. On the stalls, on the carousels, on the restaurant, and while the rest of Sodor wondered where the hell the power had gone, Mrs Kyndley had the first ride on the Carousel.

She also had the first ride on many other things, wink wink, nudge nudge, say no more.

"You were quite right Thomas!" whispered James. Well, whether or not it was a whisper is up for debate. James whispering is after all louder than some people screaming at the top of their lungs. "Making someone happy does cheer you up!"

And then they watched the fair for the next three minutes, before Percy gathered all the engines together and said "I shall cut down my prices to one pound per fortune telling! So, come on then! Who wants to have a go?"

No one did. Until at last, Edward sighed. "Ah well, in for a penny, and so on. Come on Perce, tell me my future!"

Percy grinned. "Thanks mate! All right, complete silence, if you would please! And yes, that includes whispering, James, so you close your mouth right now!" He sat there for a moment, closed his eyes and began chanting omniously in what he claimed was Latin, but was in fact a very thick Northern dialect.

Empires fell, stars died and everyone grew a little bit more dead inside as Percy took his sweet arse time. But at last, he spoke, eyes rolled back in his head. "I SEE...you being a bit of a prat! And...yes, I see a time where you will beat the holy hell out of Gordon!" Edward looked pleased at that. "Also, you shall take control of the Island for two weeks, in which time you shall attempt to conquer the world! Oh, and something about being called Eddie." Edward's eye began to twitch. "Right, next customer!"

There was a pause, and then Toby sidled into place. "Come on then! Can we just skip that bit?"

"No!" And off he went again. A few minutes, that felt like hours, later, Percy declared "You shall discover a great connection to the Gods themselves! You'll also be basically left out of all of our feature length adventures because no one really knows how to handle you!"

"WHAT?!"

"Next! Ah, hiya Mavis. Uh, let's see...yeah, nothing really happens, you basically go on as before!"

"...Yes, I expected as much."

"Gordon! I see...you losing everything! Everything you try at, you lose!" Gordon spluttered in rage. "Race against the Flying Scotsman? You lose! Nearly break a record? You lose! A fight against a diesel with a pirate accent? Guess what happens! Also, you get streamlined and become something called a Internet Meme! So, live with that on your consciousness!"

"YOU LITTLE SH-"

"DO NOT INTERRUPT ME WHILE I'M IN THE SACRED TRANCE!"

One beatdown later, Percy turned to James. He spat out a couple of teeth that had been knocked loose and spoke in a slight slur. "All right, you basically get painted pink for a laugh, and then you turn into a bumblebee!"

"WHAT!?"

"Henry-"

"GO BACK TO ME!"

"Hush James! You are ruining the moment!" Percy concentrated. "Oh, there's an interesting thing about you, Henry! Says here you shall be sick quite a bit in the next decade or so, and that you should really invest in Welsh Coal again!"

And so it went like this for quite a while afterwards. The engines taking the piss out of each other, Percy making wild and outlandish predictions that would never, ever come true ("There shall be a second random Island out in the middle of the ocean, and it shall be populated entirely by terrible stereotypical hillbillies!") and the fun of the fair infecting them all.

And then, one by one, they all left. Percy was the last one to go. The fair was empty, and many of the carnival barkers had also gone home. Alec had gone looking for the fireman, who had been taken out to sea by one of the Norris's.

He sighed, happily, and closed his eyes...

 **"I'm watching you, little tank engine."**

Percy's eyes snapped open and he gasped in terror. He looked around, but there was no sign of Marklin to be seen. Alec was coming up, berating a rather wet fireman furiously.

And as Percy set off, he tried to ignore the sensation that this would be the last relaxing summer's day that they'd have for quite a while.

But he couldn't quite.


	127. Episode 23: Busy Going Backwards

So, this one basically flowed out of me! Especially the chase scene! Hopefully you'll all enjoy this one. That's all I have to say, aside from this one being a bit more exposition heavy and it's also the end of the Truro arc...for now.

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** Ranty James is the best kind of James! Oh yeah, Carlin's having a blast. We're taking a break from him for this chapter, but he'll be there in the final three to round off his storyline.

 **UGX7:** Yep. Calm before the storm. This one picks up a bit, but it really goes to shit in the last three episodes. Richard Briers did not narrate Thomas the Tank Engine (Though I wish he did, his work on Roobarb is actually a big inspiration for the writing style). Regarding Sir Handel...I'm not sure. Best I can think of is that maybe they didn't have time to write Narrow Gauge episodes in this season, and they forgot about him. Or, alternatively, they felt he was too similar to Duncan. But yeah, it is weird. Not to worry though! I have an explanation for that too!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** You're right, that's what's been missing from this season! Not nearly enough swearing!

 **TrainManiac:** I'm glad someone got that joke! Hands down the filthiest joke I've made thus far, and I have no regrets! Yeah, I'm aware of that. I just wanted to get that explanation over with, I really want to start Season 6 with something of a clean slate, in many respects.

 **Game Watch:** A fair point. Pretty sure there's a time loop on Sodor. And honestly, you might not be that far off when it comes to the Misty Island Locos. I have...plans for them. *spends next five minutes maniacally laughing to self*

 **AaronCottrel97:** Half of it is cobblers. And half of it sounds like cobblers, but is actually the truth. It's a fine line.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Eh, figured I'd throw him a bone. It's not going to be easy, though. Yyyyyep, I am not being subtle at all with how Boomer's reacting. I'm just going off the original script for Magic Railroad for that.

 **Bronze-Shield:** I agree! The scene at the end is a wonderfully shot one. It's times like that that really make the model era lovely to witness.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Toad the brakevan was sad.

Oh no, I hear all of you sigh. Not Toad, our faithful character who has spoken in a grand total of two episodes prior to this, at least to the public's eyes. You're all cynical bastards, is what I say to you, in return.

Everywhere this brake-van looked, he saw engines and coaches moving forward. Well, the coaches were being pulled along, so they really had no choice in the matter, but still, it was a damn sight better than most of the other rolling stock. He heard Thomas and Percy call out to each other, both looking forward to their rap-off with James and Edward that night. Yes, rap off. No, you read that right the first time. And the second. Henry was just as baffled as you are about it.

They all looked...relatively, confident and cheerful.

Toad was depressed. It felt like, as nice as it was to spend some quality time catching up on Last of the Summer Wine, he was often forgotten about. He often wondered why he, and his counterpart, the Spiteful Brake Van, were the only ones of their kind on Sodor.

So, later on, he spoke of his concerns to Oliver, who was in a decent enough mood. He'd been exercised by his driver in the same way an owner would a dog, so he was feeling refreshed. "I'm always going backwards, Mr Oliver! And I, with my forward thinking views!"

"Yes, some claptrap about how we have a goddess who battles an ancient demon every so often to protect us! Those are antiquated views, you silly old sod! Besides, I can always arrange for you to be...I don't know, turned round for a day. That shouldn't be too hard, even for this railway."

"I could be a leader, if you know what I mean!"

"PAH!" said Gordon, once again enjoying his catchphrase. "You can't be a leader without a train to follow you, and you don't have a train! Silly prat! Do you not know how trains work!?"

"Wow, have you really sunk so low, Gordon, to dash the hopes of old and clapped out brake-vans?"

"OI! I am still here, Mr Oliver!"

"Sorry, I kid, really. You're a really useful brake-van, Toad, and I'd not know what to do without you! And that's honest, I'm not just saying this as a lie! You help me keep the trucks in order wonderfully...aside from those brief issues that anger management haven't stopped from happening."

"I know, Mr Oliver. It would just be nice, I suppose, to be seeing things forward for a change, instead of either staring at a truck's backside or watching as they slide away from me. Just another dream of mine I'll have to squander, I suppose!"

The trucks were getting rather tired of dealing with Toad, who was usually the sanest of all of the rolling stock and ruined their fun and revolutions against the 'enginarchiary' as they referred to the engines. They had no idea that this was not a real word. They are not the brightest tools in the shed, it is fair to say.

"Who is he to complain?!"

"He's lucky to be able to look after us! He's not getting a divorce that easily!"

"Er, Rickety, you're going off topic a little bit there, aren't you?"

They decided to teach him a lesson. As you can imagine, the trucks are not great teachers.

...

"Duck, how wonderful, do come in!" City of Truro's 'smile' faltered a little, but recovered, as soon as he saw Diesel "And you've brought a friend!"

Diesel growled, and was about to say something rather rude, before Duck cut across. "Hello there, sir, sorry to call on you unexpected like, but there was something rather important I had to discuss with you. And with the communications difficulties, I felt it was best that I arrived here in person."

"Ah." Truro looked this way and that. Or least, Duck thought he did, with his lack of face, it was rather hard to tell. "Is it regarding the Juggernaut?"

"Yes. And about what it is that I'm doing on the Island of Sodor."

"And you've brought this...diesel here because...?"

"Back up. Just on chance."

And so Duck told him everything that they had discovered over the period of time since Duck had left the Island of Sodor. All the while, he looked to the left and to the right, ready on the off chance that Truro had backup to fight his way out.

At last, they finished. There was silence for a time. Then Truro let out a long sigh.

"I see."

Another silence.

"...I see. So, what are you going to do?"

"Report you, if you will not do so yourself, to Scotsman and the rest. St Eustace was not a nice engine by any means, but he was a good one, and he tried his damndest to do the right thing. So, here's what I think happened. The convoy sends the message to you and Scotsman, the only two others who know about where St Eustace is heading to. Now you are, I am assuming, somewhere close to the Vicarstown Bridge. It was a dark and stormy night, the night that the ship crashed into Brendam and nearly crushed me under a roof. So, you can't go alone, not against all those engines. So you use the Juggernaut, a personal assassin who has ties to the Other Railway. Another spy, perhaps? So, he goes in. Takes out all the ones who would cause you trouble, and then fights St Eustace.

Now, St Eustace is tough. Very tough, as a matter of fact. After all, he got his name from a time when he was set on fire during a Nazi air raid and kept going through it all. He is older now, but he has not lost his strength and grit and endurance. Not one bit. So he fights the Juggernaut. Now, from what the Juggernaut told me, it sounded like he arrived just after the battle. I don't know if I believe that, but what I do believe was that Eustace was far tougher than the Juggernaut originally thought. And then you arrive, and you use the old technique from the war to take him out. Cripple him. And then the Juggernaut finishes it off. Then you head back over, with everyone either dead or severely injured, no one there's going to remember seeing you. You don't stand out. And if they do, well, you can merely claim you were there at the scene of the accident. Am I right?"

"Mostly. All the important bits. You'd make a very good detective, Duck."

"I just can't figure out why you did it."

"Because he was getting in my way. Straight after the mayoral race, he was sent off on another mission. When he returned, he refused to give us any information regarding that until you were removed from the Island, or at the very least, cut loose from our group. He had this belief that it was no longer fair to keep you on the Island, and what was more, that our goals were no longer the same. I can assure you, it was he who no longer got it."

Truro smiled. "The things you got wrong are...well, let's just say that the Juggernaut is not a spy for the Other Railway. No, no, why would I need to do that? Everyone needs a bogeyman, Duck. Everyone. The Juggernaut is not allied with the Other Railway, quite simply, because it would do little to enhance or diminish their reputation. And now? I am safer than I ever have been in my life. Round the clock security. My ideas are listened to more. Ironically, the best thing that St Eustace did was die. He'll go down in history a hero."

"Diesel. Get him."

"Yeah, you bet!" Diesel moved forward...and stopped.

"W-what? Diesel, what's going on?"

"Look!" he hissed. Duck looked in the direction that Diesel was facing, right in the corner of the yard...and his heart stopped beating.

There was the Juggernaut.

There had to be another way out, thought Duck, so he turned back to look towards the opposite side of the yard.

And at the second Juggernaut.

...

Oliver headed through Wellsworth with a train of trucks, Toad coupled at the back. James whistled to him, full of confidence that he would not see anything strange on this particular day. Foolish, foolish James.

As they reached the hill, Oliver waited for the guard to apply the brakes gently. This was done, and slowly, they climbed to the top as best they could. And then it happened.

"Ready! Steady!"

"Cook!"

"SHUT UP, RICKETY! GO!"

The trucks had been so quiet up until this point that Oliver should had noticed and taken proper precautions. But being a twit and a bit of a stuck up idiot, he didn't, and so it came as a surprise when they jerked back as one. The coupling of the first truck shattered, and they were cut free.

"Oh shit!" Oliver shouted as he shot up the hill, free of the heavy load.

"OH SHIT!" Toad shouted as all the weight was put upon him, as they began to roll backwards down the hill.

"Oh shit." remarked one of the trucks in the middle, as he realized he wasn't getting a paycheck tonight. He shrugged, and began humming the William Tell Overture at the top of his lungs, a tune which the trucks picked up on immediately.

"We're granting you your wish, Toad! Follow the leader!"

"You look nothing like my fairy godmother! You're a lot smellier to start with!" Toad's sarcasm was to hide the massive amount of fear that he was feeling. He was hurtling along the track at a tremendous pace, and he wondered if it was even possible for brake-vans to go this fast. "Also you are taking my words WAY OUT OF CONTEXT!"

"We're trucks! Context is for idiots!"

"Which rather sums up my point- OH BLOOMING HELL!" He swung sharply around the bend and tilted up onto two wheels for a horrifying few seconds. "OHHHHH MARY AND JOSEPH IN THE SKY! Guard, what do we do?!"

There was a conspicuous silence.

"Mr Guard?!"

Mr Guard pulled himself from the bush into which he had jumped into, and watched the train vanish into the distance. "Oh shit." he remarked to no one in particular. "There goes my spotless record. I wonder if I should have been responsible and stay on the train and prevent any further casualties...NAH!" And off he popped to the local pub.

Toad was beginning to regret several things in life. For example, getting up this morning. For another, not asking for a transfer to work with Douglas. And for a third, existing at all seemed like a bad mistake.

Oliver had one central regret. "Next time, I'm not doing anything in this stupid TV series!" He could hear the trucks braying even as he hurried down the other side of the hill.

"FASTER! FASTER! AS FAST AS YOU LIKE!"

"I DON'T LIKE! STOP!" And then, despite himself, Toad found himself really enjoying it. The speed was unlike anything else he had experienced, and while that had disturbed him at first, it was a unique experience. He rushed through the countryside faster than nearly any engine ever had. But his fun soon stopped.

Ahead, there was a crossing, which appeared to be obstinately remaining closed for some reason. He saw Bertie freeze, and then, in an act of defiance, hurry across to the other side.

"YOINKS!" For a moment, he wondered if he was in a Scooby Doo cartoon. "Stop!"

"Why are you asking me for?!" screamed Bertie as he drove onto the grass and spun out. Toad thundered through the gates, shattering them to smithereens and leaving part of it stuck to his face.

The second that it fell off, Toad realized he was in even deeper than he had thought. He was on the wrong track.

Impressively, things got worse. Gordon was facing him, taking on water. This alone would have made it the wrong track, but being on the same track as Gordon was even worse.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" screamed Toad.

"IS THIS WHAT DEATH LOOKS LIKE?!" said Gordon, who wasn't overreacting in the slightest, oh no. The signalman, the only competent one of his kind, jumped for the lever and diverted the points just in the nick of time. Toad swerved and continued down the track, somehow gathering more and more speed.

Gordon decided to go home and think about his life choices.

"ON! ON! FASTER, FASTER!" called the trucks. They shot through Wellsworth like a cork out of a bottle, baffling Bill and Ben, who wondered if they had been on the sauce.

Then things, impressively, got worse. Ahead, they saw James, making his return journey with a long slow goods train. "OHHHHHHH GOD ALIVE! YOINKS! SAVE ME! ANYONE!" wailed the griefstricken brake van. A quick thinking shunter (This is why the Fat Controller pays them, dear viewers) switched the points AGAIN, diverting Toad onto yet another siding.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" exclaimed James, having decided that he had officially filled his quota for 'things that are strange' for this season at the very least. He decided to go home and have a long think about his life.

Toad, meanwhile, was praying to every God and diety he knew (And quite a few that he didn't) that at the very least, when he did stop, it was in a nice field where there were few cows. He would have been gratified to know that the signalman at Wellsworth had already phoned the Crosby station master to warn of the runaway.

"We'll put him onto the sidings! Because that's always worked!"

"Don't get sarcastic with me, Mr Norris!"

"OH GOD HE'S COMING!"

"Help!" sobbed Toad, beginning to wonder if perhaps being a henhouse was really so bad after all. Then he screamed once more, as he veered so sharply to the left that he went up on one side again. As he progressed through the laberyinthine sidings, he spotted in the distance a pair of buffers. "Oh thank the lord! Those will stop me!" He braced himself for a hard stop-

-which didn't come, as he swerved once more, slamming all four wheels back on solid rails. "OH NO! I'M BACK ON THE MAIN LINE! I HAVE SO MANY REGRETS!"

The stationmaster glared at the sheepish workers. "Someone's head will ROLL for this!"

Elsewhere, Oliver had finally managed to turn himself around (Having had to go all the way to the bloody docks and back for some reason) and was now racing after the runaway, determined to get his buffers on the idiotic trucks. He shambled through the remains of the level crossing, and the remains of Bertie's calm facade. Ignoring the now hyperventilating bus, he stormed on. "Hold on Toad, I'm coming!"

"COME FASTER!" screamed the driver, while the fireman shoveled and pumped for dear life. Oliver rounded the bend faster than he had ever rounded anything, even when escaping from scrap.

"Hiya Edward! Did you-"

"That way!"

"Thank you! Sorry about the mess!" And as Oliver raced past Edward with the breakdown train, he wondered vaguely if this was due to become a trend, engines rushing around all over the place out of control. "I must catch Toad! I must!"

"DON'T TELL US THAT!" screamed the fireman, by now nursing bleeding hands.

Henry sighed as he took in the gentle sounds of nature. The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, the screams of an out of control brake-van, the pattering of little animals across the ground, the gentle blowing of wind-

He frowned. One of those was not quite right.

"HI HENRY SORRY HENRY BYE HENRY!"

Henry was so surprised that he ended up inhaling some of his herbal tea through his nose and out of his whistle. One coughing fit later, he watched as Oliver rushed through, not even offering an apology.

"No wonder we're all bloody alcoholics!" muttered the big green engine.

Impressively, things proceeded to get damnably worse. Ahead was a bridge being repaired, but the men had been prepared for this by quick thinking signalmen. They had blocked off the points to the dangerous area, and left only one place for the runaway to head towards.

In retrospect, perhaps leaving something to stop said runaway would have been more helpful.

By this point, the hapless brake-van would have taken sweet death or maybe even an hour listening to James talking about the very specific shade of red he was rocking this season, just so long as he could come to a stop. He saw the scaffolding and shut his eyes tight as he veered into the siding...and into the muddy pool. The trucks slammed into each other, concussing them instantly.

Toad didn't dare open his mouth. He was a very hygenic brake van, and so was trying hard not to freak out as the muddy water and seaweed gathered around his mouth and tried to get through his nose. "Stopped at last!" he gurgled to no one in particular. Someone was, however, kind enough to blow a slide whistle as he began to sink deeper and deeper into the quagmire.

Oliver arrived, nearly crushing several workmen as he came to a stop. When he saw Toad, he started to laugh like a jackass. "Well, they say the pond's the only place for a Toad!" As he continued to laugh as his stupid joke, he became aware that Toad wasn't even making bubbles anymore. "Er...Toad?" No response. "Ohhhhh shit! HE'S DROWNING!"

...

"Who...are they? What are they?!"

"Oh, these two? These are 98462 and 87546. You remember my letter?" The two moved up to join City of Truro. Duck recognized the one who had beaten him up on the night of the flood, and the one who had set him off on Truro in the first place.

"Ah. That's it." Diesel sighed. "Two of them. Both with vastly different personalities, both wearing the same armor."

"I was shocked when first they came to me. You see, Nine...or, to give him a proper name, Alfred, had been working with Davidson. During the war, he was what we would call a ARP, like Hodges from Dad's Army, and so with Davidson, he buried the explosives under the tracks and in the tunnels. Oh, that's why there's so much gunpowder whenever your engines have a crash! Leftover remnants that I 'conveniently' overlooked. But back to my story. They arrived in 1944, a few hours after myself, Scotsman and Eustace had scared off the old Beetle, with one battered set of armor in tow. I was the only one there. Scotsman was grieving for the loss of his brother, and Eustace was...busy catching alight."

"So, what? You saw potential in them?"

"If you like. You see, Alfred here is a born opportunist. He was a dirty coward when he was alive, and he put on this facade of being harder than he actually was. But oh my, what a skill for getting under the skin of people! And how brutal he could be when backed into a corner. I always think that cowards are the ones we need to watch out for. The ones who, when backed into a corner, become feral animals. And Eight...who we'll call Cecil for the time being, he was a snivelling coward, but one who believed that might made right. And so, I had a group of select scientists replicate the armor, fix the original back up and...used those two as subjects. Of course, the experience completely deadens their emotions. It has to. The procedures are so very painful."

Cecil moved forward a bit. Diesel backed away nervously. Duck looked at Diesel, and mouthed the word 'Run' to him.

"Now, tell me, Duck, something that I am rather curious about. How did you know it was me? What set you onto me?"

"...Sorry, sir, I don't feel like sharing- NOW!"

Diesel backed off like a shot. Truro sighed and shook his head. "OH, you're going to try and outrun the Juggernaut, are you? How droll. Just like a diesel." He turned, and looked at Alfred. "Try and bring him back in one piece. And if you can't dispose of him quickly."

...

Once they had finished resuciating Toad, given the signalmen many thanks and promising a pay rise and beat the guard to almost death for his cowardice and incompetence, the two Great Westerners headed back to their shed in the yards. Toad spoke to Oliver. "Er, sorry if I caused you any embarrassment, as it were, Mr Oliver."

"It's fine. I'm sorry I made a joke while you were drowning to death. What'd you think about going forwards?"

"Terrifying, nuts and fun. But I'll stick to what I know best, if you'll pardon me. Busy going backwards if you know what I mean."

"Thar'd make a killer title for an episode."

"That it would, Mr Oliver. That it would."

"...I wonder where Duck is."

...

"You see, Duck, this isn't the first time this has happened. Not even remotely. This is actually the twelfth. That's right. Every year since you've been on that Island, you've found a way off, and confront me about it. You find a loose thread at the larger tapestry. Back when you were working against Davidson, you returned with Eustace to rage against Pug and Jinty. 1991, you arrived home for a Christmas break. Right in the middle of a delicate operation put in place to make sure Stepney was never found again. And in 1986, you returned for a briefing, where...actually, that one I did just because I was bored. You see this little doodad? It's the same one you used to wipe the memories of the time travellers when the Queen came to visit Sodor. And say Cheese!"

There was a blinding white flash, and Duck slumped forward.

"By the time you wake up, Duck, this will all have been like a dream."

.

.

.

Duck the Great Western Engine was currently lying on his side, breathing heavily. He felt as though he had been through the wars, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what had happened.

He struggled for a moment, and with a tremendous effort, self-righted himself upon the tracks. His head was fuzzy, almost ridiculously so. He frowned. He recalled...something about a flood? And then a few notes about something or other from Truro...? What was he doing here?

"Ah, you're up! Sorry old chum, but you rather hit the alcohol stocks rather hard a few weeks ago. Yes, we had to talk to the Fat Controller, but don't worry, you're not in trouble. It was just that you got into an accident, and we kept you around to monitor you."

"Sorry, sir! Oh my, I'm going to have to lay off that stuff from now on."

They laughed together. The laugh of two old friends sharing a joke.

Well. Sharing is a bit of a strong word.

...

"LET ME GO!"

Diesel was slotted firmly into place inside the machine. Alfred watched apathetically, as the Fat Director strolled on up to him. "He knows nothing/"

"No. Truro is still of the opinion that I am a humble servant of the realm. He has no idea that I've been working for you since the very beginning. The other one is keeping up the pretense well. Sometimes I think he even believes that he's working for Truro."

"I noticed you talking to that Great Westerner not long ago. Why was that?"

"To be honest, I thought that if I could manipulate him enough, I could get him to turn against Trurp and cause chaos within their little group. With Hargreaves gone, that would leave two organizations in shambles."

"Smart. But you say that they've erased his memory again? Oh well. It was a good try, anyroad. Now, the doctors say that Diesel over here can be...reverted back to factory settings, you might say. Similar to what Truro did, but with a bit more magic than science. That way, we gain someone who can infiltrate their ranks should we need him to."

The Fat Director walked away as Diesel began to scream.

* * *

Whew! All right then, let's talk!

Alfred and Cecil are the two blue engines. I have taken their names from the very well done Sodor: The Dark Times series on Youtube. Considering how many people use those characters, I figured that giving them something to call them by so I don't have to keep looking up their numbers on the Wikia would be easier. I originally planned for only Alfred to be the Juggernaut, and then introduce Cecil later. However, I realized I had an opportunity when I worked out that I'd written the Juggernaut differently on separate occasions. Alfred is the aggressive one, who tried to turn Duck to his side and play everyone for fools, while Cecil is the one who nearly killed Duck but backed away because deep down he's still a coward.

The reason why this is in this episode? Because I felt that Going Backwards is what has happened by the end of it. Duck has lost his memories of all he's learnt and is once again being manipulated, and Diesel is soon to be reset back to the oily bully. It's also the last part of the story that will deal with Truro for quite some time. I want to save some stuff for Season 6 and onwards, after all. Plus, it gives me a chance to write Diesel out for the moment. He won't be appearing in Magic Railroad, aside from maybe a flashback sequence, but that's debatable, so I figured I might as well reference him here.

Next time, we return, at last, to the Narrow Gauge railway. Prepare for it to get spooky!


	128. Episode 24: Duncan Gets Spooked

Ah, here we are! Funny thing is, I was originally intending for this to be a bit more serious, but I ended up having so much fun writing the silly parts that it kind of carried over. I just want it to be known that I still think this is a really spooky episode, and I love it. I just...it's fun to write Duncan overreacting.

We also have a bit of story, setting up for the final two parts which will mostly be completed next chapter, but that's not important.

What is important is the fact that this episode also contains one of the many reasons why Alec Baldwin's Season 5 narration is great. Duncan's Liverpudlian accent. This is the ONLY time in the entire season that Duncan shows up, and as part of his 'not caring' routine that Baldwin goes through when he gets to Season 6, it never comes back, but by god! My brain may be hardwired to hear Duncan as a Scot, but that voice really gives it a run for it's money. Like, I don't even know why he has it. Carlin does what I think is a Scottish accent (Scottish or Irish, I can't tell) in Season 4, which means that either the voice director suggested this to Alec Baldwin for no apparent reason, or that he came up with it on his own. Either one is amazing to me. I am sad that this is the only time I get to hear it, and I've included a little shout out to it in the story proper.

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** That was so much fun to write! I'm glad you liked it (And by the way, Sherlock Season 4's finale was...OH. So cool! And I'm glad that you enjoyed reading this). James is basically on the verge of a nervous breakdown at this point.

 **UGX7:** He'll get his day. Eventually. That's what I wanted to surprise everyone with! Hope I did!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** Not at all! It means I'm doing my job right! Truro's working his own angle. He's not 'technically' a bad guy in the vein of the Other Railway, he's more a well intentioned extremist. But we'll get into that more as we go along. And I'd like to thank you for reminding me about Sir Handel, that gave me a perfect segway into both the story and a little subplot I had planned.

 **TrainManiac:** It's definitely one of the best episodes of the season, I agree with you on that! The constant memory wipes are not from the series, but it's actually a way to cover my own ass. Basically, I realized that no one, not even a spy, can stay in cover for twelve years (In story) and not want to get out. Every year or so, Duck would apply to be transferred, or to have surveillance removed from the Island, and each time Truro erased his memory so as to keep the facade up! There is a very specific reason, however, why I had Diesel trapped on the Other Railway and why Truro's face hasn't been revealed yet. I can promise that the latter will be revealed in Magic Railroad. Can't wait to get that out of the way!

 **Game Watch:** That's deep. Deep, deep stuff.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Perhaps, perhaps. I don't want to reveal my hand just yet.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** He would, actually. I am just...so damned tempted to write an actual rap battle between the engines sometimes. I think it'd be great fun! BoCo's body is being used to create Diesel 10. The Juggernaut's are essentially playing Truro like a fiddle.

 **Bronze-Shield:** Ha! Pretty much!

 **trestonfortson2016:** Hope you continue to enjoy! Glad everyone liked the twist.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Sir Handel was dragged into the works by the diesel who worked there. The latter looked at the little engine and tutted audibly, before letting the workmen do their thing. Duke was there too, getting his usual selection of vitamins, shots and craziness-dampening cream. Sir Handel, not for the first time, wondered why he was stuck down here with the senile old engine while the others got to have all the fun at the new quarry.

"The hell happened to you?" asked Toby, who was taking Bertram back to the Skarloey railway so that he could get a bit of interaction for once.

"Erm, bad rails! That's it! Terrible stuff, really! The Fat Controller should-" There was a loud ping, and the Works Diesel raised an eyebrow as he looked at some results on the computer.

"What's that?" Toby glanced over. "So, that's alcohol intake?" A nod. "And the blue stuff is how much alcohol he's drunk?" A second nod. "So that would mean that Sir Handel is apparently 45% alcohol at this point in time!?" A very angry nod made Toby crack up. "God, you're somehow worse than Gordon!"

"I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not!"

Toby chuckled. "All right. Bertram, I'll be back tomorrow, got it? We'll go and watch the game if you fancy, get some beers!"

"You're buying."

"Heh. Bloody stingy bastard." Toby left in a good mood, as Sir Handel was hoisted up to be properly looked at.

Bertram and Duke's eyes met.

There was silence. Nothing stirred.

Bertram swallowed and tried to wet his lips. Duke's eyes narrowed, sensing that there was...something there to be recognized.

But neither engine made a move.

...

The other little engines, by the by, were cleaning up the railway of all the refuse that had been left there, such as leaves or branches. Rusty had finally snapped and told them all that if they wanted a nice clean railway, then a certain little diesel engine would need a lot more help than they were currently getting. On top of that, there was still work to be done at the Quarry with a Penis in the Mountain, as it was now being called unofficially.

And unfortunately, most of the camera men suffered from vertigo, so all those wonderful adventures aren't getting recorded for prosperity. Blame them for the lack of Narrow Gauge in your life!

Peter Sam and Rusty, as they were good friends, often worked together in cleaning away the mess. This was because Rusty had been designated Peter Sam's handler, for lack of a better term, while Sir Handel was consigned to working in the yard and getting drunk. It was hard work, for Peter Sam had somehow managed to become friends with each individual stick and given them names, but Rusty was confident that they could handle him.

On this day, the little diesel helped him to a water tower. "Okay, so I'll be back later, all right? Try not to die." And they whistled- I mean, honked their horn goodbye.

Peter Sam felt much better after his long drink (Only orange juice for him! No one wanted to take chances. If Skarloey could crash into a lake despite usually being quite sane, no one wanted to see what Peter Sam could do drunk) but the trucks once again began to do their thing.

"Let's break away!"

"Yeah, that's never backfired before, Steve!"

"Shut it, Perry!"

The couplings were, you guessed it, old. Really, this railway is going downhill because they don't constnatly refresh the couplings of the trucks. Then, as Perry once again blew a slide whistle, the one closest to Peter Sam snapped.

"HURRAH!" shouted the trucks.

"Oh that's not good!" said the driver.

"Why yes, Mr Panda, I will have another glass!" said Peter Sam, in his own little world.

The trucks rattled down the hill, going faster and faster. Unfortunately, only one truck could read the sign ahead. 'SLOW. STEEP BENDS AND RAVINE AHEAD'. And even more unfortunately, that was the truck up front who had no brakes and no way to stop his idiot friends from pushing him on and on and on. "OHHHHH WHY DO WE DO THESE THINGS!?" He wailed.

They got about three quarters of the way across the old bridge before they smashed into an awkward part of the track. The trucks stopped laughing and started screaming as they were swung over the other side into the nasty quagmire below.

"So, Steve-" said Perry "-you ever wonder why we keep seeming to die?"

"Oh, piss off, Perry." remarked Steve.

As Peter Sam arrived on the scene of the accident, the driver groaned. "This was our fault! We didn't secure them properly! We'll have to get help to pull them out, and the Fat Controller is going to be very annoyed!"

"Yes, but is it really our fault?" The fireman asked. "I mean, if you think about it, the shunter is the one who fastened the couplings, and he knows more about it than we do. And, for that matter, it's not as if all those sticks and such were going to be doing anything apart from helping IKEA out a bit more, were they? So in a way, he should be thanking us for all the good work we've done in removing these sticks from the path of engines and returning them to mother nature!"

He did not, in case you are wondering. Later that night, Peter Sam (Having shrunken down miraculously during that time) had to listen to a long lecture from Hatt, as both Rusty and Duncan wondered if perhaps Sir Handel wasn't lucky.

"You will shunt trucks in the yard until I can trust you again!"

"Sir, aren't you overreacting just a tad-?"

"PISS OFF, RUSTY!" And off Hatt stormed. Peter Sam was very sad. He had lost all of his friends in one day, to the merciless tyrant that was water. Duncan, of course, had no sympathy for anyone's feelings, as per usual.

"Fancy no' securing yon trucks on tha hill! Ye pleb! They'll back and haunt ye and that special bleedin funnel til yer dying day! OOOOOOOOOOH!"

"You're an idiot." Rusty said, bluntly.

"Eh? Well, at least my face doesn't keep swelling up!"

"That's...a side-effect!" Rusty was rather touchy on that particular subject, but it was true. They had been having some refits done to make sure that they were in optimal working condition. What that resulted it was their face occasionally expanding past that of it's original frame work, to a size that sometimes seemed to be similar to that of a standard gauge engine. Driver had promised that this would even out in a few years, but it was a constant source of embarrassment for the little diesel. "Anyway, who says that you're not afraid of ghosts?!"

"PAH!"

"How original."

"Ghosts!? Things that go bump in the night?! Rubbish! Ye'll be telling me to believe that a grassy knoll shot JFK next!"

"That's certainly an unique theory. But I shall tell you a story that shall make your funnel quiver! And other bits that are unmentionable!"

"Ye don't have to."

"Tough, I'm doing it.

A long time ago-"

"How long?!"

"Hush, Peter Sam. A long time ago, a little engine was returning home to...wherever the hell home was, I guess. Twas a misty and moonlit night, as they often are for some reason on this Island. As the engine crossed the old bridge, he lost control and fell off the side into the swamps below-"

"I swear this is what happened to Sir Handel a wee few days ago!"

"He was NEVER found again!" Rusty insisted. "And even to this day, workmen say that on a misty night when the moon is full, you can see his ghost, trying to reach home, but never succeeding! So, what do you think of THAT, Duncan?"

There was a pause. Then Peter Sam started screaming in terror, while Duncan loudly scoffed. "PAH! PAH I SAY, AND ONCE MORE, PAH! These are the same workmen who take a barrel of diesel oil up the mountains just ta get high! I dinnae trust what ye're saying, ye silly old diesel!" And off he puffed.

"Oh dearie. Never mind Peter Sam, he'd be frightened if he saw a ghost...please stop crying. Oh this is just great. How is that when Skarloey tells these kinds of stories he gets away with it!"

The driver saw an opportunity to bring 'Let's Make Duncan Suffer' Day even closer. "Let's play a trick on Duncan!"

The next morning, Rusty's driver spoke to the crew of the Yellow Peril, who agreed. "Sounds like a blast! And it'll save us from actually having to be responsible for him! We'll scare him straight tonight!"

...

 _1955._

 _"What are we doing?"_

 _"Have you never given away a f**king bride before?"_

 _"No. Have you?"_

 _"No. But I've seen it enough times, so it can't be that hard, now can it?" Carlin sighed. "It's the f**king suit that I don't get! I mean, you can work it! You practically wear a suit all the time, it's like it's molded to your body!"_

 _"How do you know it isn't?"_

 _"You better be joking. Because I don't want to think about how much it must f**king stink under there."_

 _Benn smirked, before they headed inside. They were here at Ulfstead Chapel, where the aisles were filling up rather fast for the wedding of Burnett and Tasha. They had jumped around quite a bit. Carlin wondered how long it had been since he had entered the shop that had transported him here. Bizarrely, to him it only felt like a few days had passed, but outside, back where he belonged._

 _"-I don't get why Tasha chose you."_

 _"Hey, what can I say? I'm just so popular with all the ladies." He glanced back. Pete was standing right next to Burnett, who was chatting away with him enthusiastically. He didn't notice the slight shadow that was cast upon Pete's face. Nor how tightly he was clenching his fist._

 _"You look fantastic." he heard Jock say to the bride._

 _"Thank you, Jock. You do too!"_

 _"You think so? The bow tie suits me, I think."_

 _"God, next you'll have an engine with comically over-sized glasses!" Mike muttered._

 _"I didn't realize your astigmatism was that bad, Mike."_

 _"Rex, I shall-"_

 _"Oh calm down, both of you!" Bert cut in. Tasha laughed, and with a jaunty wave, headed over to join Carlin and Benn. She offered her arm, and Carlin took it, suddenly feeling far more nervous._

 _"Ready?" he muttered._

 _"As I'll ever be. Thank you, by the way. Dad's not here, so I'll take the closest oldest person I can get."_

 _"I'm so flattered."_

 _The opening notes played, the crowd drew an expectant breath and the doors opened._

 _And they walked down the aisle._

...

Throughout the day, Duncan was put on slate duty. This meant taking the slate trucks to the quarry, and then bringing them back again to the QIP (Quarry in Progress). Now, normally such a job would make Duncan happy, as he was out of the way of any passengers or people to make him angry. But he had slept badly, and the idea of crossing the old bridge was not one he faced with glee. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself.

"Haunted bridge?! PAH! It's as tame as a pet rabbit!" Duncan had never owned a rabbit, so he didn't know what he was missing out on.

Even so, he couldn't help thinking o Rusty's story. And how perhaps he should attempt a Liverpudlian accent from time to time, just to see the reactions on the faces of the other engines.

Dusk soon fell, and he was keen to leave. "If we don't leave soon, Skarloey'll get mah best shed, and I'll have ta deal with Rheneas's snoring ALL NIGHT. Man, can he snore!"

"We can't go back until we've collected all the trucks. Hehehehehe." laughed his driver. Duncan didn't see anything wrong with this. After all, his driver always laughed madly after dealing with him for a few hours. But the driver saw that the plan was working. Duncan was growing more and more nervous. He wondered briefly if this was a nice thing to do. Then he dismissed those ideas. Clearly this would fix Duncan's problems once and for all!

Elsewhere, Bertram and Duke's intense staring matched intensified even more so.

When night fell, Duncan set off with a line of slate trucks. For some reason, they lacked a brake van. Some say that was because the guards had sodded off back to the safety of Crovan's Gate, where all they had to put up with was a high on pain-meds Sir Handel and Bertram scaring the crap out of Duke with his furious staring.

Luckily, the moon was full that night, and the mist was once again pouring in. This was incredible luck, and no one was quite sure if the plan worked as well if those things were removed.

Duncan whistled, and the sound echoed everywhere. There was nothing else, nobody else around, except for him, the trucks and his crew. It was at this point that the yellow engine wondered if perhaps his favorite spot in the shed wasn't worth this hassle.

He was halfway across when suddenly, he veered sharply to a stop. It was as if the very marrow in his 'bones' had frozen him to the spot. He stared in horror as strange lights flickered and danced together. His driver knew that these were just the expertly choreographed fireflies that made the shape of an engine, but to Duncan, they looked like that of one of his own kin.

Then, his driver dropped a rock that he had been keeping for just such an occasion into the swamp below.

...

Somewhere in Crovan's Gate, the three engines were sleeping peacefully. Bertram and Duke had temporarily forgotten trying to suss the other out, and were now just gratefully getting some kip.

And then a bellowing awoke them up.

"OH MY LORD IT'S THE GHOST IT'S THE GHOST AAAAAAARGH IT'S THE GHOST TAKE ME BACK PLEASE OH GOD I HAVE LIVED A LIFE OF SIN THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I BREAK HANDEL'S PAGER ISN'T IT I HAVE SO MANY REGRETS!"

The three of them stared at each other in bafflement.

"The hell was that?" Bertram remarked, at last.

"You're new here, give it a few months and this will seem like second nature to you." Sir Handel grunted.

...

Duncan backed off to the slate quarry and shut himself in the shed, refusing to come out.

"Spooked, are you, Duncan?"

"NO YE BASTARD I'M ASLEEP!" And he refused to open his eyes for the rest of the night.

He did once though, when he thought no one was looking.

Just to make sure that he was still there.

...

 _The wedding was lush. The bride was beautiful. The groom was handsome. The vows were heartfelt and Carlin wept like a baby, while an embarrassed Benn lightly patted him on the back._

 _The reception was even better. Carlin headed straight for the bar, whereupon he got into a contest with Willo and Benn about who could drink the most before passing out. In retrospect, challenging a ghost was not the best idea Carlin had ever had, but by that point he was too happy to care. As he slumped over the bar and Benn drunkenly headed to sing a rather odd rendition of 'My Funny Valentine', Burnett and Tasha took to the dance floor for their first dance as a married couple._

 _"Ever fallen in love, Bert?"_

 _"Except when I look in the mirror, Jock, no."_

 _"Pfft. Egotist."_

 _"Coming from you, Rex? Means a lot." Mike grinned as the green engine knocked into him, mock anger on his face._

 _Pete watched for a moment, livid. A camera flashed, catching the dancers mid-swing. This was his cue to leave. He started out the door as fast as could. He ran and he ran and he ran, as fast as he could, up the hill. And with every step and every curse towards his former friend, he imagined punching Burnett's face, ripping his teeth out, slitting his throat-_

 _Finally, he reached the ruins of the old castle. For a moment, he was content to just light a cigarette up. Then, he noticed the blood from where his fist had clenched tightly. And that set him off once again._

 _But, as he ranted and raved, he failed to notice the various ruins that lit up and glowed, dancing around in the darkness. He failed to hear the soft sound of whispering, gentle whispering, like that of the rustling leaves. And he failed to notice that the small drops of blood seemed to turn to steam the second that they landed on the ground. But there was no way he could miss what happened next._

 _ **"I understand where you are coming from."**_

 _Boom jumped a mile in the air. He looked around, his hands already glowing and crackling with his magic. "W-who's there!?"_

 _ **"Do not be alarmed, my friend. I mean you no harm."** The voice was soft, gentle...very persuasive. Every syllable seemed to be drenched in honey and sprinkled with sugar. Pete seemed to suddenly relax, though he wasn't sure why. **"There now, do not fear. I merely wish to talk to you...Mr Boomer. Oh yes, I know your name. Or what it will be. Would it surprise you the things I know?"**_

 _"Try me."_

 _The thing laughed. It was a somewhat unpleasant sensation, but Boomer was by this point far too interested to notice. **"I know that you are a pupil of the one they call 'Lady'. She has taught you the ways of magic, has she not? Ah, I see by the expression that she has. But I imagine that you...well, you're looking to go to the next level. And perhaps she doesn't want you to surpass her. Because you could. All humans can."**_

 _Boomer shook himself. "Show yourself."_

 _ **"Would that I could. Alas, I am trapped down here, beneath the rock of this pitiful and pathetic castle. No, for that, I wish for your help. You will notice the way that your blood just reacted with the ground. I just need a little bit more of it, and then I can teach you things Lady could never do."**_

 _"Oh yeah? Giving my blood up doesn't sound great."_

 _ **"No, I agree. That doesn't get a good rep, do people say that yet? But regardless, that is the only way for you to rise above the path that Lady has set out for you. Because I've seen where it ends. Dead end, hitting the buffers, nowhere to go to but back. But with me, I can give you all the power you need. You can rewrite the entire world if you wish."**_

 _"...The entire world?" Pete looked backwards to the sounds of the chapel. "Anything I want?"_

 _ **"Anything your heart desires. That's it, just place your hands on the runes. And I'll take all the blood i need."**_

 _Boomer smirked. "I can't wait."_

 _ **"And there...we...go!"**_

 _..._

 _The roar was louder than that of twelve jet engines going off at the same time. The sound barrier shattered, glass exploded out of every frame and everyone froze in terror. In the grotto, Lady's eyes snapped open in horror, and she quickly rushed forward._

 _And at the chapel, everyone ran outside, and stared as from the ruins of Ulfstead, stood a massive jet black dragon._

 _Carlin, Benn and Willo stared at each other, before they took off, followed by the bride, groom and the small engines._

 _The battle was about to commence._


	129. Episode 25: Rusty and the Boulder

We're almost done! AAAAAAAAAAH.

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** Really enjoyed Season 4 more so than the last season. I do hope they go back to just solving actual crimes for a bit, if it comes back. Ah well, you never know what the future has in store for Carlin.

 **UGX7:** I'm glad I did okay! I hope she recovers!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** Thank you! Yeah, it's a bit extreme. Funny enough, the trucks were actually going to be the main antagonist throughout this season in the scenes in the present day. But I had so much else going on that it had to fall by the wayside. I've included a few nods here and there with them orchestrating more of the disasters as a reference to that. I can confirm that they'll be having a part in Magic Railroad, mostly because the trucks are surprisingly a non-factor in that movie, and I want to fix that.

 **TrainManiac:** That's fine! I debated on whether or not to add that in there at the last second, the indication was that it was related to Lady somehow, but I didn't explicitly confirm it because I was worried that people would get annoyed at how I keep shoving story stuff into the parody. Hopefully this one is a bit better, I've tried my best. Some twists here that I don't think people will see coming.

 **Game Watch:** That's deep. Deep, deep stuff. Glad you agree! Sherlock Season 4 was a great step in the right direction, in my opion.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Yeah, I agree. The music in this one really does help it, I'm disappointed they didn't use it for more episodes.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** That he has. And also, you know, he's drunk so he's far better at telling them.

 **Bronze-Shield:** I agree! That's why I've kind of gone for a bit of a mix. There's definitely a bit of lampshading of some of the convenient parts, but I did want to convey the sense of how powerful Boulder is. And...well, the ending I've left practically untouched. It's a pretty haunting scene, if I'm honest, and I hope what I've written here enhances that.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

The Fat Controller looked wearily at the report. Things were not going well up at the new quarry. "It should have been finished by now!" he almost shouted to the other members of the Railway Board "It's not a question of money, is it? Because we have more of that than we've had since the time of my father! And it can't be that the site is unsafe, we sent in the workers back in 96, they said it was perfectly fine! So why is it!?"

No one spoke for a bit. Then one man ventured forth an opinion. "There are some who believe that...the quarry is..." He struggled with his words, before finally deciding to dive right in. "Most of the workmen are superstitious, and they believe that there is something that very much does not want to be disturbed located in the quarry."

Hatt groaned. "A ghost!? Really?! Another one!? Look, the Pinchers have taken over most of the work on the railway itself, but I'm paying the workmen extra to do their jobs and excavate the shit out of that place! I've got the entire Narrow Gauge railway working on it, I've drafted in as many of the construction vehicles as I can...god, I wish Miss Jenny was here. She'd actually have had this done ages ago!"

...

The cause of this lack of work came in the form of a mysterious boulder. What's so mysterious about a boulder, you may ask? Well, firstly, it was the only one of it's kind, and it stood atop a mountain silent and proud. Another reason it was so mysterious was the fact that many people had said that it was the guardian of this section of the Island.

Everyone laughed at that. They were all incredibly drunk whenever someone brought that up.

And yet, when the workmen arrived with several of the vehicles to build the quarry, things started happening. Tools were misplaced, people started getting ill and the bad feelings between many of those working there began to be amplified.

George and Butch had already gotten into a serious argy bargy over the uprising of road vehicles to take out those who hogged the rails. George, of course, was for it, while Butch was horrified at the thought of anyone getting hurt. George growled, and spat at Butch, and then they went at each other. The steamroller was sent off to the corner of the quarry, to be sent clamped once again once work had finished this week.

Rusty the little diesel arrived with another load of rock for the engines at the workcamp at the bottom. Thomas and Percy were busy sitting there, admiring the anatomically correct penis carved into the mountain.

"Where's all this rock coming from?"

"Well gee, Percy, I do wonder! Maybe the fairy of the rock came down in the middle of the night and threw it at Rusty!? What the hell kind of question is that!?"

"There's no cause to be rude, Thomas! Just because you didn't get enough sleep last night!"

"And whose fault is that?!"

"It's the new quarry!" Rusty said, sensing another argument coming and utilizing their techniques that had been practiced on Sir Handel and Duncan to calm the two engines down. "This mountain rock's good for many things, like...I don't know, the stuff rock is used for. But it's dangerous getting it."

"Why?" asked Thomas, who had been spared most of the ordeals because of his branch-line's troubles. Sales were down, which meant that he had to work extra hard there to make sure that the railway was justified to keep it open. There were rumors flying about, rumors with far more clout behind them this time, that certain areas were already being prepared to be shut down for the foreseeable future.

Rusty hesitated. "You have to promise not to laugh."

"We're Sudrians, Rusty, we always laugh. Whether it's funny or not. It's kind of our USP."

"Well, it's because of a big boulder, I think it's watching me."

There was a pause, and then the entire yard burst out laughing hysterically. Rusty went James-levels of red and was unable to speak from sheer embarassment for a good few minutes.

"I- HEHEHE- ahem, how can it be?!" Percy sniggered, setting off Thomas once again. "Boulders aren't people! They don't have eyes!"

The National Association for Boulder Equality proceeded to draft a strongly worded letter to the Fat Controller for Percy's slur against all of rock and boulder kind. Percy would later be forced to apologize by taking a rock out for a date. It was surprisingly not the worst date he'd ever had.

"That's as may be, Percy, but there's something strange about this one!"

"Yeah? How?"

"Well, for example, it has Gordon's face on it for no explainable reason. It looks a lot like Kenneth Williams, if you ask me!" Just then, Edward arrived, breaking up the 'Let's all laugh at Rusty' party by delivering a new piece of machinery for the quarry. "What's that?!" Rusty asked, surprised.

"It's called Thumper!"

"Does Bambi know you've taken him?"

"Hush, Thomas. Apparently it helps collect the rock faster!" replied Edward, blithely. It had been one of those days, and he really wanted to get out of here before anything went wrong, as it surely would do any second.

...

 _1955._

 _The Malevolence flew up into the sky, blotting out the sun, almost completely eclipsing it. Everyone else screamed or ran for cover, save for Boomer, who stared up at the mighty creature with something approaching awe in his expression._

 _"It's beautiful."_

 _Carlin looked at Benn. "Do we have any way of stopping that...thing?!"_

 _"I don't know! We can see if there's another time portal, that might get us back to the present, we can get our weapons and-"_

 _"There's no need to worry!" Jock sounded confident. Too confident for his own good. "You saw how we dealt with intruders before, and Miss Lady here has taken care of this beast when it was at it's full power! And with half of it completely gone, there's no way that it can pose that much of a threat! Right, Lady?"_

 _Lady was silent._

 _"Lady?"_

 _Rex answered for her. "You'd be right Jock, save for one thing. Last time, the Malevolence hadn't been quietly soaking up every bit of magic that Lady's been pouring into this Island. It's been fed on a diet of pure energy for what feels like a thousand years, it's going to be hard for us to find a way to stop it, let alone prevent it's death from completely wiping everyone on the Island off the face of the Earth!"_

 _"Oh sure, Rex, bring us all down, why don't you?"_

 _"Mike, shut it!" Bert glared. "That goes for you too, Rex, this is no time to be arguing! We need to engage with this creature, get it away from any populated areas and then...make sure that everyone forgets about this!"_

 _"What is going on!?" shouted Burnett. "Lady, what is that thing?!"_

 _"I...I don't suppose anyone knows where Pete is." Tasha responded, her voice shaking somewhat. She was still in her wedding dress, though much muck and grime had covered it, and the veil had long since been torn away._

 _Carlin froze. "God damn it. I saw him head up to the Castle, but I don't-" He paused, looked at Benn, and then sighed. "Okay, one thing at a time. Lady, you need to take care of this right f**king now."_

 _Lady shook herself. "I...yes. Burnett, Tasha, I will explain everything to you once we get out of here, but we need to get to the Magic Railroad. If the Malevolence finds it, he'll be able to spread over the world-"_

 _"Exposition later!" Benn snapped. "Carlin, we need to get to the portal!"_

 _"But-"_

 _There was a loud crack. Everyone froze. No one moved for a good ten seconds._

 _Then there was another crack. And another. And another. Tree after tree was cut aside, ripped asunder, thrown to the wind, anything and everything that was in the way of the Malevolence was ripped aside and removed from the equation._

 _And then a huge tendril of black energy jumped forward and stabbed Bert through the boiler._

...

Later that day, Thumper went at the mountainside like a man possessed. He might have been possessed, actually, seeing as he had yet to blink. Or speak. Or even breathe. No one was quite sure what to make of him. But the men were pleased, after all, that was more work they weren't doing getting done faster. But none of them thought to check the boulder.

They were idiots like that.

Reports soon came in, however, that there were the warning signs of a major avalanche. There was no sign of it to the outside eye, but better safe than sorry, thought Rusty as they headed back on up there. The rain had started to come down, much to their distaste, as it meant they would be the only one getting wet. The workmen had buggered off home, thanks to a rather dodgy union, and they had left Thumper and the other vehicles covered up.

Which is, when you think about it, a very optimistic way of looking at things. And possibly idiotic as well. There is that.

At last, they reached the base of the mountain. The driver got out and looked up, grimly wiping away the rain. Rusty looked up and shuddered. Above, staring down with a look of distaste and disgust, was the Boulder.

With no warning whatsoever, a large slab of rock thundered down, slamming into the rails with great force. So great, in fact, that part of the rails buckled completely. Rusty was shocked, so shocked that their face began to expand again. Once more, he very much hoped that their driver was right in that soon enough, they'd settle on a proper model.

The driver was worried. "There's no point in going up there to look now. The rain's loosened the rock completely, and there'll be no way to tell the damage until the weather is better. Hatt should leave well enough alone up here!"

"I think it's Boulder, wanting us to go away."

"You've been on Henry's drugs, haven't you!?" They left quickly. But as they rounded the corner, Rusty heard a curious sound, like a furious shriek of some sorts. The little diesel jumped out of their skin, and saw a flash of what appeared to be a face on the great rock, before it faded back.

"Shit." the little diesel muttered.

...

 _There was a split second pause, before everyone jumped into action._

 _Lady flung herself in front of Bert, who was already beginning to leak a lot of blood, summoning forth an force field that wrapped around him, stopping anything from getting inside. Mike and Rex howled in rage, and levitating above the air, lunged for the Malevolence. The dragon laughed, and with a swipe of his claws, he batted aside Rex like a cat with a ball of wool. But Mike was quicker, and faster. His magic reached around and slashed at the dragon's stomach._

 _Benn and Carlin watched on in horror. Then, a gentle tap to the back of their shoulders made them spin around and, as one, punched at whoever was behind them._

 _"No need for that, sir." said the Shopkeeper. He handed Carlin and Benn something, then winked and strode off into the trees, vanishing from sight almost instantly. Carlin stared down at the grenade, slightly bewildered. If you had told him that he'd be fighting a giant dragon with a grenade alongside Mr Benn a few years ago, he'd have slapped you across the face._

 _Benn, meanwhile, had started using his weapon already. The sound of the Gatling Gun's bullet cutting through the air with near precise accuracy was alarming, and Carlin had to fling himself to the ground to avoid being hit. The Malevolence flinched and snarled as the bullets smashed into it's form, but aside from that, nothing was stopping him._

 _"Take this, you bastard!" Jock rushed towards the dragon, at full speed, his eyes crackling with energy and white magic gathering all around him. But before he could even launch himself off the rails, he howled in agony as what appeared to be lightning struck him dead center in the eye. Which was all the distraction needed for the Malevolence to pick him up and crush him between his claws_

 _Carlin staggered upright to his feet. He was vaguely aware of Burnett shouting in horror, and Tasha's mouth hanging open in complete shock. He turned._

 _Boomer was striding towards them, lightning dancing around in his hands. His eyes appeared to be leaking the same dark energy currently from the Malevolence. And his smile...Oh lord his smile. It didn't appear human anymore._

 _Lady hadn't noticed. She was flying right in the line of sight of the Malevolence, her body beginning to glow a bright white. Carlin wondered, was this what had happened the last time they had battled? Both Rex and Mike dodged about, distracting the dragon, while she appeared to be charging up. Her eyes flashed white, her body shimmered and glowed and Carlin saw for a moment the ancient being behind the metal-_

 _But his legs were moving in another direction now, he seemed to be aware of what was about to happen before it actually did so. With a mighty roar, he rugby tackled Boomer to the ground._

 _But he was too late._

 _A single blast of lightning struck inside Lady's cab. She sparked and jerked around as if she had stuck her fingers in the socket. And the Malevolence took this opportunity to stab her, right below her face, with the great claws._

 _And he knew that he had won._

...

The next day, the sun shone down. And at Sodor Metrology, more weather experts decided to leave the Island in search of an easy place to predict the weather. The vehicles were back again, this time with Terrance, who was providing motivation. That is, motivation to finish as they would never have to stare at his grinning face ever again. It was surprisingly effective.

Rusty was up once again, and was growing thoroughly sick of this place.

And then it happened.

"Boulder's moving!"

"Don't be daft, Rusty! It can't be!"

But it was.

Slowly, at first, but gathering more and more speed as it reached the cliff's edge, the Boulder dropped down and hit the ground with a real earth-shaking thump. Rusty stared in horror for a moment, and then relaxed. At least now that Boulder had fallen, they could report it to Sir Topham Hatt and be done with it.

This was a mistake.

Boulder began to move towards Rusty. The little diesel's eyes went as wide as plates, and they reversed backwards hard. "It's rolling along our line!"

"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR EYESIGHT, IS THERE?!" shouted the driver, now terrified out of his wits. The Boulder moved like the Terminator, slowly, but with no sign of stopping any time soon. Rusty rushed by the workman's hut, and quickly slid into the siding on the right. If Boulder was to follow the rail, he'd head off towards the abandoned area of the mountains, where he could hurt no one save for the odd sheep.

"We'll wait until Boulder passes by, then we'll move and tell Hatt that there's no money on this Earth that can make us stay here!"

They waited, and waited, and waited.

There was no sign of Boulder.

"JIMINY CRICKET!"

The driver had looked back casually, and had suffered a major heart attack. Boulder had somehow managed to do a Slasher and **_TELEPORT_ ** behind them. For a moment he was lost for words, and the idea of moving didn't seem to occur to him until the rock was nearly atop him.

Rusty screamed. They felt no shame in that. The Boulder was making that horrible shrieking noise again, the kind of noise that echoed in one's mind over and over and over again, no matter how hard one tried to focus on something else. Ahead was a small junction. One line led uphill, the other continued downwards towards the bridge and the cliffs.

The little diesel rushed up the hill as Boulder thundered past. It whacked Rusty on the back, causing them to scream, but carried on.

Rusty proceeded to have a minor panic attack. A workman rushed back up the line to warn someone at the hut to sound the alarm, while the driver coaxed the little diesel on, despite the fact that they really, really didn't want to go on with this.

Meanwhile, Skarloey was coming up the narrow passageway (Stop laughing! This is a serious story!) with a selection of trucks. He was singing a little song to himself in Welsh, which when translated went something like this.

"I'm Skarloey *hic*, and I'm drunk as all hell  
You could tell me to go sober, but it'd be a hard sell  
Cause though Handel and Duncan really like to mock  
Try and make me, and you can all suck my- Is that a rock?"

Obviously that wasn't part of the original lyrics. He stared at the Boulder, which was moving faster and faster now, so fast that it appeared to be sparking. Things that might have been words at one point spilled from his mouth in a panic, as his driver slammed into reverse as fast as he could.

It was only be sheer luck that there happened to be a convenient siding for him to veer into. Boulder thundered past, smashing into a watertower and sending it sailing into the sky. It hit Skarloey on the head. He considered himself to have gotten off lucky. "We...we have to warn the yard!"

"How?!" shouted Rusty, as they briefly stopped. "The phones are down! OH HELL!" And off the diesel went again, as Boulder began bouncing off the walls of the canyon. One bounce nearly decapitated Duncan, another just barely scraped Peter Sam's roof and Sir Handel was convinced that he was a gonner before Bertram hurried forward and shoved him out of the way.

And still the Boulder didn't slow down one bit. It ran and ran and ran, getting even faster, if that was possible. Ahead, Rheneas stared in horror as it rushed towards him.

For once, every personality in Rheneas screamed at him to back away fast and get the hell out of dodge. "It's running loose!" He screamed, fear overriding the urge to be either dark and edgy or wholesome and bland. Anything to get away from that...thing!

He rushed across the viaduct, and...well, once again, he was incredibly lucky in that someone had clearly gone a bit siding mad. He rolled off the rails and his cab smacked into the cliff. Boulder was now so fast it was practically a blur as it roared on past him.

"Rather a smash than a squash!" said the driver. The fireman said nothing. He was out with a massive concussion.

...

 _Lady stared, blankly, at the large claw. She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps a taunt or an act of defiance, but all that came out was...blood. And lots of it. The Malevolence stared, and started to laugh, harder than ever. **"At last! AT! LAST! So long, so many centuries wasted! My word, what have I missed?! You have Mr Boomer to thank for that! And for his service, he shall be greatly rewar-"**_

 _"NOT TODAY!" Carlin raised his whistle, and as it's piercing shriek filled the air, he teleported atop Lady. "You're beginning to piss me off!" He declared, and punched the Engine equivalent of Satan in the face._

 _This would have been a lot more effective had, ironically, his attack been that effective. The Malevolence stared at Carlin. **"Was...was that the best you had to offer?"**_

 _"No. But this is."_

 _The Malevolence stared down at the grenade, completely baffled. **"Wha-"**_

 _As the explosion echoed out, Lady fell to the ground. She swallowed back a scream as the jagged rocks dug into her already damaged chassis. She tried to move her wheels. No dice. She tried to shuffle forwards. Again, nothing. It was only when she felt the gentle hand of Burnett operate the regulator that at last, she began to move. Slowly at first, wobbling and swaying, but picking up speed, she limped away._

 _Boomer was already moving towards Burnett, his face turning bright purple with rage and anger and bitterness. He made a huge leap, and landed atop Lady's bunker. He raised his hands, crackling with energy and brought them down._

 _"STOP!"_

 _Boomer froze, the lightning mid hurl, his eyes darting this way and that, looking completely and utterly baffled as to what was happening. Burnett opened his own eyes, cautiously, and looked at Tasha. She was snarling, concentrating as hard as she could on maintaining the spell that had frozen Boomer in place._

 _Then, with one last great effort, she sent him flying backwards, slamming into tree after tree after tree. He didn't stop until he reached the very edge of the grotto. Then he lay still, unconscious. She slumped back, spent. Burnett made sure she was all right before driving Lady on as fast as she could away from the Malevolence._

 _Mike and Rex landed roughly besides Bert. Mike was visibly bleeding from the mouth, and making horrible choking sounds, almost choking on his own fluids. Rex was no better, large gashes carved into the side of his boiler and tender. They looked so weary. Carlin hurried towards them, not sure if he could help at all, but he felt that he had to try._

 _"Carlin!" Bert wheezed, his eyes rolling backwards despite his best effort. "G-get...get Lady and the others to safety...get them out of here."_

 _"They're gone, they're gone, sssh, Bert, don't talk, let's get you to the Works, or something!"_

 _"The way we are now?!" Bert laughed, and then stopped, because it hurt to do so._

 _The Malevolence laughed. " **Oh? And your mother takes me right to the ultimate source of power! I think it's time I saw this Magic Railroad for myself!"** He flapped his wings and was about to take off when something tried to hit him. Almost out of boredom than anything, he looked down to see Willo the Wisp, still trying to fight on. **"Oh, I remember you!"**_

 _"You won't get her! She's gone!"_

 _ **"Well...that's a matter of perspective now, isn't it? I've waited a thousand years, I can wait a few more."** The Malevolence smiled. **"Now, let's see. You are far too energetic for your own good. You sealed me away in rock for all eternity. Let's see how you like it."**_

 _Willo screamed as the Malevolence muttered something under his breath. The dragon dropped him, transforming into a cloud of thick black smoke that roared in Lady's direction without a second thought to the ghost, who had hit the ground very hard indeed._

 _The wisp stared in horror at his hand. It was slowly, but surely, transforming into solid rock._

 _Benn grabbed Carlin. "We need to follow!"_

 _"But, what about them-?"_

 _"We know a place where we can hide, until the time is right." Bert sounded somewhat confident. "Just, for the love of god, don't let him win!"_

 _Carlin stared for a moment, feeling completely helpless, before nodding. He and Benn didn't look back as they charged forward into the forest, racing to join the chase._

...

At the bottom, Percy was collecting trucks. He was also in deep conversation with Butch.

"So I said to him, I said "George, you're an ass!" and he went so red!"

"Congrats, Butch, it only took you like...three or four years to tell that asshole what for, but-" Percy paused mid-speech. The ground was shaking. "What?" And then he saw it. Eighteen tons of pure rock roared towards him. Percy shut his eyes and waited for the end.

The end, as it turned out, was fiery and loud and very, very terrifying. Something horrible and sticky splashed all over him (Oil, from the smell) and the sound of explosions told him that another gunpowder stockpile had been found. But this was not a joke any more. He felt Butch latch onto his coupling with his hook, and he was yanked to safety as the entire world went orange for a horrible second.

And then all was deathly quiet.

Thomas was the first to arrive on the scene. "PERCY!" He shouted, rushing forward. "Are you hurt?! Did it hurt you!? God, I hope you're okay! I don't know what I'd do if you were...ahem, never mind."

"I'm fine...thanks to Butch."

"Can I get a speaking role next season?"

"Don't count on it." Thomas was shaken up to say the least. He insisted that he get Percy down to the works to be checked over, despite the latter's protests that he was perfectly fine. Toby arrived too, and after seeing the two off, he turned to see the Narrow Gauge engines huddled together.

"Why did you save me?" Sir Handel sounded on the verge of hysteria. Bertram frowned.

"I...don't know."

He looked at Toby, who gave a sympathetic smile. Bertram shook his head. This was not part of the mission.

The Fat Controller stared at the wreckage. His knees felt quite wobbly, and he staggered to the ground, sitting down so that he didn't faint and fall on his fat face. He was aware that the drivers and firemen were giving him hell. And he deserved it. "The workmen were right. Close the quarry and the mine down. Get everything out." He looked at Boulder, wearily. "We...We should have left this part of the Island alone."

...

 _"You...you sure that this is safe?" Rex whispered, a horrible hollow sound echoing amongst his voice._

 _"Entombed inside a mountain, waiting for someone to find us?" Mike added, aware of how the blood was making it hard for anyone to understand him. He coughed and spluttered, trying to avoid the feeling that this would be the last time they'd be awake for quite some time._

 _"Better than any other option, Engines can sleep forever. We just have...to wait." Bert used the last of his magic to close the mountain in on them. To the outside world, it would look as though it had never been disturbed. You wouldn't know there was anyone there, let alone three little engines in need of sleep to heal their wounds "And besides, Willo's up there. And he's got our back."_

 _Willo the Wisp sighed, a sad and lonely little sigh that echoed across the mountain. The Malevolence had struck a rather horrible blow. The once free moving spirit, full of laughter and mirth, was now slowly being transformed into a single and solitary feature of the landscape. He was trapped inside the body of a huge and imposing boulder, that weighed about eighteen tons. If he concentrated hard enough, he could just about materialize a face through the rock._

 _But he could wait. He would wait. He would guard the engines from any harm, any trespassers...until such time as the last remaining link to Lady that the Island had were repaired enough to return._

 _All he had to do was wait. No one would want to disturb him._

 _And so Willo stood, and succumbed to his eternal prison, until there was nothing left of him. Just...the Boulder._

...

They moved Boulder to a hill, only a few miles from the quarry. They put up a variety of ways to stop it from rolling down the hill and causing trouble yet again. Rusty is sure that on a clear night, it's sighs are being carried by a melancholic wind to the mountain which it used to stand and guard, proud and defiant.

I wonder if Rusty is right.

Don't you?

* * *

Okay. So, here's what happened, for those who do not understand.

-Willo got transformed into Boulder (I'm just using that as an example of how powerful the Malevolence is, seeing as how he can trap a ghost).  
-The reason he was disturbed was because the workmen were getting closer to finding the Small Railway Engines before they were fully rested.  
-I'm going by Duke logic of rules, an engine can sleep for however long and still remain alive.  
-This was always planned to be the case, I felt that explaining Boulder might be interesting.  
-What if Jock appears in the TV show? I have a backup plan, once again.  
-Snow, next time, is going to be big. As in, the actual episode is going to be very small when compared to all the other stuff I'm putting in.


	130. Episode 26: Snow

Well. Here we are. This six thousand plus chapter is the last proper episode of Thomas Abridged Volume 1. I'll save more specific thanks for when we reach the end of Magic Railroad, but can I just say, you all are the reason I'm still continuing. Thank you.

Now, regarding the story itself! For those of you who are here for the parody, the whole parody and nothing but the parody, so help us, I apologize if you feel as though you have to trawl through a lot of crap to get to it. I have made it easier, however. The sections in bold are the flashback sections which take up most of the actual episode, and they are like that because it is Rusty telling the story. If you want to just read those, go ahead and then perhaps wait a bit, as parody and serious storylines are going to be wrapped together in Magic Railroad.

Quick chat about that! I'm looking at possibly ten parts for the Magic Railroad, which wouldn't be possible if I wasn't packing quite a lot into it. I want ten because...well, I prefer even numbers, and one hundred and forty chapters seem pretty cool! But again, to make sense of it (And because watching it again, there are a lot of times where NOTHING is happening) there's going to be a lot more happening in it. As in, a lot more of STORY than PARODY. But the parody is still going to be there. The humor's still planned, totally.

One last little thing. The author's notes are going to be at the bottom of the story instead of just before the start. Just so I don't break the flow. So with that in mind, I'll try and explain as best I can there.

And for the last time! REVIEW TIME.

 **To the Guest:** Thank you! Those are some interesting theories, and (If I had gone for a more humorous take on it) I probably would have had the gasses in the ravine be hallucinogenic to explain what the hell that was all about!

 **Reid007:** Thank you!

 **MattPrice01:** The Association for Boulder Equality are truly the unsung heroes! Thanks! I wrote it during an exam period myself, so I empathize! Sherlock Season 3 was fine (The worst of Sherlock is still miles better than some shows) but I preferred Season 4's focus. And I hope that they'll just go back to doing crimes instead of family drama for a bit.

 **UGX7:** Thank you! I'm glad my random explanation for him didn't put you off! Boulder...it's complicated, but I do have a few ideas...

 **Radical-sandwiches:** Thank you! Here you are! Hope you enjoy it! I did borrow the idea of the trucks being a bit more...out for blood, especially given how angry Angelis makes them sound, so thanks for that!

 **TrainManiac:** Thank you! I really threw my all into making Rusty and the Boulder as good as it could be! Hopefully this is pretty good, the actual episode is such a weird one to end the season on. So again, like with Mind That Bike, I expanded it a hell of a lot more.

 **Game Watch:** You are not the only one! I recall watching it for the first time on a VHS with a lot of other Season 5 episodes, and being really freaked out by it. Not helped by the fact that it was the very last one on there, and was a very low key ending. And yeah, pretty much. Basically my idea is that the absence of Lady on the Island resulted in a lot of things getting REALLY screwed up.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Shit is going to get really goddamn real.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Indeed. Basically, I'm drawing a lot on the rejected Director's Cut for Boomer's character. And i'm going to point out how petty his reasons for betraying Burnett and Tasha were in Magic Railroad.

 **Bronze-Shield:** It does. It tried to be too many things and ended up being very little. I still have a soft spot for it, and I did enjoy rewatching it, but yeah. Now, it's interesting you ask that question. I'm not sure in which way you mean 'hero' but here's my take on it. Something that I've tried to do is capture what the original five season Thomas run did very subtly, that is, taking Thomas from a whining child to a sarcastic and rude son of a gun to a hard working and helpful member of engine society. Obviously I've made it so that he's still sarcastic, but one of the things I have tried to do is have him slowly become a better engine. So in that respect, yeah, he kind of is. And I hope to continue on with that in Magic Railroad.

CUE THE THEME.

* * *

Winter time was here.

Christmas, as the song says, is a time for things. And a lot of things were going on this season. The snow had covered the railway lines and the fields, trapping trucks, coaches and even a good few engines inside the thick white quilt of frozen water. Again. Edward had been heard to remark that he sometimes wondered if Everest was anywhere near as cold as Sodor was at this time of year.

Nearly all the engines were hard at work, except for Percy. He had somehow managed to fall asleep while pulling the mail train, and had paid for this by being buried alive by a ton of snow. "I'm fine as long as Thomas doesn't-"

"How'd you manage that?!"

"Oh, of course."

"Come on, Percy, this is no time to be a lazy git and rest! You're not James for god's sake!"

"I'm stuck!" Percy protested. "And my funnel is freezing up! Most of my orifices are dying! And Alec's buggered off back to his house, to 'send for help' as he puts it! Cheeky sod, I know he's just sobbing at his graduation photos and wondering where he's gone wrong!"

"Right now-" Thomas said, grimly "-I empathize with him insanely. PAH!" And off he went, leaving Percy to his own devices again. Not that he could do much.

"Nine hundred and ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, nine hundred and ninety nine bottles of beer-"

...

"Hey Edward, you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine. I guess." Edward tried smiling. He was good at pretending to smile. He could win medals for it.

Mavis gave him a Look, the kind that starts with a capital 'L'. It was the same sort of look that Edward had seen on BoCo's face whenever he had been trying to hide how genuinely frustrated he was with everything. Which seemed to be happening a lot, now that he thought about it. She sounded sceptical as well. "Where are you spending the night?"

"Figured I'd head back to Vicarstown, see if I can't sort the yards out a bit. Someone has to, it might as well be me."

"The yards in Wellsworth are in worse shape, if you want my honest opinion."

"I want to challenge myself."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

The two of them stared at each other, each one daring the other to break the silence first.

"You know-" Mavis said, boldly "-seeing as someone has to manage Bill and Ben, I was thinking of heading up to Wellsworth to get them away from any potential fire hazards. They'd like it if you came too."

"I appreciate it, but-"

"You're not the only one who misses BoCo, you know."

Edward stopped.

"I know that you're worried and you're scared, and that you're lonely right now. It must be pretty quiet on your branchline at the moment. But the twins miss him too. They're just better at hiding it. So why don't you come on over, and we'll get really drunk to celebrate him?"

Edward sighed. "I'm not getting out of this one, am I? Fine. I'll show up. But I'm not playing bloody Charades."

He couldn't quite, however, hide the smile on his face.

...

"Ugh, why are we still here?!" Had James feet, he would have been stamping them up and down now in a foul tantrum. As it was, he settled for whining at the top of his voice. And considering how loud his voice was, this was quite some top.

Toby ignored him. It was best to ignore James in the cold weather, he was even more insufferable than usual. He was checking up on Bertram. The events at the quarry had shaken him up, and the tram was concerned for how the narrow gauge engine was handling things. Especially with Sir 'Mr Sensitivity' Handel and Duncan the Dunce being in close proximity for the four days that the engines were allowed to have off. "You doing okay, Bertram?"

"Mmmm. Still not sure why I can't just stay up at the castle. I mean, no offence Toby, but it's a bit...much."

"Sorry mate, do you want me to take you back?"

"OH GOD NO I WANT TO GO BACK TO TIDMOUTH TONIGHT!" wailed James.

"Ignore him, he's being a prat."

"Nah, I'm fine here. Really. You go and have a good Christmas."

"Well...all right." Toby looked around, and then leaned forward to whisper. "A word of warning. Once Skarloey has a few shots of Culdee's Fall, he tends to get a little bit...boisterous. I heard rumors that he attempted to become the world's first flying engine a few years back. Hence the reason why there's a suspiciously Skarloey shaped hole in the roof."

"Heh." Bertram smirked. "Duly noted. Happy Christmas, Toby."

"And to you, Bertram." Toby straightened up and backed away. "All right, James, we can finally head off home-"

"OH THANK GOD I AM FREEZING MY BOLTS OFF HERE!" James was off like a shot, and sighing, Toby followed after him. Bertram sighed, and then looked to his shedmates for the holiday. Ivo Hugh and Peter Sam were busy watching holiday movies, Sir Handel was trying to stop Rheneas from licking glue and Skarloey was trying to avoid the temptation to drink Culdee's Fall Alcopops. And failing.

Duncan, meanwhile, had been hoisted above the shed to act as 'fairy' for the holidays. He was not best pleased by this. It had, however, made Duke laugh until he cried, so that was a positive.

Well, for the others. Bertram was still trying to wonder if he could work up the courage to confront Duke. Truth be told, he was beginning to worry that he could no longer make himself care enough to want revenge on Duke.

"Come on Bertram! Muppets Christmas Carol is on!" Peter Sam was excited.

Bertram sighed. He might as well have a bit of fun while it lasted. "Be there in a moment."

...

Elsewhere, Thomas had been drafted for that most pleasant of jobs, clearing snow away from a banged up old tunnel. As it turned out, it was too deep and he ended up getting stuck. The tank engine was not happy, and made his feelings known. His driver and fireman headed off in search of cocoa and perhaps a therapist. "SNOW-" He proclaimed "-is nothing but trouble!"

"I feel like we've been over this before." muttered Rusty, who was there for...some reason. "Anyway, driver says that this winter is just as bad as the worst winter of all!"

"When was that, then? AD or BC?"

"Ha, funny."

"How worst?"

"Bad grammar there, Thomas."

"Bite me."

"No thanks. Anyway, I'll tell you."

"Now, listen, you don't have to do-"

"Many years ago-" began Rusty, firmly. Thomas sighed, and tried to get comfortable. Whenever someone started to tell a story like this, it often bored the pants off of him, and considered the temperature, he was in no mood for that to happen.

...

 **MANY YEARS AGO.**

 **Skarloey was working in the slate mines, up in the mountains. Because apparently the Skarloey Railway ended up getting relocated to the mountains inbetween seasons for no reason, and no one's actually been doing any work with coaches or passengers.**

 **When the snow came, it was difficult to work. Duncan didn't even bother trying, much to no one's surprise. But the workmen did use it as a double buffer zone, to stop the trucks from skidding through to the ravine below. A pretty bloody stupid place to put a quarry if you ask me, but then no one does.**

("Heavens-" cried Thomas, sarcastically "-I'm learning so much today!" A loud blast on the horn shut him up, and he returned to sulking)

 **One day, Skarloey set off to the mines with some empty trucks and some dying dreams. Primarily so as to get away from Rheneas and Peter Sam, who were having a contest to see who could out stupid the other. It was going about as well as could be expected.**

 **Meanwhile, there was trouble at mill. Also at the mine, which is more relevant to our story. The winch that hauled the trucks up and down was no longer working properly. Anyone else would have figured that maybe halting production in the quarry was a good idea. Not these workmen, however.**

("You're a bit biased, aren't you, Rusty?" asked Thomas. Rusty honked their horn loudly, a quiet little smirk gracing their face.)

 **Skarloey had reached the ravine on time, and his driver stopped to take a piss. His fireman sighed. "There are safer places to go when nature calls, mate!" He protested. The driver shrugged, and proceeded to write his own name in the snow. He looked up and frowned.**

 **"That snow looks bloody dangerous." He remarked. "Almost as dangerous as letting Old Faithful have another drink or two, eh, eh, eh?" He laughed. No one else did. It wasn't really that funny. "Anyway, the sound of the engine and these trucks could set off an avalaunche. Especially considering how much of an echo there's going to be here. Better set off a cap, just to test."**

 **"So, your genius plan to avoid us getting buried alive is to set off a loud noise that could potentially cause us to get buried alive?"**

 **"Do you have a different suggestion?"**

 **"Yes, we talk to the foreman at the top, which we reach on foot, instead of risking all of our lives-"**

 **"WHOOPS TOO LATE!" And the driver ran back, drove a very reluctant Skarloey over it and listened as the loud bang shook the mountains. Everyone listened, and waited. Nothing. The fireman raised his two fingers and glared angrily at the driver, who was feeling rather smug. "Nothing! Good oh! Let's have a cup of cocoa, now that we're stopped here, then we'll be on our way!"**

 **"This is the stupidest thing ever." growled Skarloey. "Are you sure, boyo, that it's not you who's pissed?!"**

("That's a terrible Welsh accent.-"

"Hush!")

 **But there was worse to come. Because of course there was. There always was. A full line of trucks were already on the incline, the winch holding them back. But only just. Slowly, the workmen began to lower them down. They had just reached the point where the first truck was almost on the flat part of the land when some empty trucks became derailed.**

 **There was a loud groan, and the winch stopped momentarily. The workmen stared at each other. They didn't think they were going to get paid today. The trucks, of course, took their chance. "BREAK IT! SNAP IT!"**

 **These trucks were rather nasty ones, ones who didn't care if they lived or died, as long as they did things with an intense amount of flair and/or explosions.**

 **There was a loud growling sound as the part of the winch holding the trucks was stretched to a point where it should never be stretched. And then it snapped. "FASTER! FASTER! FASTER! ON ON ON!" the trucks wailed, shockingly. After all, it's not like this is the thousandth time they've said the same thing over and over again, is it?**

 **"The snow bank and buffers will stop them!" said the workmen. He was wrong.**

 **"When have buffers EVER stopped them!?" shouted his friend. He was right. The trucks plunged into the ravine, or to be more grammatically accurate, into the ledge overlooking the ravine. It was not a very dynamic death, upsetting many of them. However, there was worse...much worse to come.**

 **Skarloey and his crew looked up.**

 **"AVALANCHE!" screamed the driver, a full five seconds before the snow even began to shift. The fireman rushed for the controls, but he wasn't as experienced as the driver, and thus struggled to get Skarloey moving backwards.**

 **Said driver was currently on his knees, praying to whatever God was listening for forgiveness as the snow moved closer and closer to the edge. Then it smothered them, literally. Deep inside the high drift, blocking the ravine and surrounded by trucks, was Skarloey. He was buried under there, thinking about what an embarrassing death this was going to be.**

...

They puffed through the snow in quiet, all conversations having been abandoned upon seeing the state of the rails and the weather around them. They both thought along similar lines but in different ways. Toby's thoughts were focused upon making sure that Henrietta was safely tucked at the coach shed for the night. He'd pick her up in the morning and bring her to the sheds proper for Christmas then. He also thought a great deal about enjoying a warm drink by the fire, and seeing if there was any chance he could catch a repeat of an old Last of the Summer Wine episode.

As for James, he was busy thinking of matters connected to, what else, himself. So he did not notice when suddenly, without warning, Toby stopped dead and stood stoc still, eyes widened and brow creased.

Toby felt as though he had been struck by an odd sense of deja vu, as if he had been down this area before. Of course he had, he had traveled all over the Island. But no, this...this was something far more powerful. There was some sort of sense nagging at him, a sense that none of us can properly define or explain, that tells us that we are somewhere that is very important to us.

And then in an instant, he realized it. Home! His old home at Arlesdale End! The old tramway that he hadn't thought about properly for so long, since that first day that he had left for this madcap shitstorm of a railway. But yes, this was the ridge of the cliffs that lead into it, the place where he had once taken the Fat Controller and his family for that fateful ride, the place where he had been born, and grown up in, and left abandoned, alone and forgotten.

"JAMES!" He shouted, the urge to return and at least see what it was like overwhelming any thoughts about getting to the sheds. "Please, come back! I've found something!"

"Oh for god's sake, hurry up, Toby!" James snapped, unaware of just how desperate Toby sounded.

"No, please, really, I promise, it's important! This is where...this is where I was made! I haven't been here in years, and I just...please, let me just have a look! Please, James, please come back!"

James was too far ahead now to properly make out Toby's genuine distress, and too far ahead to recognize that Toby would not have stopped for any good reason. "Oh screw it! You can stay out here and freeze, mate, but I'm not! If you're coming, come. And if you're not, then to hell with you!" And so saying, he plowed on into the cold.

Toby tried to fight back the wave of despair that hit him. He felt that his old home, that place which he hadn't looked at in so long, was calling to him, desperately, needing to say...something, if only a proper goodbye. But he knew that leaving James to the snow was not an idea any sane engine should contemplate. Supposing the bastard fell into a pond? Who's fault would it be then? And, worse still, what if he was left on his own? James didn't function well on his own. So, throwing aside every ounce of his being that was telling him to head on down the old line, he hurried after James.

"Finally!" And so, they continued onwards. But Toby, aware of the pain in his boiler and not just attributing it to the pains he had been feeling all year, grew slower and slower, until at last James noticed. Not even he was so self-absorbed to ignore potential heart attacks happening, so he stopped to give him chance to catch his breath. "Is there a problem?"

"Why would there be a problem?" Toby tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He failed.

"Okay, what's the matter?"

"...i just...I saw my old tramway there. The way into it, at least. And I know that it's not as nice as Tidmouth, or as comfy as Wellsworth or...or anything like any of the other sheds. But it was...it was my home for most of my life, and then I went away, and then I just left it there. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. And then...I saw it. And I just wanted to see it, to see what had happened, just one look. But you wouldn't...I can't leave you alone out here! You just wouldn't come back!"

Toby wasn't sure if he was crying, or the snow was just that fierce. There was silence for a moment, aside from the howling blizzard. Then:

"Come on, let's head back."

"Yeah, okay, sure...sheds are that way."

"I know."

James had started to head back along the same tracks he had just cut across. Toby stared, baffled. "No, wait, James, I didn't mean any of that, that was me just being stupid!"

"No, I've had a lot of practice with being stupid. This is important. I am...sorry. I really am." James sounded it, too. "Come on, we better get a move on."

"But-"

"No buts. I need your help, you're the only one who can apparently tell where the hell this hillbilly settlement you called a line was, so move your arse!"

...

"So, a drinking bender?" Oliver sounded skeptical. "You!?"

Duck nodded, or did the engine equivalent. "I can't believe it either! I have no idea what the hell they put in those mainland drinks, but it must be some pretty powerful stuff!"

"We'll be needing a full list of the drinks ye drunk! Fer science!" declared Donald, having consumed several drinks of his own making already. He was, not to put too fine a point on it, sloshed. Douglas shook his head and sipped at his milkshake.

Duck sighed, and relaxed, rather happily.

He had a good feeling about the new year.

...

"And then came the funny part!"

"Really?!" Thomas asked, incredibly skeptical. "I don't think there's anything funny about an avalanche! I'm sure that most people who have been in a avalanche would agree with me! In fact, even people who haven't would say that that's not true!"

"Hush! This is my story, and I shall tell it!"

...

 **STILL MANY YEARS AGO.**

 **No one knew that the heat from Skarloey's fire and engine had helped to make an igloo. Somehow. Physics be damned, apparently! But the workmen were so dim that they spent three whole hours arguing over what it was.**

 **"It's a snowball!"**

 **"It's a snowhouse!"**

 **"It's snow bother!"**

 **"It's a You Ever Make a Pun again Perkins I swear to god!"**

 **"It's a representation of how we've failed as a nation!"**

 **"It's an engine for god sakes! Anything to stop the stupid! We need to dig him out of there!" And so they did, removing the ice that had somehow magically formed around Skarloey, to find his driver and fireman drinking cocoa as if nothing had happened!**

 **Oh, and I was there too. How we laughed!**

 **...**

"...It's not that funny."

"You had to be there at the time, I think."

"Lucky for them. Just goes to show that you can't trust trucks!"

"Or snow!"

Both of them sat in silence.

"Was there an actual point to telling me this story? Or a moral? Because I feel like there was intended to be one at the start of this tale, and then we kind of veered off course!"

"Yeah. See, this is why I need to take storytelling lessons from Skarloey. Now there's an engine who knows how to tell a story!"

The men had just cleared the line for Thomas, when Gordon the Big Rainer on the Parade arrived with a snow machine. For...some reason. Thomas spluttered as the snow went up his nostrils once more. "Hello you duffers, look out, there's snow about! HO HO HO! Tis a good day to be Gordon!"

"It's never a good day to be Gordon!" snarled Thomas.

He was right. Gordon wheeshed loudly as he reached the entrance way of the tunnel. He looked up just in time to see a large chunk of snow move towards him. He made a noise that sounded like "Uh oh" if he had the ability to hold his nose, before getting buried.

There was a three minute delay, before Gordon let out a loud "POOP!" on his whistle. Or it was a "Help!", the snow had buried him alive, it was hard to tell.

"If Skarloey could survive a snowstorm and laugh, a big strong engine like you can stick it for a few minutes!"

"Puhuhuh!" said Gordon (Or something along those lines) and then fell as silent as the snow.

It took them a minute to realize that he was suffocating.

...

"You really lived here? For that long?"

"Oh, it wasn't like this originally. You can't see it, but there were lines leading to a whole bunch of sheds here, originally. My brothers .And then they died, or they moved on, either or. And so they tore them down, got them used in something more useful. And they didn't really see the point in giving me a massive shed that only I was going to be sleeping in, so...wooden shack it was."

"...How'd you stay sane?"

"Who says I did?" James laughed at that. "No, it was more a case of keep your head down. Don't speak out of turn. Don't...stand out too much. Of course, apparently that got mistaken for being boring on this Island. It happens."

"Trust me, I get that. They literally reduced me to my color the first year or so. All because I was ruining the continuity of the scene! Whatever that means!" They laughed, and Toby was aware that this was the first actual meaningful conversation that they had had in...who knows how long?

At last, silence descended. Not an unpleasant one, but noticeable nonetheless. Toby decided to break it. "Look, we should probably be getting back now. It was nice to see it...what's left of it." He looked around ruefully at the old banner not too far from the shed, still hanging there since his farewell party. "Could have tidied it up a bit, couldn't they?"

"...Toby, you've been weird all year. Is there something the matter?"

"...I finally got the results back not long ago. With the stuff with the quarry and all the work we've had to go through, I've had no time to properly digest it or tell you about it, but...I've got something wrong with me. Internally, I mean. The parts that I need aren't parts that are sold or can be made properly anymore. They might be able to make some in the future, and it's not terrible. It just acts up whenever there's a bit of anxiety going on. Which is often. But, it's manageable. I'll live as long as any of you, don't worry!"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"James, no offence, but you don't take things seriously. At all. And it's not you, it's just...the Island in general. It's not the kind of place where one easily admits to weakness."

"...I, um, nearly died this year. On several occasions." James looked uncomfortable. "i just want to apologize. You know. In case for whatever reason they decided to shove me against a power mad diesel with a claw next time."

"Pfft. Like that would ever happen." Toby was about to say more when he heard a strange sound off in the distance. James also heard it, and for a moment, they pondered on what it could be. At last, Toby spoke up. "Oh my! Are those the carolers?! They always used to come around here at Christmas time. But they can't be here, right? The station's been closed for years."

The two engines left the shed and looked in surprise as Headmaster Hastings lead a selection of children onto the station platform. Most of them looked as though they were freezing, and that they'd rather be anywhere else but here. Yet, there they were, singing away. Toby frowned. He wasn't quite sure what to do with them. They hadn't expected to see him, that much was obvious from their expressions...

"Well sung! Almost...decent." James tried smiling, but the cold made it a little difficult. "Look, you're all freezing out there, would you like to come in and warm yourselves up?"

Hastings frowned, but the children took James up on the offer immediately. The two engines watched as their drivers and firemen graciously gave them their own coats, and their own supplies of food and drink. Soon, the kids were chatting away with the engines. They made a pretty good double act at telling stories, James telling his own fanciful versions of what had happened, and then Toby chiming in with a blunt truth.

"Thank you." said Toby, as the kids gathered around the phone to speak with their parents who were all wondering why Headmaster Hastings had stolen the school bus and taken them out randomly carol singing.

"For what?"

"Putting up with me."

"Three hundred and sixty three days of the year, you do it with me. Least I can do."

...

Percy shivered. Night was coming in, and still neither one of his crew had returned. He would have at the very least hoped that his fireman would have come back. He had stuck with him throughout Carlin and now with Alec. He tried to focus on something else, something more positive. But nothing came to mind.

It was then that he suddenly felt a jerk, and a light bump moved him out of the snow. "Wha-"

"There you are, pea green! Been looking for you all over the place!"

"Henry!?"

"Yeah, the very same."

"What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, you know me, I regularly come out here at night, when no one is looking so that I can smuggle out the huge amounts of crystal meth that I have for years been brewing away in a secret facility near Vicarstown. What do you think I'm doing out here!?"

"...Me?"

"You. Now, hold up, this next bit is going to be a bit...dicey. I'm not sure if I can get you out, but I'm damn well going to try."

"So why-" asked Percy, as they continued on to Tidmouth Sheds "-are you out here for me? I mean, shouldn't you be inside Tidmouth, watching It's a Wonderful Life, or a Christmas Carol, or...the Muppets Christmas Carol, I don't know."

"Eh. I was. And then I figured that you were the only one who couldn't be anywhere else. Toby and James are either at Crovan's Gate or somewhere round about that area. Edward's probably at Wellsworth with the twins and Mavis, Gordon and Thomas are...well, they're still out and Elsbridge isn't too far from where I last heard they were. And the Little Western lot are probably at their sheds at Tidmouth Hault. So, we have the sheds to ourselves."

"Heh. Cool. Thanks for coming out."

"...Eh, I just figured, you know. Don't want you to be alone out there. Trust me, I've had that experience." Henry shuddered. "The last time I ever take a dare from Gordon in winter. That engine is nasty!"

...

 _"I don't get it!" Carlin was moving as fast as he could. Up ahead, he saw a fete being held. Or rather, where it had been held. Everyone had long since abandoned it. leaving only a few tents, a hot air balloon and tables filled with food to show there'd even been a celebration."What is the Magic Railroad?!"_

 _"It's a gateway! Any point and any time that the user wishes to go to can be accessed from there!" Benn ignored the branches whipping in his face and his shoes getting drenched in mud, so focused was he. "If the Malevolence gets their claws on it, there's stopping it! The entirety of time and space will be his plaything, and we'll be helpless to stop it!"_

 _"So, not a good thing, then!"_

 _"Not really, no! Look!"_

 _Up ahead, they had a decent view of Lady and the Malevolence. They had turned sideways, towards Great Waterton. And there, just a few yards away, were a pair of buffers. They had a clear enough view of them to see the Malevolence shooting forward a blast of black magic, and Lady using the last of her own energy to fire her own back. The two met and-_

 _For a moment, there was nothing. Literally nothing. It was as if Lady, the Malevolence, the humans, the yard, the trees, the animals, the birds...everything just simply wasn't there. It wasn't completely black or white, it was just nothing. If nothing was a color, this was what it was._

 _And then suddenly everything rushed back into focus, and Carlin bent over to heave up the vast majority of the alcohol in his system. When he was finished, he glanced up once more._

 _Lady, Burnett and Tasha were gone. The Malevolence, however, was still standing there. An odd little smile graced his features. Oddly enough, that was somehow more unnerving than the grins and the grimaces he had given earlier._

 _ **"I can wait for a very long time."** he whispered._

 _"I don't get it, what happened?" Carlin asked Benn, who also seemed to have been overwhelmed by whatever the hell had just happened. As he leaned against a tree, Benn closed his eyes and massaged his temples._

 _"It's like a nuclear reactor overheating. All that magic's leaking out back onto the Island, light and dark. The affects are already beginning to happen now! Look!" Benn pointed to where Great Waterton was. Or rather, where it had been._

 _And Carlin suddenly realized why it was that there were so many abandoned tracks, why the Island never seemed to have a consistent geography, why there were so many lines that seemed to go nowhere. The magic was screwing up the Island something fierce, everything was being rearranged. Lady's last gambit had been to essentially hide the Magic Railroad for all time away from the Malevolence. "I assume that the magic will do something to people's memories of this? It's not exactly on the f**king Discovery Channel that a giant dragon awoke and laid waste to an entire Island!"_

 _By luck, the balloon was still there, so the two of them hurried onboard, and Benn took them up into the air. They sat down, and rested for a moment._

 _"With all the disturbances and time portals popping up, not to mention all the otherworthly stuff that's leaked onto the Island, I shouldn't be surprised if the population begin to think that it was just a gas leak of some kind. They'll come up with something to justify it, they always do. And will."_

 _Carlin snorted, humorlessly. "Yeah, that figures. Knew Roswell was a cover up all along!"_

 _"Hell yes it was! How do you think the American public managed to elect Lyndon B Johnson?"_

 _"...Wait, seriously?" Carlin looked up to Benn...and then his eye landed upon something. "Holy- There it is! The portal!" And there it was. This one was far bigger than any of the other ones, the length of an oak tree and the width of three double buses parked in a horizontal line. "Bloody hell, they're compensating for something, clearly!"_

 _Benn got to his feet, and started to release more hot air to make the balloon head towards the portal._

 _The shot rang out suddenly without so much as a warning. Carlin threw himself to the ground, the bullet whistling by him. Luckily, the bullet didn't hit the fragile canvas of the balloon. "The hell was that?!" Carlin got to his feet. "Benn, are you-"_

 _He stopped._

 _Benn was swaying slightly, his eyes wide and tearing up, and his hand pressed against his blood-soaked shirt. He staggered back a bit in the basket, leaning against the side with an expression of bafflement. Carlin was transfixed, unable to move from sheer shock._

 _Benn met his eyes._

 _"George..."_

 _"William!"_

 _Then the second shot rang out and Benn slumped over the side._

 _And then he fell._

 _Carlin didn't hear the sound of Benn's body hitting the ground, nor did he see the malicious smirk on Boomer's face. He barely saw anything, save for that awful final expression on his companion's face._

 _And then he saw the Malevolence. It had shed the form of the dragon, now taking the form of a massive black cloud moving faster and faster. It was entirely possible that this form was something else entirely, and it was just that the creature was moving faster than the mortal eye. And too late, Carlin realized in horror why the Malevolence was so calm. Because through that portal lay the way back to the present day, back to the Malevolence's allies, and to the only things that could stop it._

 _And they had lead him right to it._

 _The Malevolence winked at him, and then raced through the portal. Carlin gave chase, the balloon picking up speed as more and more hot air was released. He went higher and higher and higher and higher, until at last, he shot through the portal._

 _Down below, Boomer put down the gatling gun that he had managed to pilfer from Benn in all the chaos, and without giving a second glance to the vanishing portal or the broken body of Mr Benn, headed off towards the docks._

 _It was going to take a long time to find Lady. But it would be worth it._

 _A few minutes later unnoticed to anyone, as if by magic, the Shopkeeper appeared. He looked around, found that there was no one watching him, and picked up Benn. He shook his head. This hadn't been the first time that Mr Benn had died in the line of duty. It would not be the last._

 _And so, whistling, he returned to a certain shop._

...

That night, as all the engines rested before making the great pilgrimage to Tidmouth, they suddenly felt the need to sing a certain song. All of them, Thomas and Gordon at the old tunnel, James and Toby on the tramway, Henry and Percy back at the sheds, Edward, Mavis and the China Clay Twins at Wellsworth, all four of the Little Western inhabitants, the Skarloey engines, and even a few of the non rail vehicles, joined in.

 _Silent night, holy night!_  
 _All is calm, all is bright._

But at the Smelters, the only thing bright was the glow from the great kiln as Arry and Bert applied the final touches. Watched over by Marklin and the Juggernaut, they carefully gave their creation it's greatest weapon, the large Pincher (Or Pinchy, for short) that had been stolen so long ago.

 _Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child._  
 _Holy infant so tender and mild,_

In some way, they were all there, thanks in no small part to a sudden conference call.. The Fat Director and Captain Zero watching from the Other Railway atop Class 40. P.T Boomer and Gotch from Shining Time Station. From the Island itself, George, the Horrid Lorries, and a whole section of disaffected trucks lead by one S.C. Ruffey. All there to watch their plans come to fruition. And now, there was only one thing missing. But not for long.

 _Sleep in heavenly peace,_

For the time portal was already opening up. Before it vanished, a large black shadow shot out of it, howling and roaring in triumphant glee, it's body already reaching out towards it's new home. It hesitated for a moment, and then, with a sudden burst of energy, it reached out, savoring the feeling of it's brand new form. The claw snapped. The engine started. Black energy crackled and sparked all around. The Fat Director smirked and saluted, as he saw the result of over forty years of planning come to fruition. Captain Zero took a shaky sip of his drink, wondering what the hell he had got himself into. Both Boomer and Gotch smirked at each other, sharing a joke that no one else knew about. The trucks laughed and cackled, for at last they would have a new dark master to serve. The men cheered, unaware of just what the cost was going to be.

 _Sleep in heavenly peace_

And Diesel 10 opened his eyes...and smiled.

It was the beginning of the end.

* * *

 **Can the Island of Sodor be saved from the Malevolence?**

 **Will Duck tell his friends the awful truth?**

 **What is the awful truth?**

 **Where is Carlin?**

 **Where is Lady?**

 **How the hell does the bad guy's plan work again?**

 **Seriously, how does it work?**

 **What the hell is the deal with the Tumbleweed in the movie?**

 **Who will live and who will die?**

 **Can this story get even more convoluted before the end?**

All these questions, and more, will hopefully be answered on The Magic Railroad! Coming soon!


	131. The Magic Railroad: Part 1

The engines gathered were grim, as was their purpose. All creeds, colors, nations, sexes and types were represented here, at this most important meeting. Diesels and steam regarded each other with the occasional suspicious eye, and everyone was somewhat wary of the electric engines, but no one said much of anything.

But there were some, however, who moved about and acted as the gracious party hosts.

"Ambassador! So good to see you! Yong Bao couldn't make it, could he?"

"No, he has some reservations about your alliance, Truro-"

"Yes yes, well, we'll just have to make sure that we assuage those fears, tonight, won't we? Heh! And, my word, how is Ivan, old chap? Yes, the Juggernaut case, oh, terrible, terrible."

Truth be told, the City of Truro was rather nervous. He didn't like interacting with such a variety of engines. With Britain, it was different. He knew most engines and what they did, how they did it and what it took to bring them down or to your side. But with all these cultures and types and their own agendas...it was worrying. He didn't like variables he couldn't control.

Variables like Yong Bao, Ivan, Gina, Ashima and Rajiv, Frieda, Carlos, Raul, Logan...all those engines who hadn't turned up, despite their high positions in their countries. He knew that the British weren't exactly the most popular, but it was a bit of a slap in the face. Sending your second, unless you had vitally important business in your own country, was usually a sign that those in power did not approve of what you were doing.

Still, their doubts would all be distant memories, very soon.

At last, the awkward talk died down, as the Flying Scotsman took to the main stage, coming to rest before a microphone. Not for the first time, Truro wondered whether the Scotsman was truly aware of all that was going on. Such as the Juggernaut being under his control, or the fact that he had sent two spies to a certain Island just on chance. He hoped he didn't.

"Is this on- Oh! Ladies, gentlemen, and others of various remaining genders. Steam, diesel and electric engines...welcome to our little gathering. I trust that the drink and food is to your satisfaction. And if not, it's all American tat, so blame it on them."

Polite laughter rippled out. But it was definitely restrained.

"Now, our purpose here today is twofold. Firstly, we wish to soothe any worries or concerns you have regarding our recent handling of various situations. But secondly, we have in our captivity two diesels who can be claimed to be the Arry and Bert of the USA. Captured by our dearly departed friend St Eustace before his untimely death last year, Splatter and Dodge are on trial for their lives here. I wish for your advice on how to proceed with them." Truro gave an impeccable nod to the workmen, who activated a camera showing two Class 08 shunters, one purple, one biege, sitting in a cage not too far from them.

"Aren't they fools?" asked one voice.

"They might appear it-" spoke Green Arrow, a distant cousin of Scotsman. "-but these two are nasty pieces of work. We believe the only reason that they haven't surpassed Arry or Bert in public notoriety is because America was easier on the purge."

"Eustace got incredibly lucky." added the Duchess of Hamilton, her voice ringing out across the hall. "He had the best engines that we could spare, most of whom he hand picked to be part of his personal convoy. And they only screwed up because Splatter got a little desperate and tried to rip apart Eustace's face." She looked around grimly. "So yes. Lucky."

"What are our options?" called the French representative (Etienne, was it?) "Extradition or death, I assume."

"Indeed. However, let us not rush into this. Despite their crimes, they are still sentient beings, after all. Now, I will be taking questions while we think over our options, feel free to shout out at any point-"

"How can you justify this fool's errand?!"

There was silence for a moment, then Scotsman sighed. "Okay, so, this again."

"We will continue to bring this up!" called another voice. "Every meeting we have, we get stonewalled and waved off with some bullshit excuse about how it's progressing well! It's not, trust me, we'd know if it was!"

"The Other Railway is still active." remarked Etienne, grimly. "Zat is, how you say, very very bad indeed. Most of the assembled dignitaries here agreed with financing you and the British Government because you had potential to stop the Fat Director for good. And yet here we are, three decades on, the new millennium nearly beginning, and we are still scurrying in the dark. It is beginning to grow wearisome."

Truro knew that many of them had arrived here with very closed minds indeed, but he hadn't been aware just how little faith they had. This was alarming. Time to turn on the old Truro charm. "Please, please, listen, we admit, we have had troubles here. But let us make it clear, Rome was not built in a day! We are getting closer and closer every time to making a definitive statement against the Other Railway. It's just that with one thing and another, we've had trouble. Hargreaves's death, for instance, has thrown our allies at the Home Office into a tailspin. No one wants to talk to us, quite frankly, especially not about the Fat Director. And- And the situation on Sodor-"

Too late, he realized he had given another bit of ammunition to Yong Bao's replacement. She coughed, and remarked. "We are very concerned as to why the Island of Sodor has not been put on alert regarding the multiple indications that the Fat Director have plans for it."

"It's-"

"Don't say it's because of the Lost Engine!" The Russian one laughed, a deep throaty laugh. "She's either dead, or she doesn't want to be found! Either way, it is time to stop focusing on fairy stories, and concentrate on the real world!"

"That's not even going into how much money is being spent on this venture! We've never gotten updates that satisfy us, and if we have, then it's quickly offset by the numerous mistakes that have been made thus far!"

The crowd was beginning to look like protesters at a political rally, anger and rage building up more and more. Duchess, Green Arrow and the Mallard looked at each other, quietly moving to the back. Both Scotsman and Truro began to panic.

"Listen, please, if you would just calm down-"

On which note, there was a loud explosion. As the screams started, a section of the wall suddenly grew darker for a moment, and then through it, a black blur raced towards Scotsman. Workmen hurried forward, but they only had to get in the way once for them to drop down dead, and for the shadow to grow larger and larger. With a triumphant scream, Marklin lunged for Scotsman.

Bullets slammed into his incorporeal form. No pain was caused, but the rage made him turn away from Scotsman. **"Who will be first?!"** he hissed, before charging down into the crowd. Engines were already trying to evacuate as best they could, but from behind came the ominous sound of revving engines, and in burst the Juggernaut.

Truro's eyes widened in horror as the massive guns attached on either side started firing at all engines, steam, diesel and electric. The Russian diesel was caught straight in the impact, shredded to pieces. Yong Bao's second was already trying to make her way forward to stop it, but with a scream, she was caught between two familiar looking faces.

Arry and Bert rolled forward, their eyes glinting at the sight of so many dead. Scotsman had already activated one of the secret ways out, and already he, Duchess, Mallard and Arrow had made their way through, along with the majority of the delegates who were still alive. Yong Bao's Second was whimpering, the force of the two diesels tearing her apart looked painful just from sight alone. Then she, mercifully, died.

There was a clicking noise as a man recognizable as Captain Zero disembarked from Bert's cab, pressed a switch, and stood back as a section of the floor slipped away, revealing the cage containing Splatter and Dodge. The two of them looked very happy.

"Lovely to see you, cuz." Dodge drawled.

Arry grinned. "Likewise. Come on. Have I got a guy to meet you?"

And that was the last Truro saw before another emergency exit gave him the chance to slip away. He joined Scotsman, Arrow, Hamilton, Mallard, Etienne and a smattering of other incredibly lucky guests, watching through the security cameras as a large army of Other Railway personnel began to tear the room apart.

"The last safe haven is safe no more." muttered Hamilton.

"No, Sodor is still up and running!" Mallard insisted. "We can get word to them!"

"Indeed! I can get word to Bittern or Spencer, they can head over to the Island and warn Sir Topham Hatt that there's a storm coming in!"

"One problem with that, Scotsman." Truro nodded at the security cameras. "If we use the secret tunnels to get ourselves out of here, then we go deeper into the complex. Any radios are either at the exit, or back in there."

"Oh shit."

Etienne growled. "So, zat is it? I noticed Jinty and Pug weren't here."

"They're already on Sodor, meeting with our operative. But the three of them won't have much chance before whatever plan those bastards have gets put into place." Truro growled. "The war has begun. And we're powerless to stop it at the moment."

"We could really use that lost engine right about now."

"Shut up, Frenchie."

...

 _Hello, I'm Mr. Conductor. And I'm going to tell you a story about trains, folks far apart and the Magic Railroad that brought them together-_

 _ **Excuse me, the hell are you doing in MY booth, mate?**_

 _Your boo- Oh. Oh you're Mr. Angelis, aren't you?_

 _ **Damn straight I am. Also, you haven't answered my questions, so if you don't, you're going through that window.**_

 _I'm Mr. Conductor! ... You know, the guy they got to narrate this movie?_

 _ **You look a lot like a Baldwin to me... Billy! That's who you look like, Billy Baldwin- Also, WHAT is wrong with my narration? You think it's so bleeding easy; you can have this job!**_

 _Well actually-_

 _ **And furthermore, the hell is a railroad!? We don't call it that here! It's a railway!**_

 _Well I'm an American, so I say Railroad!_

 _ **Guess what? This show is British, therefore- Hang on, this script is a little threadbare, isn't it?**_

 _We had to cut A LOT out of it in post. Almost all of the fun parts._

 _ **Well isn't that just the way? Never mind, you've got this**_

 _Ahem. Every story, like a railroad-_

 _ **HA!**_

 _-has its hero. Meet Thomas, he's our number one hero. But he's running a little late toda-_

 _"HELLO!" **said Thomas, breaking the fourth wall somehow. As per frigging usual.**_

Gah! What was-

 **Oops, pressed play accidentally. Carry on.**

Err...you know what? Why don't you take a crack at it?

 **I'll try. None of that bloody script nonsense though! We'll have to get out the original cut later. They've already got some generic shots lined up, I see.**

...

The Island of Sodor.

It lies somewhere between town of Barrow-in-Furness and the Isle of Man. 62 miles wide east to west and 51 miles long north to south.

You won't find it on any map, mostly because the cartographers usually give up around that point. And yet it receives countless tourists every year. No one knows how, but some say the ships just know where to go. It's home to many things. Beautiful wildlife, breathtaking views... but mostly it's engines.

It's engines, human in all but body. They have become world famous for their unique personalities and the way they work off each other. Because they're incredibly nuts and stupid.

But there is one engine above all else.

He is Thomas the Tank Engine.

They bicker a lot. But in the end of the day, they are really useful.

Mostly.

And together they had many grand adventures.

But the grandest and most terrifying of all those adventures, was about to begin.

The orchestra is ready, the titles have begun to show, the audience awaits, get ready for those royalties, Mr Campbell and Mr O'Donnell.

And at last...

We cue the theme.

* * *

 **Part 1: Beginning of the End.**

"Five. Six. Seven. Eight." Gordon sighed as he looked at the clock. He had been waiting here for close on ten minutes, but had decided to invoke the laws of the narrative that the Island seemed to follow. You know the type,

And sure enough, the little blue tank engine rolled up. "Who do we appreciate?!"

"Stop acting like a prat, Thomas, you're not a yank. Or a cheerleader."

"Practicing your numbers, Gordon? Good engine, we'll make a mathematician out of you yet!"

Gordon was delighted, truth be told. He hadn't had a proper sparring match in ages, and the little puffball was the best to match verbal swords with. "I am counting how many seconds that you are late, little Thomas!"

"Oh wow, that's a really big waste of time considering that we're carrying passenger-less coaches." This will become clear in a moment, all right, now do hush?

"Well it was your idea! Play along, you said!"

"Not those words exactly- "

"What does that sign say?"

Thomas glanced over. "Bell out of order. Please knock."

"The other sign, your nitwit."

"Oooh, that's a killer burn there." Thomas sighed and turned to one of the larger signs that had been placed upon the station by concerned do-gooders who wanted the trains to actually run on something that roughly approached time. What losers, thought Thomas the Tank Engine. "Sodor Railway. Really reliable and right on time."

"HA!"

"Signed, Sir Topham Hatt." Thomas laughed. "The jokes practically write themselves."

"You weren't on time, little Thomas!"

"And you're being both bossy and pedantic, Gordon!" Thomas paused. "Well, more so than usual. Now, if you don't mind, I've got to go and pick up Mr. Conductor soon."

"I think- "Gordon said loftily. "-that we can take care of ourselves!"

" **Oh really?"**

There was a rattling of rails and both engines looked at each other, panic setting in. They glanced behind them. At first, they could only see a small cloud of dust. The voice, clearly coming from that direction, echoed around the station. The cloud of dust grew larger and larger as it rushed towards them, and a deafening ROAR filled their ears until it was all they could hear.

The dust was swept up and as it was deposited all over the two steam engines, they caught sight of a massive diesel.

" **OUT OF MY WAY!"** roared the behemoth. He practically rushed through the station, and his parting words could barely be heard. **"I have unfinished business here! And I'm going to finish it…. fast!"**

And off he went, until something resembling peace was restored, and once again all that could be seen of him was a small cloud of dust that could be barely be seen by even the most eagle-eyed of viewers.

Gordon shuddered. "Well, Diesel 10's back! Funny, I'd have thought he was staying in the smelters with those two prats...Iron Arry and Bert, or whatever."

"10 out of ten for being a giant arse." Thomas grimaced. "And devious deeds, whatever they are."

"Maybe it's his fashion sense." Gordon had recovered somewhat, and was trying to shake the dust off of him. "James would not approve."

"What did he call himself? Blast from the past? Well one thing's for sure. He clearly hates steam engines."

Both were silent.

"Maybe we need Mr. Conductor. I'll let the others know." Gordon admitted. Thomas nodded, before Gordon added with just a hint of smugness. "On time, too."

"Oh go to hell."

"You first." Gordon hesitated. "Take…. take care, little Thomas."

"You too lazybones." Thomas puffed away, leaving Gordon to wonder what was going to happen next.

...

 _RECORDING STUDIO._

 _Nice work. Now it's my turn. Ahem. On the other end of my universe, far across oceans of time, up and over Muffle Mountain and deep in a valley, is my home town. Shining Time._

 _ **WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! Despite what you may claim, America is not, in fact, in a universe all of its own!**_

 _It's flowery language! Who the hell-_

.

.

.

.

Let's just leave them there for a while. They're having a massive fight over who gets to narrate this, when really the important thing is that this story is told. I mean, one hundred and thirty episodes have been building up to this, we're not just going to give you any old rubbish. Something to bear in mind, however. The movie that was released? The movie they're filming dialogue for? Loosely based on a true story. And I mean really loosely.

The real story is far darker, funnier and climatic than whatever the hell THAT was that got released to the-

Oh, I'm sorry, you don't know what the hell is going on?

Well now, we can't have that.

So let's go back one day prior to this meeting between Thomas and Gordon.

Back.

Back we go.

…

The year is 1999. It's somewhere in between summer and autumn. Around about this time, people are panicking about the future, as people are want to do. The Y2K bug is a major concern, as is the destruction of traditional family values, which shows just how paranoid people are, as no one can really agree on what those values are anyway. And on the Island of Sodor...actually, life is pretty normal.

Normal being subjective, mind.

Gordon licked his lips nervously. "And you're sure that you know who is just up ahead?"

"Sure as I'm standing here!"

"Well, if we think philosophically about it, James-"

"Bog off, Henry."

"Hush, all of you!" Duck frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in heavy thought. "He's been on the run for hours now. So he'll more than likely be getting tired, and hungry, and thirsty too for that matter. Which means that he's more likely than not to make a slip-up."

"Tactical thinking there, Duck, old boy." Percy said, admiringly. "So what's the plan?"

"Well, the next station is Maron, and that's a good...four, five miles? For someone like him, as he is now, that means a lot of energy will be wasted going on the run! Yes boys!" Gordon would have rubbed his hands together, had he hands. "We've got him now!"

"We advance?" Toby remarked.

"We advance." agreed Edward. "Slowly, mind. Don't want to make a mistake!" He looked at Thomas, clearly not as enthused as his words would have people believe. Thomas sympathized. He too considered this to be very stupid indeed.

Slowly, the eight engines advanced forward along the tracks. Thomas, his eyes half-closed as he thought about all the people he was leaving behind to go on this mission. Edward, wondering whether or not he was too old for this shit. Henry, looking this way and that, determined to take the blighter in without a fight. Gordon, wishing for quite the opposite. James, wondering if he'd even make it to his four o'clock session at the Works. Percy, just a boy really, unaware of what he was getting himself into. Toby, quite aware that the only reason he was here was making sure Percy was okay. And Duck, cool, confident...in himself, not so much in his companions.

At last, with Gordon leading, they reached the point where the fugitive was.

"There he is!" hissed Percy.

"Shut up!" hissed Toby back.

"Lads, stop fighting! Gordon, maybe if we retreat, and get our drivers involved, we might have a better chance-"

"Oh Edward, live a little!"

"It's dying a lot that concerns me." muttered Duck.

"I am very much in favor of retreating! Or tactically withdrawing! Or both! As long as we get away from that dangerous monster, that hideous creature who could just as easily ruin my paintwork- I mean, hurt us as blinking, I don't mind!" James's plea, cowardly though it was, made sense. Henry slowly began to back away from their opponent, who had now noticed them and was slowly weighing up his own options.

"All right, cowards! Edward, scout ahead! Let us see if we can parley with it!"

Edward looked at Gordon, skeptically, then around at the other six engines. "And you'll just make Thomas go if I don't? Fine then." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and headed towards it. "Right, now, how do I parley? This is going to be awkward." He put on his best non-threatening smile. "Now then, old chap, it's been a bit of a run, and I'm knackered. So how about we just come back to the station together, and part ways as unlikely friends?"

The other growled, and grunted, and began to stomp his feet. Edward's smile began to get a little more strained as he became aware of how close their quarry was coming to him. "Gordon, parleying didn't work! But, if you can be careful, you can just get Toby to come over here and-"

He paused. "Gordon?" He turned, and stared at the seven conspicious absences. "Oh." He turned back, and grinned slightly desperately. "Okay, okay, you've made your point, I'll just back off- OH GOD!"

"Think he's all right?" asked Toby, back at the water-tower.

"Course!" Gordon was confident. "Edward's fine, he's done this a hundred times before."

"Usually with driver and fireman, though."

"Oh, hush, Henry. Besides, you wanted to retreat! Now we don't have to worry about a thing!"

At this very moment, Edward reversed round the corner at a speed surprising for his age and size, his face in the midst of a mild nervous breakdown. He screamed at the top of his lungs "DO SOMETHING!" and hid in a convenient bush.

Champion the Bull, their quarry, rounded the bend and began to pick up speed in the general direction of the remaining engines. They reacted well, all things considered. Only two of them completely broke down and started praying (Percy and Henry), only three made for the hills (Thomas, Gordon and James) and two of them actually managed to hold onto rational thoughts.

Toby sighed. "You know, I don't know why we're doing this."

"Anything to get some break time in, I guess." Duck frowned. "Mind, I don't know how this is supposed to qualify as the 'relaxing and fulfilling union standard break' that Hatt promised us." He paused. "So, um, are you going to use your cowcatcher, or...?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Toby headed over to where Champion was trying to poke James's eye out with his horns. Thomas was bravely attempting to sacrifice himself in an attempt to keep his 'friends' safe, but it wasn't working well. Toby rang his bell, getting the bull's attention. "Oi! Remember me?"

The bull did. As it began to move backwards, away from the others, Edward was able to whistle and alert the farmers. They moved in to close the gate, and with a jaunty wave, the expedition was over.

The eight famous engines caught their breath, and looked at each other somewhat sheepishly. Duck sighed. He was capable of dealing with assassins, spies, crazed would be world rulers and psychopathic ex-MOD members with electrical skirts. Bulls, on the other hand, were quite another thing.

The Fat Controller arrived, glaring at them. Which was the international signal for break time being over, and that they should really get back to work. Duck, thankfully, had nothing else all day, and so got to head back to the Little Western to relax with Douglas.

The others were not so lucky, and as Thomas collected Annie and Clarabel to head to Crovan's Gate, he became aware of how exhausted his friends looked. Truly, this was going to be a rather brutal week or so with regards to sleep.

...

"Morning you two!"

"Morning Thomas!" chorused both Skarloey and Rheneas. Work on the mines had stopped temporarily for the moment, so both of the old engines were now back to working with passengers. Crovan's Gate was already decorated for a village fete that would be held at some point over the next few days, and the engines had all been cleaned and dressed up. Why, they didn't know. That was what just happened now. Villages fetes seemed to be happening a lot, recently.

"All of this palaver really isn't worth it" remarked Rheneas, his voice somewhat sardonic, to match his personality for the day. He was in full on dick mode, far better than the bland soulless husk personality or the 90's loving idiot that often reigned supreme. "Nothing really worth celebrating."

"Oh I don't know" remarked Skarloey. "It's just a bit of fun. No harm in it, boyo."

"Hey, have you guys heard anything about the new diesel?" Thomas said, angry that the focus wasn't on him for once.

Both engines looked at each other. "No." Rheneas said at last. "What new diesel?"

"That's just it." Thomas frowned. "Sir Topham says there is no new diesel. But James said that when he headed to the scrapyard, he saw this massive diesel there. He's not been there before, and Arry and Bert are- "

"Their usual selves?"

"Prats, yes. He's apparently quite…. unnerving." Thomas chewed on his bottom lip. "It's probably nothing, but I thought I'd ask you."

"We'll tell the others, bud…. just in case" promised Skarloey.

"Thank you. Now- "Thomas grinned again. "-I'm getting back to the sheds! Gordon's not getting the best berth this time!"

…..

"I- "remarked Duke to no one in particular "-am excited to see just how you youngsters celebrate nowadays. Where are the biscuits!? I'm famished!"

"You ate them all, greedy guts!" crowed Sir Handel.

"Oh goody goody gumdrops, trust me." Laughed Peter Sam. "You don't. It's rough, Granpuff."

"Less of that now. Errant whippersnappers these days, with their fancy portable speaking devices and their new fangled 'Rapp Musik' I don't understand it anymore. What do you mean, rough?"

There was a loud bang as the door crashed backwards. Duncan rocked and rolled into the shed, pulling a long line of trucks with him. "All right! Let's get these babbies underground for when it's time lose our BLOODY minds!"

Duke sniffed. "Alcohol?"

"Aye! A truer brew was never made! I want to say goodbye to 20th Century the only way ah knows how! Getting mah brain drowning in alcohol!"

"Pity we can't actually drown him" muttered Sir Handel. Rusty, listening besides him, burst out laughing. The little diesel was also in a good mood, for once. They were getting a bit of time up in the quarry to themselves for a change, which meant a nice quiet celebration. With no Duncan.

…..

"Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind! Should old acquaintance be forgot- "

"If ye must sing Percy." said Donald, grumpily. "Ye would oblige me greatly if ye could do so in tune! Ye're making a muckle fool of yerself with that caterwauling!"

Percy looked downcast. "But Donald!" he protested in a somewhat whiny voice. "It's a new millennium soon! Doesn't that count for anything?!"

"Oh lighten up Donald." said Edward cheerfully. "He's not doing any harm. Well, aside to the window panes-"

"I said I was sorry!"

"I know, Perce. Don't worry about it."

"That's your point of view" growled Gordon. The big engine had had a particularly nasty incident with a sheep crossing the road, and was thus even grumpier than usual. Which was technically considered to be impossible, like Stonehenge growing legs and taking a bathe in the nearest lake. His ale was brought to his lips and he took a long sip of it. "But a new millennium doesn't exactly mean that it'll be good. It'll all stay the same. Wars, disease, famine...Adam Sandler. All the constants!"

"My god, cheer up!" Henry was in a good mood, having recently concluded a series of lectures around the Island about how to treat the environment better. And so far, only one rotten egg had been thrown at him. This was a new record. He was also listening to a series of lectures that the Dalai Lama had given, so he was trying to adopt the Buddhist way to dealing with problems. In his own way, of course. "Why are you so grumpy this morning? Was it that blind date? Did it not go so well?"

"You keep your mouth shut, Henry!"

"That's a no then." Edward sighed, a strange and melancholy sound that echoed around Knapford.

"Something wrong Edward?"

"No, he just likes to sigh randomly for no reason, what do you think, Percy?" snapped James.

"No Percy, I'm fine. It's just the…. aches and pains one gets when you begin to reach my age."

"Preach." muttered Toby the Tram Engine. "I still say that diesel at the works didn't give me a proper once over when he handed me the medicine." As he sidled in, he looked around. "We having a party?"

"If we are, it's a wee bit of a crap one." Donald said bluntly. "And anyway, back to tha original point, ye're singing is making Dougie's sound like something out of an opera!"

"Didn't Auld Lang Syne come from Scotland originally?" James asked, as he filled up on water, and had his boiler lovingly sponged by several suicidal workmen.

"Aye! But the difference being is that we didn't butcher it!"

"No course to be rude, Donald." Henry said calmly.

"Aye, well, it's been a long day and I just want to get back to tha sheds." Donald looked up at the Knapford clock and growled. "Even by the Fat one's standards, this is a lot of bloody work."

Donald was right. There had been a recent influx of tourists onto the Island as of late, as there often was following the filming of a new series, but this time there seemed to be even more of them. The Fat Controller had given some help in the form of drafted in engines from the mainland, but it was still taxing the engines to the point where tempers were rapidly becoming more frayed than usual.

"Have you seen what they're sending over nowadays? They're sending over those er…. damn, what do you call them?"

"Pinchers." Henry suddenly grew grim. "I think they're planning to start replacing the humans. No more workmen in the Works! Just robots! And what's worse, these ones are a bit more...temperamental than the others. One nearly ended up squeezing my driver's head off!"

Percy gasped. "Does that mean that one day we might not even need our drivers?"

"Ha!" Gordon scoffed. "I don't know where you get these ideas from! There'll never be a day where we won't have drivers and fireman! It's ridiculous! It's impossible. And it's impractical!"

Suddenly, there was a chiming, and the engines looked up to the clock. Six o'clock.

"Time to go home!" cheered Percy.

"Aye! Well, goodnight to all of yer! I'll tell Duck and Dougie ye said hello!" And Donald puffed off in the direction of Tidmouth Hault. The other engines, meanwhile, began the trek back to the sheds.

"You know- "Toby remarked as he puffed alongside Percy. "-there's a strange feeling in the air today."

"Dodgem cars."

"What?"

"Static electricity. There was that fair not long ago, remember? Duncan got mistaken for one of the coconuts. I don't think I can recall Rusty howling so loud in all my life."

Amid the chuckles, Toby frowned. "No, it's something else. Like…. the winds of change are blowing."

"Something definitely blows all right, but it's not the wind." Gordon muttered, but no one paid him much heed.

….

All across the Island, the engines were finishing up their work for the night. Drivers and fireman were getting ready to head home to their loved ones, station-masters and guards were switching with their night-time replacements, and the dockside lamps were being lit in preparation.

The Skarloey engines were nestled up snug in Crovan's Gate, where a number of engines who didn't have sheds of their own were coming back to rest. Elsewhere, Bertie the Bus had finally arrived back at his station to rest with the other buses, and tried to ignore the Guy Fawkes dummy left at the steering wheel while his driver headed off for a kip. Trevor the Traction Engine and Terrance the Tractor were brought in by their drivers to the Vicarage Orchard, while elsewhere, Cranky prepped himself for the long night ahead, and ignored the seagulls circling ominously over him.

It was, by the Island's standards, quite a shockingly calm night.

It would be the last one for a while.

Bertram stared nervously, as his driver and fireman listened to a wireless radio. Their expressions turned to malicious glee as they heard whatever it was that they had heard, and Bertram felt his heart sink.

It was happening tonight.

…

Now, the vast majority of engines were at home, resting and talking, watching TV and perhaps complaining about everything, before finally drifting off to sleep.

But there must always be a night train, and in this case, the unfortunate engine was Oliver, who had taken over mail duties for Percy for the week. Duck watched as he backed down onto the mail train.

"Take care now."

"Oh, don't worry about me. You're the one stuck with the Haggis eaters."

Twin whistles echoed out in protest, and laughing, Duck backed into the shed.

"Still. Just…. get the job done."

"Will do. Got through worse scrapes than this, remember?"

"How could I forget? You don't let me!"

Oliver gripped his wheels in preparation. "Ready Toad?"

"As I'll ever be, Mr. Oliver."

"Then let's get this over with." Gritting his teeth, Oliver whistled goodbye to Duck, as his driver eased him forward. The last door banged, the guard showed his green lamp, the Night Train was ready to go!

As his fireman stoked the fire, Oliver felt his mood lift slightly. He'd always enjoyed coastal runs, as a rule it helped to keep him fit, and the mail train afforded him a good long run before the first stop. To set the mood, his driver started up the classic Sudrian hit 'Night Train', and Oliver's mood picked up even more so.

It was a good song to be doing work to.

Duck waited until Oliver and Toad were both out of sight, then he settled back to sleep.

He did not notice, then, the shadowy figure of an unfamiliar diesel following the same track as Oliver. If he had, then maybe he could have done things differently.

…..

Thomas had bagged the berth of his choice upon arriving at Tidmouth, and so was sitting there, looking very smug and proud of himself for doing so. The other engines just looked at him, sighed, and got on with settling in. Toby headed over to the work-shed to spend the night, having long since decided that making the long journey to the Quarry or to his newly reopened original home was counter-productive.

There was a familiar whistle, and the engines all called out a "Good luck!" to Oliver as he passed on by.

"Right, what should we watch tonight?" Charlie and Sidney had left a number of VHS's and DVD's half in the many players that the engines had bought over the years so that once chosen, a simple nudge of the buffer could send it in. Henry looked around. "Something light? Heavy? Old? New?"

"I say light." Edward remarked. "Let's face it, we get enough of the grimness of reality every single sodding day."

"But my driver rented the Harrison Ford movie!" protested Gordon. "Patriot Games is apparently pretty good."

"Oh good god. Another one of those gaudy spy films." James said dismissively.

"Gaudy? Coming from you?"

"Now that'll be enough of that Thomas!" James fumed. "I'll have you know that my selection will be far more appropriate!"

There was silence.

"Well?" asked Toby.

James coughed. "The…. Well. It's, erm, Carry On Screaming."

"You're right, James." Percy said with a completely deadpan voice. "Far less gaudy."

The engines started arguing, and then quickly fell back on their old topics of discussion. Eventually Edward was able to submit his suggestion of Snow White, and it was reluctantly agreed that this was going to be the closest thing to a full agreement they'd get.

So while Gordon grumbled and James complained about how they really should have been watching something a bit more mature, and Percy was arguing that how dare James say this wasn't mature, and the others just trying to get on with staring at the TV, they watched the film. And slowly, the seven of them began to laugh together instead at each other.

Soon they were utterly engrossed, and therefore they too missed the sight of a diesel, rapidly gaining speed, chasing after Oliver.

…

Sir Topham Hatt smiled as he looked at his grandchildren's faces in a photograph. They had headed back to the mainland for a brief period with their often absent parents, before returning to himself and Lady Hatt after a fortnight. The picture was that of their last holiday together, where Hatt had fallen in the lake and punched Micheal Angelis. Fun times. He set it down, and began to finish up the last few notes.

The Italian Barber closed down shop for the night. Jeremiah Jobling slid his new songs into a safe. The Kyndley sisters prepared for an early night to deal with their angina. Nancy, the guard's daughter, grumpily swept the station one last time and wondered if she'd get to see the Kyndley's daughter agaub. Alec, Charlie, Sidney and the other drivers and fireman headed into the boarding house to get some rest. Lady Hatt prepared a packed lunch to take to her husband tomorrow. All of the Norris's headed off to the tavern, where they would meet the Refreshment Lady and several farmers. Mayor Bedella filed away the notes for the next speech on his secretary's desk.

The humans waited, and slept.

The last quiet night for a good while.

...

Now for the next hour or so, nothing much happened. Oliver completed his runs to Tidmouth, along Bluff's Cove (whistling to Gladys, the Old Slow Coach as he did so) and had decided to stop at Wellsworth to get a drink while the next set of bags was loaded in.

 _Those damn Pinchers,_ he thought grimly as he watched them load bags into the carriages. _Did we really need help that bad? It starts off with this. Just innocent things. And then things keep building and building up, and then you get to the point where the Island and the Other Railway don't seem all that different._

He shook his head. Perhaps it was just him. He had never trusted the Pinchers since the day that the Fat Controller had installed them across the Island. There was something rather disconcerting about it. He was rapidly becoming aware that the world was becoming far less human with every passing year. It was strange, he knew, coming from an engine, but…. well, he couldn't help but remember the sci-fi movies that warned of just this problem.

Maybe it was just the fact that these were meant to be in a factory and so clashed extensively with the Cozy England atmosphere, as some of the tourists who were over-romantic about the Island called it.

That was probably it.

At last, the final mailbag was loaded and he was ready to set off again. He felt refreshed and full.

"Hang on." He heard Toad say. "Here! Slow down!"

"What's wrong?"

"Not you, Mr. Oliver! There's a diesel coming up from behind, and he's- "

Toad was interrupted by a load blast from the horn of the diesel. Oliver had started already, but this jolted him further. There was a clear shout as the guard leapt from Toad onto the platform. He landed, somewhat awkwardly, but still out of the way of the diesel. Toad was not so lucky. The diesel's buffers caught him off guard, banging into his face.

"Toad! Are you all right!?"

"Never mind about me, Mr. Oliver! Get yourself to safety!"

Oliver concentrated and diverted all of his power that he could to his wheels. Soon he was racing along the track. But the diesel was just as fast, if not more so! Once more, the chase was on! And this time, Oliver had no idea of where he was going.

The signalman had seen everything, and had immediately pulled the lever that set the signal at danger. But the diesel ignored this, and soon they left Edward's station far behind.

All along the line, signalmen, workmen and the crew of engines still working late were alerted. There was a chase in progress.

Oliver was diverted quickly in Suddery Junction towards the scrapyard. The quick thinking signalman at the junction diverted the diesel onto another track. Growling, the diesel (Number now clear in the midnight as 199) headed on. He had been given instructions by his master that Edward's Branch Line would soon give way to the Main Line, and there, hopefully, one could catch the escapee.

Then, there was a bright white flash, and suddenly everywhere, EVERYWHERE was different. All across the Island, everything changed, cars ran into ditches, lorries backed into houses, planes swerved off their runways, Harold the Helicopter dropped back to Earth with a less than graceful thud.

Oliver knew none of this, and he panted as he raced along. "What's going on!?" No response. Nothing, not even a growl of concentration from either driver or fireman. "Hello!? Come on, this is no time for jokes!"

"Mr. Oliver!" Toad's voice was shaky. "What now!?"

"I don't know! My driver's not responding!" Oliver felt panicked. He wasn't an expert on these sort of things but he could feel inside his cab.

Neither his driver nor his fireman was in there.

He had been cut loose!

They couldn't have jumped out though, there would have been a noise! Remarkably, for the first time in his long life, Oliver felt as though he had a rudimentary control over his own steam. In essence, he felt as though he could actually control himself fully!

"We're on our own, Toad!" They rushed past the scrapyard, and Oliver spotted the line that led to the Quarry. He growled, and suddenly wrenched forward. The jerk tore at the coupling between him and the first coach.

"Mr. Oliver!"

"Toad, listen to me, I have to get you to safety!" Oliver gave a great heave once more, and this time the coupling shuddered. It was almost done. "I'll come back for you, but I'm not hiding in here! I've faced worse than this tin pot tramp!"

"Oliver!" Toad was clearly emotional; he had actually dropped Oliver's unofficial title. "Please!"

"Good luck old chum!" And Oliver threw himself onwards one final time. The coupling shattered, and he broke away from the train.

"OLIVER!"

But Oliver had rapidly raced away on the track that was now leading back onto to the mainline. The points were switched and Toad, helpless to fight back, was pulled along by the momentum of the mail coaches towards the Quarry.

But the odd thing was, when Toad looked in the signal box…

There was no one there.

...

The spell had been intended to kill the humans, give them a chance to invade quietly, thought Boomer angrily as he punched and lashed out as every single human dropped into his home. He stuffed them into the basement as they came teleporting in, and his biker gang helped too.

The spell itself have read that using it would 'Remove opponents from the field of battle'. What P.T Boomer hadn't known, however, was that it was rather literal. Instead of killing every single human there, it had instead taken them from the Island and deposited right in his house.

Sir Topham Hatt was aware of what was happening, in that it was magic and magic was not to messed with, and had just enough time to scrawl down a few words before the spell made it's way into his office and ripped him from it violently.

The last thing he could recall before passing out was the snarl on Boomer's face.

…

As morning dawned, the engines, unaware of anything else happening, awoke.

"Where are they!?"

This indignant question came from Thomas. He was rapidly losing patience, despite the heat that was slowly spreading through his boiler, and was making it known very, very loudly, in a James-like way.

"It's a disgrace! What do these people get paid?!"

"They are later than usual." Henry remarked.

"Damn it!" Gordon was growing crosser and crosser by the minute. "Time's time! I've got work to do! Passengers to pick up, coaches to schmooze, records to break!"

James was also incensed, though not for the same reasons. "My paint needs to be expertly maintained! Where are my masseuses? Just because I'm doing some dirty work doesn't mean I can't be beautiful!"

"James, aren't you stuck in here for the next few days?"

"Edward! No one wants to talk about that!"

Truth be told, even the patient engines like Edward and Toby were growing steadily unhappy with the situation. No one had come at all, except maybe the firelighter, and even then no one had seen him. They were basing it solely off the fact that there was definitely a fire burning and keeping them warm. Now, there was a general sloppiness about the railway, but even so.

It had been two hours since they had awoken, and the clock helpfully informed them that it was currently half past nine in the morning. The day usually started at seven o'clock, eight at the absolute maximum.

No one had come.

It was then that Thomas began to move.

"Thomas!"

"Watch out!"

"Oh no not again!" Thomas groaned as he tried to stop. He shut his eyes, praying that when he hit the turntable well, the pain would be over somewhat quickly. He prayed also that this time he didn't get a bush stuck to his face.

His wheels whirred and he touched-

-rails.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked down at the firm rails of the turntable. He glanced back. The other engines were…. well to say speechless would be a massive understatement along the lines of saying that 'World War 2 was a bit of a kerfuffle'. The turntable had definitely been pointing towards the opposite end of the sheds, and yet with no operator, it had…. swung backwards. As if sensing calamity and trying to save Thomas.

"W-Wh-What?" Thomas stuttered out at last. There was another pause as the engines, unbelieving, just stared. Then Thomas, in a rare fit of brilliance, decided to try something. Slowly, he concentrated. There had always been a bit of control that he could exert, such as refusing to move on certain occasions, but this was something quite different. He had never tried it before.

And slowly, very slowly, he felt his brake slowly clamp down, and he eased to a very gradual stop.

The engines at once burst out into frantic questioning, so loud that no one could even hear themselves think.

"ENOUGH!"

Gordon's shout finally got them all to shut up, and they looked at him expectantly. Though most considered him a blithering idiot at the best of times and a classist snob who wouldn't know how to spell 'hubris' at the worst, they were all looking for something to unite them. It might as well be Gordon making a fool out of himself.

Gordon hummed and hawed for a few minutes, then at last: "Thomas. Would you mind moving off the turntable for a second?" Thomas did so. "Thanks. Now…. I'm going to try something." And, concentrating very hard, he was able to slowly puff forward.

The other engines watched as slowly, the turntable swung back towards Gordon.

"Well." Toby said from the other shed, watching in fascination. "That's…. that's definitely something." He paused, and then he slowly moved himself forward. "Oh!" His eyes widened. "Holy…" He trailed off, looking off into the distance. "Look, why don't we head over to Knapford, if we can, and see if we can't find out just what's going on?"

"There's an idea!" Edward said, relieved. "All right, let's get cracking!"

….

There was near silence as the seven engines puffed along the tracks to Knapford.

They had passed through Tidmouth Station and discovered that everything was, to an extent, the very appearance of a model station. No mess, no litter, not even one dropped cigarette. The smell was gone too, the odd smell that often accompanied teenagers carrying the latest way to inhale illegal substances up one's nostrils. No, it all was very…. clean.

There was one exception, however.

The Pinchers were still there working away. Trucks had been arranged, as if the engines were pulling trains as per usual.

"Curious." Toby had remarked, though no one else had really had anything else to add after that.

But now they had reached the outskirts of the station. They stared uncertainly.

"Well?" asked James at last. "Shall we?"

Slowly, step by wicked step, the seven crept forward. They looked around them. Again, trucks and coaches had been arranged in accordance with the time table. The Pinchers were still operating nicely. But there were no humans. There was no sound aside from the quite hiss of steam and the unusually solemn chattering from the trucks.

There was approximately one minute of silence before someone spoke at last.

"Typical. We would miss the Rapture."

Edward's joke broke, or at least cracked, the ice. As they shared a laugh, the engines relaxed a bit. But only a little.

"What do we do now?" Percy asked nervously. "There's no one to tell us what to do."

"Well, we can't be the only engines still on the Island, right?" Thomas puffed forward. "So here's what I think we should do."

"No, listen, if anyone's going to take charge of this mess, it should be me!" The other five engines looked at each other and sighed. No matter that everyone had vanished, that the entire Island seemed to be deserted and they were completely on their own. Gordon was still being a prat, so there was still some order to the world.

Thomas would have normally made some sarcastic quip and would have eventually stood back to give Gordon enough room to hang himself.

But today he was not in the mood. He looked straight at Gordon and smiled. "All right Gordon. What's your idea?"

There was silence for about thirty seconds, before Gordon sighed, and puffed back.

"Right. Well, I actually have one, so if you'd be so kind as to let me speak it." Thomas coughed. "Well. There are seven of us, right? Now, assuming that we can all head off to where we know there should be other engines, we can inform them of the situation, and then- "He hesitated.

"And then- "cut in Henry. "-we should get to work."

"Work?!" Gordon laughed bitterly. "Henry, I don't know if you've noticed, but how the hell are we supposed to do that?! I've got the express to take, with no passengers!"

"No, Henry's got a point." Percy argued. "I mean; our trains are all set out for us. The Pinchers are clearly still operating somehow. The only way to avoid the entire Island getting clogged up with abandoned rolling stock is to do our job."

There was a pause as everyone digested this.

"I'll get down to the Skarloey Railway." Edward said, as he reversed backwards. "The Breakdown Train's back at Tidmouth, so I should be able to bring them with us if we need them for anything."

"I'll head to the quarry." Toby looked worried. "I hope Mavis is okay."

"She'll be fine Tobe. Mavis is stronger than we give her credit for." Thomas frowned. "Percy, could you head over to Elsbridge?"

"Why don't you go, little Thomas?" Gordon had recovered a good deal of his caustic wit (Well, that was what he called it.) "That's your branch-line, after all!"

"Take a look at this."

As Percy hurried off to the station (Where Annie and Clarabel proceeded to passive-aggressively bitch at him about all that was happening) and Toby headed off towards the Quarry, the remaining engines gathered round the Fat Controller's office. There, written in rather large writing, was the following:

 **THOMAS.**

 **I shall be heading off on business soon. Please be aware that my replacement will be coming soon to help out. He is known as Mr. Conductor. If you would be kind enough to pick him up and explain the situation…. please hurry.**

 **We don't have much time.**

 **SIR TOPHAM HATT.**

"What an odd message to leave." James remarked. "…. And why Thomas? Why not a big strong engine who knows how to show a visitor a good time? Not like that, stop snickering!"

"Well! I am the pride of the line!"

"And there's that ego again." Henry muttered. Out loud he said. "I'll check with the Little Western; see how they're getting along."

"Okay." Thomas stared at the letter. He was puzzled. Hatt never trusted him with anything. He had always said that the day that he trusted Thomas with running the railway was the day that-

" **Well now."**

Thomas froze. The voice was unfamiliar to his ears, but it was…. different. It seemed to have no true accent, flicking between British, American and Russian faster than a magician shuffles cards.

"Who- "He heard Gordon ask.

" **Steam engines."** The voice sounded sadistically amused. **"What a novelty."**

"Novelty!?" spluttered James. "I'll have you know- "

Thomas had puffed up just in time to see the massive diesel look at James. It was a look that stated that if James didn't shut up, he'd find himself being recycled into dog food cans. James, idiot though he may have been, shut up. The diesel was the size of BoCo, but had such a presence about him, he seemed much larger. He was painted a brown-ish gold, and had a face that could have terrified a Basilisk.

But that wasn't the most unnerving thing about him.

The unnerving this was that somehow, he had managed to get hold of a Pincher, and had it welded onto his body. The claw snapped and cracked at the air, and Thomas was left in very little doubt that the claw could tear an engine apart if it so cared.

"What do you want?"

" **Want?"** The diesel's eyes widened. **"I wanted to see whether or not this clean up got rid of you as well. It did not. Pity."**

"Who are you?"

" **Diesel 10 is the name."** Suddenly the claw whirled around and stopped an inch before Thomas's face. **"Keep out of my way."** And he moved away, leaving the three engines very unnerved indeed.

….

Which brings us back to the present, more or less.

The engines, once informed, adapted relatively quickly. True, there was a good deal of grumbling from some (e.g. Duncan, Sir Handel, Bill and Ben) and there was some fear that whatever had happened to the humans would happen to them, but this was mostly swallowed down, as across the Island, engines got to work. Trucks were taken to the farms, the mills, the hoppers and everywhere the Pinchers loaded them up for the next engine to take them away.

Coaches, on the other hand, were simply moved about. There had been a…. incident earlier.

….

"Okay, so Percy, it says here that you're next to take the afternoon train to Kirk Ronan." Duck said. He had no trains scheduled that day, so he had rather manipulated Thomas into giving him the job of telling everyone what to do.

"But Duck." Percy pointed out. "How? No people. At least the trucks are delivering supplies to the rest of the Island, this isn't accomplishing anything."

"True" Duck granted. "All right, leave the coaches here, we'll head on over to Knapford Har- "

He was interrupted by one of the Pinchers reaching out and grabbing Percy's coupling with such force that the little green engine was yanked backwards. The Pincher fixed the coupling to the coach's own.

There was silence for a moment.

"I think-" Duck said quietly. "-that it would be best if you took the coaches to Kirk Ronan after all."

"Y-Yes." Percy stammered, and puffed away. Duck warily stared at the Pincher, in the same way a tamer would look at a particularly nasty lion. Oddly enough, it also felt like the Pincher was staring back at him.

…

Shining Time Station is located... well, it's hard to really describe it. The Indian Valley Railroad that had been originally scrapped in 1938 was moved over a little to a secluded little valley that never really interacted with the outside world aside for the trains that came into the station, and those who left on them.

To describe Shining Time Station would be like trying to describe the sun in words other than 'It's bright'. Shining Time Station was what people who were nostalgic for the fifties thought that time period was like. And oddly enough, it was real! And not fake at all. When you walked in, either out of the station or even if you just stood on the platform, you were suddenly hit by an atmosphere that was so aggressively nice and polite you'd think you were dealing with some sort of nefarious cult that spread its message by smiles.

But yes, Shining Time really was a genuinely nice place to live in.

If you're lucky, mind, you'll see a figure occasionally looking over at you. He'll smile, and wink at you. He's only about the size of your hand, but none the less, seeing him stays with you forever. No matter how hard the electrotherapy tries. The people call him Mr. Conductor, and particularly nasty ones call him 'You! Get outta my house!'. This particular Conductor was the third one to take up residence in such a short time period. The first was someone who appeared to be Ringo Starr, and the second is the one we know as 'Carlin'. He, the present Mr Conductor that is, was still getting used to things, and as such, he couldn't help but marvel at the way that the town interacted with each other. A young woman with red hair cut in a pixie cut smiled sweetly at a young boy holding a goldfish bowl. A juggler entertained a group of children. And at the train station, the normal selection of hellos and goodbyes was held.

It was practically every American stereotype rolled into one big massive happy life.

Yes. Life was good.

Well. Mostly life was good.

But every so often, there would be a brief cloud of darkness on a perfect sunny sky. That came in the form of the man in black, a figure clad in biker leather and with a face like a thunderstorm. There was no humor to be found there. None at all.

On the day in question that I refer to, the figure was angrily ripping through the newspaper recycling bin. What for, no one knew, but they also knew that you didn't dare interfere with him unless you wanted to be run over and repeatedly beaten down by his gang of equally thuggish bikers.

Muttering, the man glanced at the newspapers and one by one, tore them apart. But at last, he seemed to find something that caught his eye. He stood up, and stared at it for a moment.

Then, without a word, he stormed out of the station and everyone breathed a massive sigh of relief.

The figure walked through the streets of Shining Time, everyone avoiding him like he was carrying the plague. He reached his house, and after a brief moment to glare at the others watching him, he stormed inside, slamming the door shut.

Reaching for the cell phone, P.T Boomer angrily dialed the number and waited. His hand squeezed the newspaper hard, his veins looking as though they were about to pop.

"Boomer, ye bloody nut! How long- "

"Shut. Up." Boomer hissed to the Captain. "I've found her."

Even though he couldn't see him, he could tell the Captain had just sat up sharply. "Ye have?"

"Yeah. All the bloody place we've looked and some goddamn kid managed to stumble on it, by accident."

"Well! Tell us!"

"Muffle Mountain. It's god damn Muffle Mountain. There's a picture of Stone as that bratty snot-nosed little kid I used to know….and he's standing on the mountain. We never searched there."

"Oh, hell!" The Captain sounded angry now. "We've bloody done it now! Why aren't ye heading up there!? Why waste yer bloody time!?"

"Because- "hissed Boomer, his eyes darkening in anger. "Because it didn't work!"

"What?!"

"Aye. I've got the humans in the basement! But the engines!? Nada! That bloody spell that Gotch got us backfired! I'll scrag him when I see him! Remove my arse, it's created a huge bloody problem!"

"That bastard! When I find him- "The Captain snarled and muttered under his breath. "Right. Ye don't move a muscle until we can sort out someone to watch over the wee prisoners! Have ye taken care of the bloody Conductor yet!?"

"What do you think!?" snarled Boomer. "I've been working my ass off just trying to get any evidence I can! He's on his way to the Island now! I'll have my gang take care of the search, and if worst comes to worse, I can always take control of this town."

"Ye do that! The Fat one can't know about this! Gotch is still there, right?"

"Oh yeah, he's indispensable. As long as I hold him by the hand and read him a bedtime story every night!" Boomer slammed the phone down and frowned. He looked to Gotch, who was listening, clearly amused. "I thought that was a nice touch."

"Mmmm. I do have some serious bad news though."

"Yeah?"

"The team we sent with Bertram? The one that I fished out of the scrapyard? They've gone missing. And I've checked, they are not among the Sudrians downstairs."

"That could be a problem. Have the Lorries check it out." Boomer reached for his helmet. "I'm going to find her, and when I do-" He left it deliberately open to interpretation. But it was probably something nasty.

...

As Thomas crossed one of the new viaducts specially built in recent years (Codenamed the Big Dipper after what one of the main constructors called his member) he reflected glumly on just how long it was taking Mr. Conductor to actually show up.

"If Diesel has some unfinished business, there's probably going to be trouble right around the corner."

He paused. "Thomas, why are you talking to yourself out loud again? Oh I don't know, it's fun. Yes, but don't you know that's the first sure sign that you're going absolutely doolally? Yes, I know-" And so this continued in this vein for quite some time, until at last, he arrived back at Tidmouth Sheds.

James was there. He was engaged in a very furious battle with a fly. As you do. "Boo, fly! Shoo, fly! That's it! No, you know what, I didn't want to have to break out the puns, but BUZZ OFF!"

"Ah, James. I'm glad to see the true enemy has revealed him-" Thomas swore aloud as he backed into the buffers harshly. "BOTHERATION!" He said. Okay, he didn't say that, but the alternative is too rude to even record.

"You weren't concentrating, Thomas!" said James, pouncing on the chance to mock Thomas with glee. "Lucky for you that the buffers were there!"

"Well that's what buffers are for! To stop engines from crash-" Thomas paused. "Wow, I'm stating the bloody obvious today. Let me continue that trend, what are you doing in the shed, James?"

"I'm feeling a little blue! Not so hot when you're red!"

"What does that even-?"

"I was naughty, and Sir Topham Hatt said I should stay in here and think about all the ways I can be really useful. Then I can come out again!"

"Bull." said Thomas bluntly. "You're trying to sneak on a couple of extra amethysts without anyone noticing, and you're struggling because there's no humans to help you out, like Hatt does. Honestly James, you really are-"

"Thomas." James whispered in terror.

"No, you're James, I'm Thomas! Now, if you're going to use that excuse-"

"Thomas!"

"In a minute, James! You have to say it with a bit more conviction, and also, make up a better one-"

"THOMAS TURN THE HELL AROUND!"

Thomas looked behind him.

 **"Help you?"** laughed the deep, booming voice of Diesel 10. " **You'll always need help because steam engines are cowardly, cranky...worn-out hunks of metal who couldn't hurt a fly. The dinosaurs accepted that it was their time to die to make way for the humans. Now you should really do the same for us diesels!"**

"The dinosaurs got hit by a meteorite." mouthed off Thomas.

 **"Shut up, tea kettle."**

"We're not!" James argued, late to the party as usual.

 **"Are."**

"AREN'T!"

 **"Are."**

"AREN'T!"

 **"ARE- Why am I even indulging you at this point? Now, a little preview for your demise. I've come back here to find a lost steam engine. I'm going to eradicate her off the face of this goddamn Island, and then I'm going to dominate you! And then you'll be useless scrap on the outside as well as on the inside."** he grinned at his claw **. "Right Pinchy?"**

"Pinchy, how old are you!?" ranted Thomas.

"Big bully." James blew a raspberry. You'll be surprised to learn that Diesel 10 did not so much as even acknowledge James's stellar insult.

As the diesel pulled away, Thomas felt the need to continue this rant as he puffed after him. "We're really useful engines! Dominate us!? I don't dominate easily! You're one of those kinky engines, are you!? We won't let you! Neither will this weird Mr. Conductor! I'm going to get him right now!"

As soon as Thomas was gone, James's mind finally caught up again. "What lost engine?"

Then he got bored and started trying to apply his next set of jewels to the number five on his tender.

…..

The entrance to Shining Time Station was not something you could miss easily. The citizens were very, very proud of the fact that they lived in such a place, and like most American small towns that were probably a tad too proud of themselves, they had spent quite a bit of money making an incredibly complicated sign welcoming people to Shining Time to signal this.

Such a sign had to be maintained at all times. And unfortunately, that task usually fell to the runt of a very, very big litter. Patch Keating belonged to one of the bigger families of Shining Time, one that had ancestry that could be traced back to the time of the Founding Fathers (Patch had once asked his dad if that was some sort of strange band. He had been told to shut up and get back to work on maintaining the sign) and as the youngest, he had been promptly given the incredibly boring and not-at-all important job of cleaning the sign every so often.

Patch was fifteen, and suffered a great deal from the fact that there were no drugs, no booze and nothing very interesting on the TV. Shining Time, for all its perfections, was quite possibly the worst place for a growing kid to be living in. He turned to his faithful companion, Mutt, the dog. "There we are, Mutt. Paint job's finished. Can't wait until we have to do this all over again."

Mutt barked and rolled his eyes. If you've never seen a dog roll his eyes before, then that means they still have some hope left for you.

"Shining Time better have the best welcome sign on the whole darn Indian Valley Railroad. And if it doesn't, I'm meeting the guy so I can…. give him a strong talking to." Patch growled and clicked his teeth. The thing about Shining Time was that it got inside your head. You couldn't really make real threats, especially not recently, or even swear.

Mutt barked twice.

"Glad you agree. At least I hope you do. Got to say, Billy's old map sure did help a…. lot?" The statement turned into a question partly because of the sight of the figure in black riding towards him. Mutt barked. "Err…. yeah, he's on his way back now."

Boomer's bike thudded over the grass and rolled up to Patch.

"Er, WHAT WAS THAT, MUTT?! Yes, YOU HEAR THAT TRAIN WHISTLE SURE THAN IT HEARS- "

"Shut it kid." Boomer's eyes roved over the map. "Well, well. Interesting, not going to lie. Where'd you get a map like that?"

"L-Listen, Mr. Boomer, I don't want any trouble-

"Good. Good boy. That's smart, that is. Don't want any trouble? Just give me the map." Boomer didn't exactly smile, as such, but Patch got the feeling that the expression on his face was what he thought a smile was. "Not going to do anything with it, I just want to take a- "

There was a loud shrieking noise that pierced the air. Boomer jumped five feet in the air and spun around to see a sleek, black train rush along the tracks. "Twofeathers." He growled. He turned to Patch. "Remember, I'll want to see you later. Have fun with your sign, kid."

Patch took a deep breath of relief as Boomer rode off, and waved cheerfully to the driver of the train named Rainbow Sun. Billy waved to a group of children, resting in a beautiful field. If one could describe Shining Time Station's countryside in one word, it would be 'idealistic'. No pollution here.

Patch was resting on one of the picnic tables when Billy headed up. Billy Twofeathers was a fine engineer, a gentle soul and someone who you would have to dig deep to find any dirt on. He was also, on occasion, dressed like someone who was auditioning for the Village People.

"Fine work, Patch." he said, admiring the sign. It was a nice sign. They had little to do in Shining Time. Very little. If you weren't an immigrant from Archie Comics, or something. So, appreciating THE SIGN was the best one got to real entertainment.

"Thanks. You saw Boomer?"

"Saw him? I could smell him a mile off." Billy looked at the young boy intently. "Map any good?"

"Yeah, it helps, but I...well, there's something odd about it. There's like these little shadows lines all over it. They look like normal railroad tracks, but I can't see any around here apart from the ones the trains run on."

"Another mystery that makes the land so..."

"Magical?" Patch smirked as Billy nodded. "Boomer was weird. What's on this map that he wants?"

"Don't know. He cut in front of me at the level crossing earlier. If I had gotten here a few minutes sooner, I would have..." Billy trailed off. "You know something, Patch? Boomer is dangerous. Oh, I know he seems like just your average bully now, but I sense something about him... something not quite right."

"I know." Patch was aware that they were shifting the topic onto odd ground, so he decided to plow on ahead. "I can't help but kind of admire him, you know." Under Billy's eyes, he hastened to add "Because he managed to get out of here. I mean, I think he's a...nasty person, but I still...you know, I still sometimes want to get out of here. See the world a bit."

"There is no shame in that, Patch." Billy placed a hand on his shoulder, and he guided Patch's horse over to him. "The world isn't a bad place, all things considered. There are good and bad parts to it, like everything. But I get the feeling you're meant for more than just cleaning that sign, day in, day out."

"Tell that to my dad." Patch checked his watch and jumped up. "I'd better go, promised Mr. Stone that I'd clean out his yard today."

Billy frowned, and struggled internally for a moment, before at last speaking his mind. "Does he treat you well, Burnett Stone?"

"Well enough. He never shouts at me. And if I'm uncomfortable with any work he's given me, he's pretty cool on me not doing it. And he's generous with tips." Patch shrugged. "That's good enough for me."

"Pragmatic." Billy smiled, sadly. "He ever smile?"

This gave Patch pause for thought as he clambered onto his horse "No. But he doesn't frighten my horse, either. So he can't be terrible. I don't think he's bad, if that's what you're saying." He shook his head. "Just sad. Unbearably sad."

"Heart of a poet." Billy raised a hand. "Good hunting, Patch."

...

In the dark of the cave, hidden beneath thicket and bush, and brambles, and weeds, long since in need of cutting, Burnett Stone looked around. It had been a week or two since he had come up here last, and the spiders had grown busy. As he cleared a path, he looked around. "Sorry I'm late."

Silence, as per always.

"It's, err, been a bit chaotic. You know how it is. There's some great fete going along, and Stacy wanted me to contribute something. Well, you know how it is, I can't actually say no to her. It's weird. Her smile... I'd think you'd like her." Burnett didn't smile, but he did look wistful. "I was actually wondering if maybe I could take her out sometime-"

And suddenly the memories came rushing back.

 _"One day, we're going to fix her up! Spick and span and not so much shrapnel in her! And maybe we can go for a ride together! Wouldn't that be nice, Petey! And I'll drive her one day! That okay, Miss Lady?"_

 _"More than okay, child!"_

 _"And I'll take you with me, Petey, can't go anywhere without you. Oh, and of course, I'll take you with me, Tasha!"_

 _"Oh, that would be swizz! Will you Burnett? Please? Promise?"_

 _"Okay, okay, jeez, I promise!"_

And here he was. Alone in the dark. "No. No you're right. No time for that." He briskly strode over and began cleaning the cobwebs off of the mighty engine that was resting in his workshop. "Can't stop. Can't ever, ever stop until I've got you working again."

...

Inside Shining Time Station, Stacy Jones was cheerfully helping along more people onto the platform, and was constantly being barraged by a selection of telephone calls and the occasional fax message. She looked over, and rolled her eyes as Schemer tried once again to try this new and improved machine he had invented. But no one was interested in this strange new thing called a 'Blu Ray' at the moment. Laserdisc, they said, would stay around forever.

Placing her hat on, Stacy answered the telephone with typical cheeriness. "Hello, Shining Time Station, this is manager Stacy Jones speaking!" She waved ahead a young child carrying her goldfish bowl, and smiled at him as he placed it back upon the counter. "Yep, 10:15 Pelican Falls train to Shining Time is right on schedule. You're welcome." She rang the bell and announced over the speaker. "The ten o clock to Lucy's Leap is leaving now!"

She glanced outside, and noticed Billy and P.T Boomer fighting once again. Verbally, of course. Gritting her teeth, still in a friendly smile as the child played with a racing car, she started pulling out a baseball bat from underneath the counter, just on chance. But Boomer hit the overhanging basket of flowers, and stormed off.

"Rough time, Billy?" She asked sympathetically as he stormed in.

"Rough guy." Billy held the flowers in his hand. "Get these in some fresh water, they'll be fine."

"Look what I found." Stacy pulled out a piece of paper. "Old locker in the lost and found area. Who does that remind you of?"

"Peter Pan from Hook?"

"Close. Look at the signature. Burnett Stone!"

"Ha!" Billy looked at the drawing, that of a child climbing Muffle Mountain. If one looked closely, you could see a second child lying near the abandoned rail tracks, clearly male.

"Hard to believe he could ever look that happy." Stacy looked wistfully out of the window. "Have you seen him? He was supposed to give me some of his birdhouses as prizes for the fete."

"Wonderful smile, as I recall." Billy sighed, remembering. "Loved railroads too."

Then they had to stop thinking about the past, because they had actual jobs to do. Elsewhere, Schemer contemplated becoming a clown. They surely got more respect than he ever did.

...

Burnett sighed. He had a lot of work to do. There was still far too much dust on her, and there was just this... sense of darkness surrounding her. The paint was wearing thin as well. He needed some more. He vaguely wondered how much he would have to pay Patch extra to go down and-

There was a sound of gentle shoes hitting the ground, and Burnett spun around, flashlight in hand. His hand automatically went for his right leg, but much to his dismay, he remembered that his gun was still back at the cottage. If he had just-

Patch stared at Burnett, then at the engine, then at Burnett. The older man relaxed, somewhat, and stormed over to glance behind him. "How did you find me here?!" He demanded, not raising his voice too much, but to an extent. "And how did you get through the-"

He stopped. No point in telling the boy anything else.

"Found the entrance to your workshop a long while back." Patch shrugged. "Didn't have permission to come in. But you weren't at the house, and I couldn't go back home yet. One of the crofters told me you were headed this way, and I figured that I might as well check." He raised his hands. "I wouldn't tell anyone, not unless you wanted me to."

For a moment, Burnett just wondered, if he had had a son, would he have been like Patch? Someone who hadn't raised the point up until now? Someone he could rely on? Because he felt he could rely on Patch. He had more faith in children than he did in most adults. "See that switch, over there on the wall? Flip it on."

"It's not like Frankenstein, is it?"

"I can assure you, there are no corpses in here." Of course, it probably wouldn't do to tell Patch about the corpse under the floor of the workshop. That might...put him off, a little bit.

The lights caused him to narrow his eyes and take a minute to adapt. He rarely had cause to use the lights anymore. He nodded as Patch stared in awe at the mighty steam engine. "I...I always figured there was something magical about this mountain." said the boy.

"Yeah." What else could you say? "All mountains have their secrets, Patch. Admittedly, some just have really odd looking grass, and others are good places for weed dealers, but there are some that have genuinely fascinating things hidden. Careful, don't dent her."

Patch stepped off the buffers of the engine. "Sorry. Can I... help you, Mr. Stone?"

Burnett stared, warily. "Yeah. Sure. Help me dust her off?" He threw a duster over to Patch, who caught it. "This is, er, Lady."

"... Why is she so important?"

"Ah, the confusion of youth." Burnett almost smiled. Almost. "She's a collection piece, in a way. Rarest kind of steam engine there is."

"Why is she locked up?"

"She's not. She's safe from harm. World out there is...cruel. It can be good, but for most of the time, it's just cruel. You see, long ago, I made a mistake as Lady's caretaker. An evil diesel... well, he found Lady. And he threatened to destroy her totally.

He chased her, forced her on beyond the brink. Used up all her coal, and made her go too fast...and then I crashed her. So I brought her here. It's taken me so long, and it'll take me even longer, but I need to fix her up. But...but one mistake...all it took. Never been able to make up for it. And I've never been able to bring her back to life, or to make her steam, properly."

They were silent for a moment.

"Downer."

"Sorry." Burnett pulled himself together. "I...tend to go off on these tangents, sometimes. I haven't really talked to people in a long while." He looked at Patch shrewdly. "You're a good kid. If you want to earn a little bit of, um, what the Brits call, pocket money, I'd be grateful for any help you could give her. Even if it's just coming up here, checking on her, making sure she's okay-"

"I could do that." Patch nodded.

"You have to mean it though... Patch, she's more precious than gold itself."

...

Kirk Ronan Peak was one of the natural beauties of the Island of Sodor that had, for the most part, been untouched by human hands.

Until now.

Several humans, humans who had thought the message set out by the Fat Director was a worthwhile one, had carved into it the image of Diesel 10's face, staring out, smirking. Think of it as an almost Satanic symbol to ward off any good.

It was also bloody gaudy as shit.

Located here were the cohorts of the evil Diesel. A selection of troublesome trucks had been recruited to serve as muscle, with a rebuilt S.C Ruffey leading the pack. Besides them rested a number of diesels, varying in size and shape. But most prominently were four Class 08 Shunters. The first two were identical, save for a little bit of stubble on one's chin. The other two were also identical to each other, save for the color scheme. One was purple and one was a dull gold color.

"Cousins." remarked Arry. "Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss this for the world." drawled Dodge. Splatter let out a rattling laugh. These two were legendary scrappers over in the US, and many steam engines regarded meeting them as a nightmarish experience. Splatter in particular was completely and utterly insane, barely controllable even by the calmer Dodge. The Other Railway had already had to feed him several trucks just to keep his head cool.

"Where's the boss?" grunted S.C Ruffey. "I wanna get to work."

"Scrap, scrap, scrap!" howled Splatter.

"Patience." Dodge looked at Arry, eyes questioning. "You still wish for us to put on the act of a fool, don't you, brothers?"

"Course." Arry sniffed, an automatic tick. "These humans think we're some bloody preforming monkeys! Waiting on them hand and foot! It took them this long to get it ready, I wouldn't put it past them to fall at the final hurdle. And if that's the case... well, we're going to have to pick up the pieces."

"He's coming!" Splatter hissed.

Diesel 10 came to a screeching halt, admiring the image with interest **. "Beautiful. You captured it perfectly. I could cry."** Every word was dripping with sarcasm.

"We're here, boss!" said Dodge, switching to a more nasal accent.

 **"Right. Listen up."** Ten looked at the two of them, his eyes peering into their very souls. At least that's how Splatter would describe it later **. "I have a job for you, Splodge."**

"It's Splatter."

"And Dodge."

Ten's claw snapped with a sickening echo. **"I haven't the time, nor the effort, or even the slightest notion of caring, to remember either of your names in a pinch. If you make it past the week, I might remember not to kill you all when judgement day comes. Might being the key word. Now, I have returned here to find a steam engine- "**

"Easy" grunted S.C Ruffey. "Island's full of them. Crawling about like flies on a corpse."

" **Not the one that I want."** Ten's voice was coldly calm. **"She escaped me once before, in my far more…. superior body. As long as she lives, so do the other steam engines here. But if she was to be destroyed- "**

"Destroyed?"

"You say destroyed!?"

" **Yes, you cretins, I said destroyed."**

"But- "Splatter looked at Dodge "-but there's one small problem. Emphasis on small, heheh."

"Yeah, Mr. Conductor's coming, and he's not going to let you destroy her."

"No way."

" **Conductor?"** Ten glanced at Arry. **"What conductor?"**

"Inhabitant of Shining Time Station. Turns out before that teleportation spell was interrupted, Hatt managed to get a message to him, somehow." Arry looked frustrated. "Boomer's throwing a massive fit, like the child that he is. Most of them have died off, or disappeared now, but this is one of hte last."

" **I can do whatever I want."** Ten growled, almost softly **"I could have picked Stone, I could have picked the girl, why, oh why did I pick Boomer of all people?"** His voice switched slightly, to a more American accent "I'll get him too! With Pinchy!" He raised his claw, snapped menacingly and cackled.

The claw flopped back down and hit him square in the face. Both sets of diesels started laughing.

Ten suddenly switched back **. "Laugh to my face again and yours will be removed with equal joy!"** He stormed away, grumpily. He wasn't alone in this tincan of a body. There was something wrong with this body, a second personality. He was stupid, or pretending to be stupid, and had a ridiculous American accent. Or Russian. Or British. Sometimes it changed. He had to fight constantly just to maintain control.

That wouldn't be a problem soon.

...

Billy sighed as Mutt raced towards the painted mural on the wall. He looked at it, tilting his head to the side.

Then there was a sudden sound, like the tinkling of bells, and through a whirlwind of gold, a tiny man appeared and sat upon the mantle.

No, Billy wasn't taking any drugs, medicinal or otherwise. Mr. Conductor tapped his cap briefly, cleaned off his dusty uniform and grinned at Billy.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. C." Billy gave a quick wave. "You off in a hurry?"

"Hello Billy! Yes, I just have to lock up, and then I'll be off for a bit." As Mutt parked, Mr. Conductor retrieved a rather battered looking key from his pocket and locked the painted door behind him. "Da da da, da da da! Just watched that program, you know, Thomas and Friends?"

"Ah yes." Billy remembered all too well. Allcroft and Mitton had briefly headed over to Shining Time in the late eighties and early nineties to film some things from Shining Time to link stories told of Thomas and his kin. Billy had been different back then. Literally. It almost looked like a completely different person was playing him. "All those years ago. Kara, Dan, Matt...all gone now, of course." He snapped back. "So, you're heading to the Island?"

"First time! The others got to go a lot often! Mr. Starr especially, turns out he spent a great deal of time there." At last, the door was locked, and Mr. Conductor turned back, though not before cleaning his window. "Really need to get the maid in a little more. All right. Toolkit...check. Ticket-puncher, check." Billy didn't know why Mr. C needed a ticket puncher, when you considered that the title was more hereditary than anything else, but he didn't want to dent his confidence, as he continued on "A-yi-yi-yi! All aboard!"

"You sound like Alpha Five!"

"Didn't have you down for a Power Rangers fan, Billy." Mr. Conductor grinned. "just testing Billy. Can't let my conducting skills get rusty... though over there they call us guards. Don't know why. And freight cars are trucks! The madness of it all!"

"Important day, is it, Mr. C?"

"Very important! So, very, very important! Absolutely very important day! This trip to the Island of Sodor...well, the letter I have from Sir Hatt seems to be rather urgent, so there must be quite a need for me over there!" He sighed. "I remember the one time that Starr introduced me to him. I said that it was the only place in my whole universe where I fit in size-wise. He told me not to be so stupid, and that I could get bigger if I wanted to, it was just a matter of using our powers correctly. I think he was offended that I suggested he was short in anyway."

Billy shrugged. The TV show made the inhabitants of the Island look like miniature models. He wondered if that was just storytelling, or whether there was something in the water over there.

"It's not just that, Billy. Some whack-job named Diesel 10 is back over there, according to his letter. Pretty bad guy, all things considered. I have to make sure he behaves himself. Probably just some misunderstanding. Excuse me." And pulling out a notepad, Mr. Conductor wrote something down.

"Hope your visit goes well, Mr. C." Billy was aware that this latest addition to the Shining Time painted house on the wall (And wasn't that an interesting series of words to put together) was a little more...prone to being a bit of a loner. Compared to the one he referred to dismissively as 'Starr' and the one that he had become acquainted with, who was often referred to by his name as 'Carlin', there was a lack of eccentricity there.

"Thanks Billy." Mr. Conductor barely looked up as Billy headed off to the Rainbow Sun. Mutt, on the other hand, looked up and moaned mournfully. "Must be responsible. Reliable. And really... don't tell me!" He glanced down, and stamped his foot "USEFUL, USEFUL! I SHOULD REMEMBER THIS STUFF!"

With a blast of his whistle, he teleported over to the front desk, where he spotted Stacy, still hard at work. He waved, got one back, and turned his attention to the items upon her desk. He turned to the goldfish. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Bubble bubble, went the goldfish.

"Oh well thank you, Moby Dick, I like my sparkle too!" He put a great deal of emphasis on the second word of the fish's name. Fish could be assholes, sometimes. "You know; gold really is your color." Stacy smiled, though somewhat strained. A man talking to a goldfish was...still somewhat odd, even by Shining Time standards. Mr. Conductor waved to the child who took the fish away, and cheerfully sauntered over to Stacy's papers, to have a little poke around.

"Stacy, where did you get this picture?" The Conductor pointed at the drawing of Burnett. On the back of it was taped a similar looking picture, this time with two boys and one girl, all teenagers, one of whom appeared to have been removed from the picture quite violently.

"Old locker, funny enough. Apparently the painting was Burnett Stone's when he was a child. Seemed like quite the talented painter." She looked at the photo. "But as to that, I don't really know. I was told that he used to work on this railroad...he never leaves the other side of the mountain anymore. You seem puzzled, Mr. C?"

"Well, that's because I am, Stacy." Mr. C pointed to the painting "This one could be any old set of mountains, really. But the picture...no, this picture can't have been taken anywhere else, but Sodor. But...he couldn't travel there without gold dust!? Okay-" He quickly amended "-it's not quite in another dimension, but still, if this picture and drawing were taken when he was young, then he wouldn't have had much opportunity to go near the Isle of Man. My sparkle is the only way to get there, especially since the lost engine disappeared-" Then a whistle sounded and put this interesting and quite rambling idea out of his mind for a good while. "Anyway, I came here to say goodbye! I have to go now!"

"Right now?! Forever!?"

"Not forever, but yes, right now! Have to make sure that everything is safe and sound on the Island of Sodor!" And with a blast of his whistle, he vanished back to the mural.

Then he returned. "And for the record, try not to sound so happy." And off he went again.

Stacy sighed. "Well, at least you said goodbye. Not like the last one." And lost in nostalgia, she stared at the photo of Burnett. Both drawing and painting made her wonder.

What was it that made him tick?

She glanced outside and spotted Billy climbing up into the cab. Mutt was there, watching on with a pensive look (well, pensive by dog standards, anyhow). Like Stacy, he sensed danger. Except his dog senses were ringing with something that had long since passed unease and was now heading squarely for fear. Whatever it was, he didn't want either Billy or Mr. Conductor to leave Shining Time, for Billy's next train journey would take him out of the valley for a good few days.

As Billy gave him a thumbs up, Mutt rushed back to find Mr. Conductor making one final check of his house. "Old Smokey, you stay right here until I get back!"

Mutt vaguely wondered why Mr. Conductor was talking to a drawing on the wall, but decided that such questions were too big for a dog like he.

"Ah there you are!" Mr. Conductor's role of talking to things that couldn't talk back to him was continued when he turned to Mutt and casually began chatting again "Is something wrong, Mutt?" As Mutt mournfully howled, he chuckled "Now what kind of an answer is that?! I'm going to be late, Mutt, and I promise I'll get back as fast as I can, but I have to concentrate." He shivered. "I seem to be having trouble with my sparkle. Don't ever tell anyone I said that. I'll get laughed out of the room."

Mutt turned away.

"Mutt? Goodbye Mutt. Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle-" As he faded away, Mr. Conductor did catch Mutt rolling his eyes. "Yeah, that was pretty dumb," he admitted to himself.

...

Thomas puffed by the watermill. He marveled how it was still working despite everything. Not least having no people to operate it. And yet somehow, the Pinchers were responding in perfect time with it. As he passed along a long stretch of forest, he began muttering various obscenities towards this mysterious Mr. Conductor.

"Where are you, you idiotic so and so? Do you not have clocks where you come from? From what Fat Hatt says, you always seem to get here on time! Then again, Fatty's a bit of a prat, so I don't know why I trust him."

And then, he saw a series of sparkles off in the distance. As he came to a hard break, he stared at Mr. Conductor in bafflement. "How did... did you just... are you all right?!" he settled on, desperately trying to avoid certain topics that would make his brain hurt.

"I'm fine...er...Thomas, is it? Everything's happening at once." The Conductor turned off into the distance. "I have to see Sir Topham Hatt to get orders right away, according to this letter. I don't know, the journey keeps getting bumpier and bumpier."

"Ah yes, about that-" Thomas blinked, and then shuddered in shock, as the strange man in blue teleported into his cab "You could have just used those legs of yours and clambered on board. No need to be flashy. I get it, you have weird Star Trek powers and you're showing them off. But...the Fat Controller's gone missing! And there's this big bully diesel, you better be careful."

"Don't worry about this Diesel 10!" Mr. Conductor scoffed. "I've been informed of him, I just pop in and out and keep him in order, I hope-WAIT what?!"

"Bloody Americans." Thomas sighed, and started to relay the whole sorry saga to the increasingly dumbstruck Mr. Conductor.

...

Elsewhere, one of Diesel 10's personalities was starting up a rousing song. "Old McDiesel had a plan, ahahahaha! With a pinch pinch here, and a pinch pinch there, here a pinch, there a pinch, I crack myself-" Suddenly his claw slammed down on his forehead, and his voice changed tone **"Damn it, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS BODY!?"**

There was a pause.

"Toby, did that diesel just start arguing with himself-"

"Don't question it, Mave, I don't think you want to go down that rabbit hole just yet."

...

Patch had headed home. He had left Burnett to finish cleaning up the cobwebs. As he left to flick off the light, he glanced upon the workbench by chance, and suddenly was struck by a sense of nostalgia.

There was an engine, carved out of wood, just the right size to run on toy rails on one of those model railways. He walked forward despite himself, and ran his fingers over it, relishing each slight groove and indent.

Pete had always been good with wooden carvings.

And as he gently drove it around, a memory came floating back. His own voice, reading aloud.

 _"Tasha, the Conductor Family are the ones responsible for keeping this little engine safe from harm's way. With this railroad, they have gained wonderful energy and powers because of their association with this engine. But there's a...a creature, coming after her, and without it... well, the Conductor's universe will vanish... well, not their universe literally, but figuratively. It's really confusing, definitely. One day, her family will return to find her, but until then... guard her well, young Burnett."_

Burnett had unwittingly walked over to a painting hung up on an easel. He traced it absentmindedly. She had always been a good painter, he mused to himself. That little picture at Muffle Mountain, and this...this was beautiful.

"But I didn't guard you well." He whispered, suddenly aware of the pain he felt. It felt like someone had stabbed him through the heart. "I... I just don't seem to understand about... about the magic, anymore."

He stood there for quite some time. Alone.

As per usual.

...

And this, the narrators would tell you, if they weren't squabbling in the corner like kids (Angelis is winning, by the way) that this is where Burnett's grand-daughter, Lily, comes into the story. She lives with her mom and dad in the newly renamed New Bigg City, an American spin off of the original that did not suffer the fate of the British port. It was only a few hours by train to Shining Time.

Her mother was preparing for a new arrival in the family, and so had decided that Lily would do better than to be cooped up inside while she fussed repeatedly about getting the nursery set up.

Lily saw magic where no one else had the time to. And not because they were watching some a stupid paper bag blowing around, despite what American Beauty might have to say about that subject. More like lovely reflections of light on a rainy day.

And soon, she was going to be off to stay with her grandfather, on Muffle Mountain. She was... somewhat thrilled to be doing so.

"Should I say anything to him?" she questioned her mother. "He's been so sad since Grandma Tasha died, and...you know, he never comes here to see us, I don't want to upset him even further."

Her mother sighed. Tasha had died when she had moved over from Shining Time to the Bigg City, and Lily had barely begun to walk at that time. Since then, while they had paid visits, she had always been aware her father had never quite gotten to a point where he could securely move on with his life. It wasn't that she could tell him to get over it, that was something that only he could decide. "Well, maybe, your visit will help cheer him up."

It was a bad lie. "You got his present?"

Lily nodded, and pulled out her bag. She hadn't been sure what else to bring him, so she had managed to sneak out a bottle of whiskey from her father's case, a selection of old timey CD's and, finally, something small that she had thrown in just in case. "Friendship bracelet. I know how much he liked to make them back in the day, and I thought- "She shrugged.

"Honey, that's beautiful." She didn't think it would work, but Lily was a good soul to think about such things. She just prayed that Burnett didn't try and fill her head with that steam engine bullshit. He had done so with her until he had met the 'rational' man that was her husband, and that all went out the window.

"I'd much rather stay here with you."

"I know." Her mother hugged her. Lily sighed.

"I'll go up there, wait for a bit." Lily walked over to the nearby ladder, used by many of the kids to get up to the balcony. "And I know, be careful. Proper gymnast, me."

"Kay." Her mother headed into the train station, but poked her head out. "See you in a minute." As she headed inside, she wondered (Not for the first time) why it was that her father had so many secrets that he couldn't share.

Lily, on her own in the cold, felt around in her pocket. She pulled out a rather worn, but well maintained, stuffed bluebird. It had been a gift from Burnett, back…. god knows how long. It felt like a lifetime ago, but Lily still kept it on her. "And you're coming with me too! I know how much you like to travel."

She wondered vaguely if talking to a stuffed bluebird was sane.

Probably was.

…..

Far away on Sodor, the engines were still working hard. As Thomas puffed past the windmill, he recalled seeing glances of Henry and Douglas, working hard with the other steam engines. They were confident, reliable and were refusing to let any of Diesel's crap. They were almost living up to their public image.

Every engine Thomas passed was informed that Mr. Conductor wished for a meeting at Crovan's Gate, so as to make sure that the Narrow Gauge engines were also represented fairly.

But elsewhere, one of the Island's top most secrets were about to be revealed.

And as bad as things were now, they were going to get far worse following it.

* * *

Our players have been introduced! And thus, the first act begins!

Welcome one and all! First off, REVIEW TIME!

 **To All Of You:** Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking with this.

 **Reid007:** Thank you! I'm not quite sure that the backstory will make sense, but I'll try my best to make it easier to understand. Half the time I wonder what I've written.

 **MattPrice01:** Aw, I'm glad to hear that! Hope it's going well for you, man. Yeah, that line was a fun one to write. It just always bugged me as a kid that THIS was the best plan his crew could come up with.

 **UGX7:** Thank you! Mr Benn dying was something I had had planned since the beginning, but I did leave a little note in at the end to suggest that he might return. As you've seen, I'm taking Splatter and Dodge seriously. I'm curious to see what you think of them. And thank you for pointing out the error in the spelling! I shall correct it once I have uploaded this chapter!

 **Radical-sandwiches:** Better prepare that ass then! XD. Fingers crossed I'll do a good enough job! Thank you! Oh, and by the way, any time I mock the Americans in Magic Railroad, it is NOT meant to be taken seriously! Just want to put that out there, I really don't want to offend anyone.

 **TrainManiac:** That it does, chum, that it does. My god, it feels good to be starting this project.

 **Game Watch:** Yyyyyyep. It's dumb. And yes, Diesel 10 has arrived! ...And I can't wait.

 **AaronCottrel97:** Yeah, it's a weird one to go out on. I'd much rather they did what the Americans did in their ordering of the episodes and have Rusty and the Boulder come last. Definitely feels more final.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** I really wanted to give James a redeeming moment, something that did hearken back to his development in his first four episodes and showed he wasn't a complete arse after all. I think even jerks need to have some redeeming feature to get us to care about them. Volume 2 will be it's own seperate story, as I think that it would be best that we have a fresh starting off point for any new readers!

 **Bronze-Shield:** As the song goes, I'm full of surprises! I'm glad you liked it!

 **Kamen Rider-Necrom:** Indeed it does. Beginning of the End.

Some pretty big things already, as you can tell! Now, a lot of this is going to be explanation, so brace yourselves.

-For the record, there's going to be a lot of exposition especially in the first two parts of this story. This is twofold. This chapter was mostly explaining away the problems that I have with the Magic Railroad regarding the lack of humans and as to how the engines can suddenly drive themselves. The next chapter is going to be a bit annoying for those who are fans of my parody work only, as I'm wrapping a lot of explanation as to what, or who, Duck is working for around a scene from the movie. And on that note, yes, I am going to be explaining that next chapter. Most of it, there are going to be a few plot threads that might pop up again later in the special, or as something I'd like to develop further down the line. But yeah, I can't wait to get that done and out of the way with.

-Why have I effectively taken the humans out of the story? To give an in-universe justification for why the hell there are apparently NO humans on this Island. Really, aside from Bertie's Driver (Which I will have an explanation for), there's nothing. And I wouldn't mind so much, if the engines didn't spend a great deal of time using coaches throughout the movie! So, basically, it's a way for me to explain away why the Island is so devoted. And also to give me a reason to explain how the railway is operating with only six engines; there are more in the background doing things.

-You'll probably also notice that the 'Champion the Bull' scene is similar in a way to the 2016 Dad's Army film. As someone who has a soft spot for that movie, I decided to rip-off/pay homage to it, because I felt the original opening of simply having Thomas turn up at Crovan's Gate was a bit meh.

-Speaking of the Pinchers, that was something that I had always intended on using as an in-universe justification as to why it is that the trains are still running on time and how it is that there are still loads and packages and parcels all in the coaches and trucks despite, again, no humans. It's a little bit of a stretch, but trying to make sense of this movie is even harder. Regarding how the engines are able to move, in case I don't say it later, it's because the Island itself is trying to pitch in and help keep Lady's children moving right along.

-Shining Time is a hard one. I really want to pay a bit of homage to it, because it was part of many's childhood. While it's never something I watch when I want to see Thomas the Tank Engine, I must admit that I have a certain affection for it. Didi Cohn is great in it, Schemer is actually kind of funny (In a Bulk and Skulk kind of way) and...it's nice.

I've sort of taken that to an extreme here, primarily because it feels very much like it's a 50's era Stepford Wives/Pleasantville/Archie Comics style place where everything is perfect and there's a white picket fence. Oh, and the Burnett/Stacy ship? That's just me, I think they'd make a nice couple. As to how Mr Conductor has been summoned...that's a mystery for another chapter.

-Something quickly to point out. The Magic Railroad is infamous for the fact that there are several different versions out there. There's the released version, the Director's Cut, the shooting script...it's a mess. I can't base my story on one or the other (The movie as released is a mess, the Director's Cut has not been released to the public and the script, while helpful, lacks visuals) I have, therefore, taken a variety of things from all versions (George working with Diesel 10 from the script, for example, and Boomer's entire involvement from the Director's Cut) and tried to put them into one relatively coherent story. At the same time, I also want to finish off the storyline I started back with Season 1 and 2 with a bang, hence how lucky it is that we have a movie to work off of. So, just bear that in mind. While I'd love it if you did stick around for the end, I am fine with you not doing so. I get it. This is not everyone's cup of tea.

Until next time!


	132. The Magic Railroad: Part 2

**Part 2: In Which Exposition Happens.**

"Good evening, all. I'd like to thank you for coming out on such short notice."

"It ain't like we 'ad a choice." remarked Fred Pelhay. "You're only gorn and bleedin shut down all operations! What the 'ell did you do that for? We 'ad a good deal going on!"

"Look at the bigger picture here, Fred." U.L.P rumbled. "If we make any movement that threatens the engines, at a time where there are no humans, we run the risk of hitting a dead end. Say we crash all the engines. Who shall put them back on the rails? There will be nothing for us to do. And to make matters worse, I'm not entirely sure that our brothers won't turn on each other."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! They're little bastards like that!" Rickety sounded proud. Very proud.

"There is another reason." croaked the Spiteful Brakevan. "There are...others, here."

It had not been a good time to be the Spiteful Brakevan. Aside from people being unsure as to who he was, whether or not he was the original or just a pretender, the trucks had begun to become weaker and weaker. This was not due to his leadership. No, that would have been a blessing. No one listened to him anymore. Or the three currently in discussion with him in the Wellsworth Yards. The time of the trucks being the terror of the tracks was over.

At least...the modern trucks.

"What is that?" U.L.P asked. "I am not sure to which you refer."

"Then allow me to explain. Before you were brought here, there was another kind of truck. A kind that wasn't like us, or like the engines. A truck that had more in common with a coach than anything else. And it was these trucks that were truly terrifying. Many of the truck families that we served in the old days were originally part of this select few."

He referred to, of course, the trucks that had been decomissioned in 1984. The trucks who had no grey face, like the engines, but only painted eyes on a board of wood, and a snarl that never seemed to change.

"But, they were taken out of the equation, right boss?" Rickety asked, eagerly.

"No. Most of them were. They were sent to the scrapheap, or destroyed, or converted into the forms that we are now. But there were some who were rumored to have escaped. Some survivors managed to get to the Other Railway."

"Wait, are you...are you 'aving us on?" Fred looked nervous. "Those bastards are...shit. They're crazier than Rickety over 'ere!"

"Heh! True!"

"Indeed. And they have a leader. Scruffy."

"Bugger." said U,L.P. "So what do we do?"

"You die." said S.C Ruffey.

There was a moment's silence.

And then the Yards began to swarm with the Other Trucks. Seething with them, so much so that from the air, the entire yard would have consisted of a single dark color. No one noticed as, in the chaos, the four lead trucks and a select few gained enough control of themselves and raced towards Knapford.

...

"Hi Trev. You doing okay?"

Trevor the Traction Engine nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose so, Edward. As well as can be expected, I suppose." He crunched on an apple that had been lucky enough to fall onto his funnel and winced. "Eurgh. Macintosh."

"You're a PC guy, then?"

"Ha. Funny. You should go and write jokes for Adam Sandler."

"You take that back!" Edward gave a weary little smile. "No, but seriously, how are you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected. Luckily whatever took the Fat Clergyman and the rest of the congregation doesn't seem to have harmed the church in any way. And there's no sign of there being any fires or anything like that, so that's always a plus." Trevor looked weary. "Terrance is over in the next field, making sure that all the equipment's being removed. And then we're heading off to Crovan's Gate for this meeting thing."

"Trust me, I doubt we'll get any proper information. But on the plus side, we'll get to see the full effects of what happened in a better light."

The two were silent for a bit, enjoying each other's company.

"Ah, I was meaning to ask you, how is BoCo?"

Edward looked glum. "Nothing off him yet. I've had a couple of telegrams from the manager at the yards he was sent to, saying that there are communication difficulties...but I'm starting to get a little antsy."

"Natural, I suppose. Don't worry, I'll always be around!"

"Heh. I hope so." Edward laughed. "You remember the old Vicar?"

"How could I forget? Saved me from scrap."

"See, Oliver says it so much that he kind of takes the sting out of it, doesn't he?" Edward's smile faded a little, as he grew wistful. "No, but old Teddy was a good egg. Really nice, really trustworthy...even if he did have some weird ideas about there being a curse on him or something. ...Poor man. What kind of world is it where a kindly old saint like him gets done in by his own bees?"

Trevor was silent.

Edward shook himself. "Anyway, I think I'll tour the Island once more before I get to the meeting. I want to make sure that everyone's got the word, and that they're all safe."

"You know, you don't have to keep putting yourself out."

"Someone has to keep them safe." Edward insisted.

"I just wish they gave something back to you for a change. You know, instead of you just giving and giving and giving and them taking with great glee."

Edward laughed, ruefully. "They're kids compared to us, Trev. Kids are selfish little buggers. Doesn't mean you shouldn't put the effort in." And now the smile really did drop. "No matter how many times it gets thrown back in your face."

Trevor sighed. "See you later, Edward."

"Likewise, old chum."

...

Duck watched the signal at Crosby. He wasn't sure how the signals were even working properly, but he'd be allowed to head off in a few minutes. He glanced around, and smiled ruefully at the Barbershop, now serving engines as well, thanks in no small part to the large hole that his front had created.

Simpler days.

Edward puffed up beside him. "Duck, good to see you!"

"Likewise, Edward." Duck frowned. "You haven't seen Oliver, have you?"

"Oliver?" Edward was concerned. "Not since last night. He was taking the mail train, wasn't he?"

"Yes. But he's not back in his sheds, I haven't been able to find the mail coaches that he was supposed to have taken, and from what I can tell, Tom Tipper's post van is still at the office. ...It appears to be missing him." Edward flashed a brief smile at this. "There's sacks of mail everywhere, looks like whatever happened stopped the workmen from loading them up."

"Duck, what's going on?"

"You expect me to understand!?" Duck hoped his voice sounded incredulous enough. Because while he didn't know for certain, he had a horribly good guess about what might have happened.

The events of the past few years were finally coming to a head. "No, I have no idea what is going on, Edward. Not a clue."

"Right." Edward sighed. "Sorry. Just...you always seem to be at the center of the strangeness. No offence."

"None taken. The Island is the epicenter of weird. It's natural."

"Don't worry about Oliver. He'll turn up eventually."

At that very moment, Oliver raced past them, screaming bloody murder and with a clear sign of exertion on his brow.

"Well...that's timing for you-" But Edward was interrupted as. seconds later, the ominous shadow of Diesel 199 followed him, still following after him with a similar speed.

"The hell!?" Edward grunted in surprise.

"Come on!" Duck ignored the signals, and rushed ahead. Edward hesitated for a moment, then puffed after him as fast as he could. Which, admittedly, was not as fast as most engines. But he had seen the look on that diesel's eyes, and while not as quick to act as Duck, he knew ill intent when he saw it.

Oliver was more tired than he had ever been in his entire life. His wheels were on the verge of buckling, his face was battered from all the wounds sustained while taking more dangerous tracks to try and avoid the diesel, and thick, black, bilious smoke poured from his funnel. If this wasn't what death felt like, then it was pretty damn close.

But still he kept on. He was vaguely aware that he was rapidly approaching the loop line. If he could just get there, perhaps he could trick the diesel into-

With a sudden pain in his buffers, Oliver lurched forward. Gasping out in shock, he glanced backwards to see 199 right behind him! Buffer to buffer, diesel and steam engine rammed backwards and forwards into each other, as they looped around. 199 may have had the size advantage, but Oliver was no slouch when it came to fighting.

"They're heading for the viaduct!" Duck gasped in horror. He looked around, desperate for a way to stop them. He couldn't get onto another track and bang into the diesel, he couldn't get Edward to help him out as he was trailing back a little, and he couldn't even get besides Oliver and-

No. He could.

But that would mean that he would blow his cover. Everything, EVERYTHING his life had led up to, blown away in an instant, to be replaced with shame from those he most looked up to. City of Truro and Flying Scotsmen's disapproving glances filled him with dread. Could he do it? Could he really risk everything, even the world, even his life, just to save one silly little stuck up tank engine, who was probably his best friend bar Percy?

The answer was simple.

Yes.

Edward stared in utter bafflement at what happened next.

Duck slid off the rails, and began to puff along the ground.

Now, let me clarify here. That is not to say that, like so many other accidents, Duck slipped off the rails and ground his way across the earth like a tractor plowing a field. This wasn't a crash.

This was Duck, physically dragging himself from the rails onto the solid earth and maneuvering just the same. Already his mind was running through a variety of possibilities, he hadn't had to use these weapons since his battle against Davidson the Electrical Engine.

The diesel clearly didn't believe it either. He gawped as Duck drew level with him, now rolling along the gravel like a jeep. Then, 199 snarled, and banged harder into Oliver, who was staring backwards with his mouth hanging open so far that several families of flies could have taken up roost. Oliver shouted and clung for dear life to the rails.

Duck swerved to avoid any little potholes in the makeshift road, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on 199's face, eyes that indicated that 199 was in for a bad time. The diesel snarled, trying to quell his terror at the sight of something so... unnatural, and swung his considerable bulk at Duck. Wincing, the Great Western dropped back, catching sight of Edward, who was still keeping up despite the fact that he was staring at Duck in bafflement.

They had now reached the final curve right before the viaduct, and already Duck could see that the river was in a foul mood today, whipping and crashing over the rocks. There had been a great deal of rain that had fallen, and the river was close to bursting its banks. If 199 took advantage here, which he definitely could, Oliver would surely be dashed to pieces.

Already, 199 had his buffers underneath Oliver's wheels, raising him up off the rails. With a shrieking crack, Oliver's crankpins shattered, and the Number 11 howled in agony as the diesel roared in triumph.

So Duck sped up a little, far faster than any normal engine should have been able to. His buffers made a curious clicking sound, and seemed to somehow transform.

199 glanced at Duck, and did a double take as twin buzz saws, rising from the buffer beam, sliced into his face. Howling, he was unable to stop as the second saw cut into his coupling. Oliver shot free like a cork from a champagne bottle, cleared the viaduct in one fell swoop and then bounced over the rails, turning a full somersault before landing cab first on a tree.

Duck and 199 battled furiously as they ran onto the narrow viaduct. 199 may have had power on his side, but Duck knew just where to slam and jab and slice into with each little blow.

"YOUR TIME IS OVER!" snarled 199.

"Maybe so. But so's yours!" And with one last, great shove, Duck slammed his buffers directly into 199's face. The diesel left the rails and for a moment, looked as though he would stay up in the air forever.

But down he fell. Down, down, down, over the edge of the viaduct and, with a sickening crunch, onto the rocks. He let out a horrifyingly loud gasp...and then his eyes closed for the final time, his frame, split in half, shuddered, and 199 slipped under the waters, dead.

Duck drove himself back onto the rails again, his wheels audibly snapping back into place, as if another strange gadget was being employed. His buffers returned to normal, as he came to a stop just beside Oliver, who was gibbering in confusion.

"All right, old chum?" Duck asked, trying to sound like the past five minutes or so hadn't happened at all.

"WHAT?!" Edward shouted as he caught up to Duck. "WHAT?! HOW!? WHEN?! WHO!? WHY?!" His face turned redder than James's paintwork, as he began making odd sounds that sounded like they were supposed to be questions but had failed on-route from his brain to his mouth. "WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE WHEELS?!" He finally settled on.

"Oh, do you like them?" Duck gave the textbook example of what they in the business called a 'shit eating grin' and nodded downwards. "These are, er, prototypes. You know, the Great Western Railway said that they put a lot of stock in adding tires to my wheels."

"Those aren't normal." Edward shook his head. "They can't be, or Oliver would have them as well!"

"Sooooooooup." moaned Oliver, having banged his head a bit, and also going straight into denial mode.

"Ah- well- you see, they're testing out this new kind of fire engine that has both flanged wheels and tires, for road and rail purposes, and so they wanted to test if an engine could safely dismount off the track and not-" Duck's explanations died down as he began to feel Edward's heat seeking stare directly squarely at his face.

"I think." said Edward quietly. "We should get Oliver back on the track and to Crovan's Gate. We're going to have the meeting, and then you-" He roughly shoved Duck. "-are going to tell us who you are, why you're here, and what exactly it is that you want with us."

...

 **HELLO THERE.**

199 growled as he watched the odd cavalcade set off back towards Crovan's Gate. He had been so close! The Fat Director would be so disappointed in hi-

"Oh." he said, as he stared at what remained of his mortal form. Then he turned slightly, to see Ivor the Engine standing there. "Ohhhhhh." he remarked. He suddenly wondered why he suddenly felt ashamed.

THAT WAS IT, I'M AFRAID.

"What now?"

 **NORMALLY, THAT WOULD BE UP TO YOU. HOWEVER, THANKS IN NO SMALL PART TO YOUR OTHER RAILWAY-**

199 turned and stared in surprise at the thousands- No, millions of others waiting alongside him They all glowed with the same ghostly transparency as he did, and all bore the same expression of pain.

And that was when 199 realized that even his death had been of use to the Other Railway.

 **-YOU ARE RATHER TRAPPED HERE FOR THE MOMENT.**

…..

As Thomas puffed into Crovan's Gate, he became aware of just how many of the remaining Island residents were here.

Not just trains, either. There, resting between the Standard and Narrow gauge rails were Bertie the Bus, looking somewhat bemused now that he had no passengers to take, Terrance the Tractor (Still smiling, despite it all) and Trevor the Traction Engine, looking nervously to where Edward was supposed to be. Caroline hurried in, looking furiously at a sheepish Butch. She had asked for a tow, in a very flirtatious voice, and Butch had somehow managed to completely miss every innuendo imaginable.

Sir Handel was glaring at one of the more recent arrivals, George the steamroller. George snarled back. It seemed even the strangest incident in the history of the Island wasn't enough to make certain that old grudges were put aside. Butch rolled his eyes, and Thomas sympathized. No one liked having to deal with George, even on the best day possible.

Mr. Conductor got out of Thomas's cab and walked along to the middle of the tracks, where no engine stood. He glanced around. Everyone was watching him. "Is this all you've got?" he pleaded. He had hoped to have an actual proper briefing off of someone who was, well, human.

"Almost. There are still a couple missing." Henry glanced around. "Funny, where is Percy?"

"Sorry I'm late!" Percy hurried in, pulling alongside him what appeared to be the Sidings Bar. "Forgot this thing was mobile, thought we could all do with a drink."

"Capital idea, don'cha know!"

"Oh god alive." Douglas muttered under his breath. "No tha' prat! I'll take a wee dram, thank ye Percy!"

Harold gently lowered himself down onto the nearest section of grass, wincing apologetically as his blades accidentally smacked into Gordon. "Sorry old chap!"

"Get on with it!" Gordon shouted, his pride just as dented as his side was.

Coming up alongside Thomas, James came to a rough stop. "Tried my best, but I can't find Edward, Duck or Oliver. Got word off one of the trucks that something's going on, but I'm not entirely sure what."

Henry puffed forward to slot in between Gordon and Percy. "Might have a few issues trying to get the trucks here. Most of them are forming some sort of giant wall to prevent us from getting at the trucks in charge."

"Can't be helped." Thomas turned to Mr. Conductor. "Sir, if you'd kindly start talking?"

Everyone's attention was now focused solely on the human. He walked over to the bar and sat on one of the stools.

"Well then- "he began, and was rudely interrupted by two sets of whistles.

"Talk about being fashionably late" remarked Bill to Ben, but both were immediately silenced by the sight of Edward and Duck, supporting a very injured Oliver, into the works. The Pinchers, somehow sensing what needed to be done, immediately got to work on repairs.

"Edward, what- "

"Later." Edward growled. He glared at Duck, who looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "We've got a lot to discuss with Montague here, back at Tidmouth." No one, no matter how dense, could miss the stress he placed on Duck's real name.

"Can I continue?"

Edward frowned. "Mr. Conductor?" At the nod, he relaxed a tiny bit. "Sorry. Go ahead."

"Right." The Conductor cleared his throat. "First of all, I feel I owe it to you to explain a little something about the way that I got here."

"Ferry?"

"Gold Dust."

Duck started. Edward glared at him, before turning back. "What's is this…. gold dust?"

"No one really knows. My great grandfather found it on one of his first visits to the states. He got it off someone who had supposedly been here for years. Supposedly. With this, he was able to travel to wherever he desired, as long as he had a conduit through which to channel it. Hence the whistle."

James, who immediately began thinking of money, asked innocently. "Any down sides?

"Every so often we shrink." Mr. Conductor shrugged. "Don't ask me, I have no idea how it works. But anyway." He snapped back to business. "A few days ago, I received a telegram from a Mr. Topham Hatt. He and I met briefly on one of his trips to Shining Time Station, and he promised me that I could visit the place that the Conductors who came before me had spoken highly of. He also said that he had it on good authority that I was the man needed to run the railway, should something bad happen."

"Wait, just like that?"

"It's not as slapdash as it sounds…er, Sir Handel, was it? Right, sorry, there's a lot more engines here than his description." The Conductor cleared his throat. "Since the eighties, one of our family have been living amongst you, acting as a driver. You may know him as Carlin- "

"What!?" shouted Henry and Percy together as one. The idea that their driver had any knowledge of magic was about as understandable as discovering that Tony Blair was in actuality was a duck.

"Carlin?!" Gordon laughed despite himself. "He's a foul mouthed drunk who ended up running over a bike just because he felt like it insulted him!"

"Yes, well- "The Conductor looked embarrassed "We all have our black sheep, don't we? But Carlin living here meant that he was able to switch back and forth between Sodor and Shining Time. He was far better with the kids over there than I ever was, but he eventually left following his dismissal and appointed me to look after the station. He also left me a great amount of documents relating to Sodor, and I've spent most of my time since taking over reading up on them. Apparently before he left, he handed in a letter recommending me for a job here. I had to take a course to become a driver. Which I passed, before having to head back to Shining Time without becoming a driver. But that does technically leaves me as the highest ranking member of staff on the Island at present. Somehow."

"So what do we do?" remarked Skarloey, at last.

"Well, with the disappearance of the rest of the Island's population, I think we should mostly focus on making sure that the Island doesn't grind to a standstill, if what you say about these, er, Pinchers is true." Mr. Conductor paused once more. "So, tomorrow, everyone starts over. I'll make sure that I get to you as soon as I can and check in on you. That's pretty much all I wanted to say."

"Inspiring" grunted Duncan. "Truly, truly inspiring. Rivals the St Crispin Day's speech really. Ah feel mahself tearing up at the sheer- "

"Oh shut up Duncan!" Rusty groaned. "Let's just get some rest."

…..

And so everyone returned to their own places. The Skarloey group rested at Crovan's Gate, Mavis and the China Clay Twins headed back to the Quarry, the coaches went to rest in the coach shed. They were determined to get a good night's sleep.

However, Edward patiently took Mr. Conductor aside and remarked that there was something that had a bearing on what had happened that they needed to discuss in the morning. Mr. Conductor, from his notes, could tell that Edward was to be trusted in such matters, and agreed.

And so the morning dawned, and while the other engines got ready to work in what was now becoming a regular thing for them, those at Tidmouth awoke to find Duck patiently waiting on the turntable.

"Edward, if we have to do work, do you mind not taking our time up with- "

"This is important, Gordon." Edward looked at Duck, oddly. "I didn't tell you what happened last night, did I?" Very quickly, he sketched out the story of how he and Duck had chased down the diesel going after Oliver, the latter's narrow escape, the destruction of the diesel, and finally, Duck's use of technology that no engine had ever seen before.

The engines were silent, and shocked. They turned to Duck waiting for an answer. No one saw Splatter and Dodge sidle into the goods shed.

"Montague." Edward was cold "I think we're owed an explanation."

"He owes you nothing!"

That hiss of anger came from one of the two black tank engines that came hurrying up. They were eyed with suspicion and anger, but if that affected them, you would be hard pressed to see it. Jinty and Pug glared at Duck.

"Don't you dare do it!" Pug growled. "It's against your orders, Montague!"

"Orders?" Henry frowned. "Whose orders? The Fat Controller?"

"Yes." Jinty said quietly. "Yes, that's it."

"No it isn't." Duck said, equally as calmly. "He doesn't know a thing either. And Pug, with all due respect, to hell with my orders. I've spent at least thirteen years on this Island, lying to their faces. The least they deserve to know is the truth. If that ends up costing me, then I'll take it. But we need all the help we can get!"

"You-"

Jinty looked at Duck for a moment, and then quietly sighed. "No, Pug, he's right. I don't think we can hide it anymore. And the fact that we have...it's been a bloody miracle."

"Will someone PLEASE tell us what is going on!?" Thomas snapped.

Duck paused for a moment. "Where to begin?"

"At the beginning." Percy remarked, coldly. Duck looked up, his eyes filled with something akin to regret.

"Yes. Right. …. Why do you think I was brought here?"

"Because there was a shortage." Henry started. "A shortage of engines at that time. The work was getting too much for Percy at that time, and really, it was the worst possible time to start. But there was an expansion of the railway into more aspects than simply pulling trucks to one location and taking passengers to another. From the idyllic ideal of the railway to the more practical one, in a sense. You were called because we needed another engine."

Duck nodded. "That is part of the reason. Or put it more accurately, it's the reason that Sir Topham Hatt was pointed in my direction. But the real reason, the main reason, that I came here was because…" He paused, and it was clear that whatever he was going to say next, it was taking all of his willpower not to break completely "Because Her Majesty's Government considered that this Island may be in danger."

"Oh, so you've finally got around to admitting that, have you?" Toby shook his head. "Duck, greatest of respect, but you are crap at keeping secrets."

There was a three second silence before all engines present, plus Mr. Conductor, screamed out "WHAT!?"

"Percy." Edward's eyes were wide. "Get the bar, I think we're going to need several stiff ones to get through this."

"So you're a- "

"Spy? Yes."

Gordon began laughing, somewhat nervously. "Oh please, y-y-you're joking right! Please tell me you're joking. Engine spies don't exist!"

"How'd you get recruited?" said Toby, who was not fazed at all, surprisingly.

"Er...god, it's been so long ago now."

...

 _DECEMBER. 1964._

 _"Hello there, young Montague." City of Truro smiled kindly down at Duck, who nervously looked around. "Don't worry, don't mind them. They're just here to listen to what happened to you, and ask you a few questions. That's all."_

 _"I-I-If you say so, sir."_

 _"Please, Montague, or do you prefer still to be called Duck? You do? Oh, that's good then. Please, Duck, tell us what happened."_

 _"My regiment was attacked sir. There were diesels waiting for us at the scheduled rendezvous point with the Bluebell Railway. King James I tried to negotiate with them. He said that if they let us pass and go free, he'd make sure that they weren't held up on any war crime charges. But, they didn't...they didn't really listen to us. And they attacked."_

 _"Take your time." said a deep voice, belonging to that of the Flying Scotsman._

 _"King James ordered us to get to the Bluebell Railway by any means necessary. I volunteered to hold the diesels back while they made their escape. But they had...anticipated this. They rammed the others off the rails, and ordered them to be dragged off to the scrapyard. I tried to stop them, I did, but there were too many." Duck's eyes were watering, he wished they'd turn the light down. He wasn't crying, but it looked like he was. "So I fought as many of them as I could. They'd already taken King James out before I was able to get to him in time. So I used the tar wagons he had brought against the diesels. And then...you found me."_

 _He wished someone would wipe his eyes. The other engines gave him a few minutes of silence out of respect._

 _"Do you know why you are here, 5741?" asked St Eustace, somewhat formally._

 _"To report back on what happened to the King James Regiment, sir."_

 _"Yes. And for another reason. You are unaware of this."_

 _"Sir?"_

 _"Sorry Eustace, but with all that kerfuffle last night, I felt it best that we let Duck here relax a bit, and come to terms with what happened to his friends. Hence, I did not inform him." Scotsman looked at Duck carefully. "Now then, Duck. Do you know why the steam engines are being hunted like this?"_

 _"The Beeching Cuts. He decided that the shape that the railways were in weren't good enough."_

 _"In a sense, that is true. But I am not concerned with the non-sentient engines being cut up for scrap. They are simply machines, things with no heart and soul. No, I ask about the vigor with which the steam engines that live and breathe and talk and think like us are being pursued. The King James regiment was only the latest in a long line of private assassinations of some of our more famous members. Many of my brothers have been destroyed. The same goes for the Mallard and his brethren. Diesels are being fuelled by someone, someone big. They call him the Fat Director. We know little about him, save for the fact that he succeeded the previous manager of a similar name in the 50's, and since then he has been on the hunt with the help of a few criminals to find something."_

 _"What?"_

 _"They called her Lady. In many senses, she is our God. Our creator. She was the one thing that kept us safe. Oh, the occasion accident happened of course. And the bombings took out more than a few of our kind, but for the most part, she lived, we lived. And then she vanished. Gone without a trace. And with her died the Age of Steam. Now the diesels and the electric rule the rails. There are safe areas, of course. The Forest of Dean, the Bluebell Railway, and of course, the Island of Sodor. But that is why diesels are so angry and so determined that we should be eliminated. We are the last ways of preserving the steam engine for good. The group of us you see here are a Parliament sanctioned group by the name of the Iron Circle. We got the name from a selection of people who guarded Lady in the past. We aim to find her and stop the Fat Director for good."_

 _"All right, but where to do I fit in?"_

 _"City of Truro has told me about how hard you work during your times in Paddington and on the Great Western. Your conduct this week has shown you to be a courageous fighter against all the odds. You are also one of the only survivors of a regiment we assumed to be unstoppable. You have lived so long in a world that wants you dead. In other words, with a bit of training, you could be the key to finding Lady. We have a mission. At some point in the future, could be twenty days, could be twenty years, you will need to head over to Sodor and find Lady for us. Will you do it?"_

 _Duck paused. And thought. And thought again._

 _Finally, he remarked. "Where do I sign?"_

...

Duck quietly turned back around on the turntable to face the other engines. "That 'future', as it turned out, was 1986. My mission went on for longer than expected. The original plan was to go in, find out whether or not the Railway still existed and then get out after two or three years…. but, as you can tell, everything that happened got in the way. I'm…. sorry."

"No one knows anything about Lady." remarked Jinty, to break the silence "We could never find anything out about her. Or...well, to be more precise, all we have are myths and rumors. She kept to herself, stayed out of the way of even the most famous of engines. The only reason we know she existed was...a lot of old texts. There's no way that there's that level of coincidence."

"What, you mean, the fable of the Lady of the Woods?"

Everyone looked at Henry. He frowned as he glanced from face to face. "What? Oh come on, tell me at least one of you did some reading up on our Island's history before Thomas applied to become mayor!?" The sheepish coughs and embarrassed mumbling clued him in that they clearly hadn't. "Edward, Gordon, we heard that story back in the war time…. remember, when all those troops started seeing things?"

"I had more important things to do! There was a war on!"

Edward was more thoughtful. "I recall something vaguely about such a fable. But you're better at remembering stuff like that."

"How does it go?" Pug asked, curious.

Henry cleared his throat, and began his tale.

…

 _Once upon a time, there was an Island. It was small, beautiful, well out of the way of any inhabitants aside from the animals that naturally populated it. And yet there was a presence there, something that could walk among this perfect picture of nature and yet not disturb the natural equilibrium. This presence was referred to by those who could describe it as 'The Lady of the Woods'._

 _Of course, the world didn't stay ignorant to the island for long. And eventually, man surely made its mark upon it, creating towns, villages, cities even, where once there had been nothing but fertile earth and pleasant, picturesque countryside. Now, the Lady of the Woods would have been well in her right to blame us for the destruction of such beauty. But in her infinite wisdom, she saw something in us. Something new. Something exciting. Something that held the glimmer of potential. And as the years changed, so too did she. At first, merely interested in us, she soon became fascinated with the great good that man could do. In particular, she became enamored with a thing known simply to her by the name the humans called it: Railway. The great iron juggernauts that ran upon it caught her eye, and she desired more than anything in the world to find out what they were._

 _Well, as time went on, the world grew darker, and the Lady discovered that there were things too that man had created that were unpleasant. She had nightmares weekly about a strange, massive, mechanical dragon that seemed determined to kill her or die trying._

 _One day, while watching a steam engine working, she heard the sound of a plane overhead. She had just enough time to work out that what the plane was dropping was a bomb, and to find shelter in the one place she could, before it hit and shattered the peaceful tranquility that the Island had held._

 _She had taken shelter inside the steam engine. Its crew was dead, and the bomb had sent it hurtling onto its side. And as the war waged on, unbeknownst to anyone, she tried in vain to use her powers to save herself. But her possession of the steam engine meant that she could no longer merely escape using her own powers. She and the engine were bonded together for all time._

 _At last, help came in the form of three young children. Playing together, they discovered the Lady, and she communicated to them her problem. They fetched workmen to lever her back onto the tracks, and polished her as the war came to a graceful end. So the Lady, in gratitude, offered her protection to the three young ones. She promised them that they would never fear their own deaths as long as she was around to protect them, and that if they so wished, she could even temporarily hold back the advances of the years._

 _And so they continued, the Lady becoming more and more adept at using her new form. The island already had a number of trains that could talk the same as any human, so she was never without company. And her three friends soon became inseparable with her, they never had to want for friendship and adventure with her around. But the good times were not to last. Soon soldiers came to defend the Island in case the enemy ever returned._

 _And here, the Lady decided that she would no longer be merely an observer in such events. Humanity, for all its flaws, was far more interesting and worthwhile to her alive, and so she used her magic in a variety of ways. On some occasions, she saved the lives of wounded soldiers when their trains were bombed. On others, she raced to stop potential landings on the island's soil. She used her own magic to transport the wounded soldiers away from the Island to places with better medicine, on a rail-line only she knew the whereabouts to._

 _And throughout this, she could not focus as much on her three friends. She would later learn, to her great joy, that for two, the war had brought to the surface feelings of love that went above friendship. With her blessing, they soon become lovers, both happier than they could have imagined._

 _But the third friend was jealous. He had wanted the affection of the one girl of the three as well, and the fact that she had chosen, in his mind, a weaker and more pathetic man than he was. And so, with great darkness in his heart, he turned his back from them and vanished into the night. The Lady was deeply worried, and with the remaining friends sought him out. He had grown older, and with it, colder to the world. His own magic had become powerful enough to create something that, in his deluded mind, would grant him the magic from the Lady, in order to show his love how much worthy he was than his former friend._

 _When the Lady saw this, she felt something she had not felt in a long time. Terror. For the creature created by her former ally was none other than the dragon that had tormented her dreams for so long. As they battled, the dragon consumed the traitor and went for her friends. The Lady bravely threw herself in front of the attack. The dragon's claws were powerful, and the battle long. But the Lady had steeled herself for this, and so, she made one last request to her remaining friends. She asked only that they assist her escape to the Magic Railroad, as they referred to it. They did so, and she rushed away from the civilization, the dragon giving pursuit._

 _But the Lady was clever. The railroad itself was full of ancient magic, and as the chase continued, and the dragon deliver unto her many, many painful wounds, she used the last dying dregs of magic to allow the railroad's own magic to rip the dragon apart, as she rushed into a safe place. But already it was too late, for the wounds had injured her to an extent that the only way to keep herself safe was to fall into a deep sleep. She told her friends, who were grief stricken at their feelings of incompetence, to not be hard on themselves, and that it was thanks to them that she was safe._

 _And so, as she fell to sleep, they entombed her inside of a mountain, and together, they stood in watch. They married, and though whether they had children or not I cannot tell, I know this. In a mountain, somewhere out there in the world, there is an engine sleeping. She is waiting. And one day, when our need is great…. she will return._

…..

All were silent as Henry finished his story. He coughed, self-consciously. "Of course, the story changes from person to person. The troops mostly focused on the rescue part and they speculated about it. But there is historical precedent that states that there were three kids who came over from America during the First World War and stayed here until roughly the fifties."

Duck stared in slack-jawed shock. It seemed to be that his mind had been temporarily rendered blank by the fact that Henry apparently had found out more regarding his actual mission in five simple minutes than he had managed in over ten years.

"Well." Henry grinned rather vindictively. "You mock my interests, but now they're useful- "

"Oh don't brag Henry." Edward had just finished his eighth bottle of whiskey. "My head hurts enough as it is." He groaned. "All right...so, this Lady. That story is obviously idealized tosh, Gods don't come to Earth and stay in one place for centuries because they want to help people, or engines, in this case. They come to experiment or keep something hidden."

"We can speculate on that later. What were these kids called?" Duck asked of Henry.

"Their names are Burnett Stone, Tasha Bower and P.T Boomer."

"Boomer!" Pug growled. "Naturally. We've been tracking his progress with Captain Zero since the sixties. They've been everywhere trying to find Lady, but to our knowledge they never found her."

Mr. Conductor had turned white. "Boomer's at Shining Time." He wiped his brow clean of sweat. "He's been there the last four or five years, just keeping out of everybody's way. I didn't think he was anything more than just a bully but- "

"But he's far more than that." Duck was grim. "That diesel that went after Oliver was, in all likelihood, only the first. I'd say we're looking at a full scale invasion of the Island."

"They can't!" laughed Thomas. "A couple of bikers and a few diesels!? And besides, it's a small Island that has little to no influence in world affairs, no brekathroughs of anything significant...why attack it?"

Duck closed his eyes, ignoring Thomas. "How did it all go so badly wrong?"

"Did you mean any of it?"

Duck looked to Percy, who was clearly trying hard not to sound hurt. "Were we ever friends, Duck?"

"Of course we were!" Duck was clearly agitated. "We're not supposed to get attached, but it was impossible not to! For all my comments and schemes and jokes I've made at your expense, I have genuinely come to think of you as my friends." Duck swallowed audibly. "I…. I'll answer any questions you have- "

"Let's start with one right off the bat." Edward interrupted. "Where are all the humans gone?"

"That….is a very good question." Duck looked to Jinty. "From what I can gather from my investigation, and similar comments by Jinty and Pug, the Island is, to a certain extent, alive. My best guess would be that it sensed that there was some sort of disturbance coming and reacted by muddling it. The spell used was one that attempted to remove the humans. The Island's...somewhat chaotic state screwed the spell into making it literal, in that case."

"Wait, wait, and wait again." Edward closed his eyes. "Disturbance? What disturbance? One nutcase diesel?"

"More than that." Jinty interrupted. "We've heard rumors that the Other Railway have been whipping up tension among their own converts. They've managed to gather enough to mass an army."

"An invasion!?" shouted Gordon in horror. He had been slow to react to most things up until now, mostly due to shock, but this...!

Mr. Conductor rushed off. "I've got to call the Mainland and get us evacuated!"

"And just when were you going to tell us this?" Edward turned to Duck so fast that for a moment the Great Western Engine feared that he would tackle him. "If Oliver hadn't been under attack, would you have stood back and let the Island fall!?" He glared at Jinty and Pug. "You wanted the Island watched. Why?"

"I don't see- "

Jinty quietly spoke up. "Because this railway has long since been one of the few havens that has no representative on the Iron Circle's council, to stand up to the idea that steam engines have no place in the world anymore."

"You're a symbol. Of everything that the Other Railway stands against. As long as you are alive, as long as Sodor is the 'Last Safe Haven' that many claim it to be, then the Other Railway hasn't won." Duck grimly added.

"We wanted to understand more why the Fat Director was interested in this-" Pug was interrupted rather suddenly.

"The who?" Toby remarked at last, having silently listened to most of this and quietly made his own conclusions.

"Fat Director's the one responsible for the purges." Pug looked grim. "The one in charge of the Other Railway. No one knows who he is, and no one can touch him legally. He's working with another guy, calls himself Captain Zero- "

"As in, Captain Zero from Tugs?"

James, who was now in the mood to try and do something really useful and in a vain attempt to calm the mood down, grumpily remarked to no one in particular. "Rotten rails."

Thomas glared at James, his cheerful face betraying just how stressed he was "Puffing pistons! See, I can say random stuff like that off the top of my head too, James!"

"I should have been the one to collect Mr. Conductor!"

"Are you serious- "

"James is right, little Thomas! Collecting Mr. Conductor was a job for a grand and mighty engine such as ourselves! Important equals big! This is an indisputable fact of life!" Gordon was always up for some Thomas mocking. "James is a big red engine! You're…. not. Small, small, teeny-weeny-"

"Yellow polka dot bikini- Can we get back on topic?!" snapped Henry.

"Now I! A big blue engine! I know everything!"

"Then how come you didn't- "Edward stopped himself. "I'm not getting dragged into this! There are more important issues at stake here!"

"Bossy boiler! Too much bloody steam in your funnel, if you ask me!"

"Can we FOCUS!?" snapped Pug.

"Yes, never thought I'd agree with the psychopathic little tank engine, but we need to focus on what's important. And that's standing up on our own wheels." Toby glanced around. "Now, this diesel…Thomas, who is he?"

"I don't know." Thomas frowned. "Never seen him around before this happened, but he seems like he's- "

"Going to murder us all!" James wailed. "None of us are safe! We should repent! Repent! Wait, I'm not religious! Should I be religious? If this Lady is a goddess then should I be ready to offer myself in tribute?!"

"Calm yourself James, things aren't that bad yet." Toby frowned. "Then Diesel 10 would appear to be the monster of the week!" He paused. "I never thought I'd use a Power Rangers analogy before, but if we compare The Fat Director to Lord Zedd and Boomer to Goldar-"

"You watch Power Rangers?"

"Hey, it is BORING on this Island whenever you're not trying to kill each other!"

"Toby's right." Henry remarked, trying to get things (pun not intended) back on track once more. "And if this Diesel 10 knows that the lost engine of the legend really exists, then he knows that this would be a great time for her to return. And that terrifies him."

"What engine?" asked James, who had completely blanked out and gone off to his own happy little world during the explanation.

"What legend?" Percy asked briefly.

"Of an engine that is more powerful than any diesel could ever be. That's probably why he wants to destroy her."

"We're just stating the obvious at this point, aren't we?" Edward muttered to no one in particular.

"We'd better find her first." Percy remarked.

"Leave it to the big engines, Percy!" bragged the red idiot.

"Little engines can do things! Mostly if they have bright blue paint like me!" Thomas would have flipped the bird at James, but his lack of fingers prevented him from doing so.

Duck looked at Edward and Toby. "What are you going to do?"

"At the moment? Search the Island. I've got a couple more questions for you, and I really hope you're going to give me answers that make sense." Edward paused and amended his sentence "Sort of, make sense, that is. I swear to God, at the start of the week I thought that the worst I'd have to deal with was James crashing into a milk tanker and Henry getting high on some quality black tar. Now we have international espionage on our Island, oh, and WE MIGHT ALL DIE!"

"Got that off your chest?"

"A little, thank you Toby."

"All right. See you guys later." Duck puffed off, with Edward following close behind. Splatter and Dodge, who were still there after creeping into the yards to listen in, watched them go with devious grins on their faces.

"Hey, look out." muttered Dodge. "Here comes Harold the Flopperchopper, watch what happens when he flies past here!"

"Harold the what, James?"

"Don't ask me, Henry, I just work here!"

The sound of rotor blades whirring echoed across the yard. Percy looked up and groaned. "Oh bloody hell. Right, that's me done. I think I better just take my last train and check up on Mr. Conductor. I can't take Colonel Blimp up there right now."

"Routine fly by, chaps! Hullo!"

"Hello, Harold." droned the engines.

"Long day." remarked Thomas, grimly.

"It's about to get longer." Gordon remarked, as he eyed up the large container that Harold was carrying. "Brace yourse-MMPH!"

"Sorry chums, bit of a dust up, love to stay and clean up, better go, tarrah!" Harold vanished into the sky, as sneezing powder flew everywhere. Mostly onto the engines.

"Was that supposed to happen, you think?" Splatter asked. "Because I don't." He laughed maniacally for the hell of it.

"Neither do I!"

"THIS MUST BE DIESEL'S DOING! AAAAAA-CHOO-CHOO!" Thomas snarled and snorted up some of the powder. "Oh god is this what being high is like helllllllllllllllllp."

...

Mr. Conductor rattled the phone desperately. Luckily for him, the Fat Controller's door had been unlocked. He jumped as Percy rattled past him. Unluckily, however, most of the phones on the Island appeared to be not working. Hatt had many phones in his office, just in case, but each one refused to work.

At last, he spotted a piece of paper, tucked underneath a series of pictures of the Island circa 1991. He read aloud.

"Dear Mr. Conductor. Where were you!? You silly yank, is it too much to ask that you get here when I ask!? You have an advantage that most can't even comprehend. You, above everyone else, don't have an excuse. My wife said she couldn't miss our little holiday! We'll telephone to make sure you've arrived. Signed, Sir Topham Hatt."

The writing was harried, almost a second thought. There was no penmanship in this, it was sloppy, disorganized and had the distinct markings of someone terrified of something.

"Sir Topham Hatt." Mr. C mouthed. He looked around. A nice office, all things considered. There was a poster that parodied the famous Kitchener one, which had been left over from a brief attempt at politics back in 1994. Aside from that, most of the things in here were, for lack of a better word, memorabilia. An hourglass, with the tag 'Bought October the 9th, 1984', an old top hat that hug upon a worn stand, a half open bag of Magic Stars, VHS tapes of Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends in a large case shaped like Thomas himself, several Hornby sets marked 'For S & B', drawings done by young children, laminated letters that covered the wall, a safe that was shoved out of the way, photographs- Oh so many photographs.

This felt like part of a museum.

He moved over to the hanger, brushing past a globe and a collection of tomes entitled 'Our Island and Its History', to pick up the hat. Placing it on his head, having removed his cap, he found a mirror and glanced at himself. "Where were you?" he intoned, in a terrible impression of Hatt. He glanced at the poster.

The poster was frowning.

Somehow.

Removing the hat quickly, Mr. C wondered if the Fat Controller had died and was haunting him as penance. Somehow, in the blink of an eye, the poster appeared to be quizzical. Wondering if there was something in the water on this Island, and if he was going insane, Mr. Conductor walked around and tried to sort out his thoughts.

Then he tripped over his own feet, as the phone rang. Catching the photograph of Lady Hatt, he scrambled back up and grabbed the phone. He raised it to his ear, and tried to interject as much cheerfulness into his voice. "Good afternoon sir!"

"Conductor! You bloody wanker, where the hell have you been?!" Hatt sounded strained. Very strained. He sounded like someone was holding a gun to his head. It was probably the bad line, thought Mr. Conductor.

"A real honor sir!" Mr. C was practically on the verge of shining his shoes for his boss. With his tongue. "Like my family before me-"

"Shut up."

"And how-" the Conductor placed the photo back with great delicacy "-is Lady Hatt? Well? Oh, that gala! I am disappointed that-"

"Shut up, and listen to me! That bloody diesel's about, and I need you to keep an eye on him!"

"Watch out for Diesel, definitely!"

"Henry's not feeling too well, so make sure he gets all the vitamins he needs. Remember the Three R's."

"I'll keep an eye on Henry, certainly! I will remember the three R's, Reading, Writing and Arithmetic. Er, I mean, I will be responsible, reliable and really useful!"

"God I hate that slogan."

"Yes sir! Er, no, sir? We will all get a goodnight's sleep, and we are all looking forward to doing hard work tomorrow."

"Good. Get to it man!"

"Bye sir!" The Conductor flipped off the poster and walked out of the office.

...

Hatt hung up. "There. It's done. Now please, put the gun down and we can talk-"

The pistol smacked the Fat Controller's face, hard enough to bruise. The girl in the leather jacket picked him up and frog-marched him over to the basement. Hatt growled as he rubbed at his cheek, the girl smirked. "You know; I really hope I get to blow out your brains first!"

"Charming. This how Americans treat all their guests?"

"Shut it! In you go!"

Hatt staggered to his feet as the basement door was slammed shut and locked. In the dark, he could just about make out his wife, hurrying towards him. "Are you all right, dear?!"

"Well, my cheek still smarts, Alice. But yes, I'm fine." He embraced her warmly. "Did they hurt you?"

"Little rough, but not too badly." Alice glanced around. "I've been checking, everyone on the Island appear to be here."

"How are we not all suffocating then?!" called a voice that was recognizable as Jeremiah Jobling. "We should all be crushing each other and having a claustrophobic nightmare, shouldn't we?"

"Not so." Jem Cole strode forward, tripping over Mrs. Kyndley and her sister. "Oops, sorry dearies. Whatever this house is, it's been expanded. I've counted, and this entire basement is about roughly the length of two of Knapford Station's platforms."

"But why have they kept us alive?" asked Henry's driver. The fireman had passed out due to heat exhaustion. "I mean, shouldn't we be dead?"

"Mama mia! Don't-a say such things in front of the child!" The Refreshment Lady placed her hands over Nancy's ears. Nancy was looking bored.

"He needs us for something. To keep Mr. Conductor in line, perhaps." Hatt groaned and stretched out. "Good thing I got that note done in time."

"I hope they're okay." muttered Charlie Sand.

"They'll be fine." comforted Farmer Trotter. "Your engines are stronger than most of us give them credit for."

"James has probably crashed already." said Sidney, who was in a pensive mood.

"So, now what?" asked Bertie's driver.

"Now?" Alice Hatt straightened up her dress and turned to face what she hoped was the crowd. "Now, we get to work!" She spun on her heel. "Mister Sand, Mister Heaver, can you gather together all drivers and firemen please?" Nodding, both of Edward's crew moved about among the gathering of Sudrians, pulling each forward. This included a rather grumpy and tired Alec. Lady Hatt scanned the crowd. "Now, Finney, Trotter, McColl, come over here. You're all farmers, correct? Right, now here's what you need to do." She whispered to them, and nodding, they hurried back, picking up members of the crowd to help them in whatever task they were doing. "Right, the rest of you! Men, start treating anyone injured, women, find anything that isn't nailed down, and hand them out. We need weapons, and we need them fast!"

"Your wife is quite the little rebel, isn't she?" muttered Jem Cole as he helped Hatt to the corner to rest up.

"She certainly is! Wouldn't have her any other way!"

…

"You have been quiet all day." Duck frowned "It's…. not like you."

Edward remained silent still.

"I mean, usually you would have asked me how's it going, or if I knew what I was looking for, or you would have…. look, are you going to give me hell for what I've done, or WHAT!? I'd like to get it over with- "

"The Vicar." Edward didn't look at Duck, but just focused ahead, as they puffed along towards the Kirk Ronan branch-line. "All that talk about his death…. that curse thing that I passed on to you. You recall? So how did he die? Heart attack, the doctor said. But then again, he always was a careful old man, didn't think he'd be out beekeeping exposed like that, not with all the stings all over him. So how did he die? Painfully? Quickly?"

"I-"

"Well come on, Duck. You're the one with all the smart answers, remember?"

"We..I believe that the official diagnosis on the Mainland that the bees that stung him had been chemically altered with a unknown substance. My guess is that someone with more…supernatural powers than normal whipped them up into a frenzy and-" Duck trailed off. The details of the Vicar's murder were grisly, even by the standards of crimes committed by the Fat Director. He grimly remembered the incidents in Trumptonshire, and the Bigg City Port. Nasty stuff.

"Ah." Edward clicked his teeth. His eye wasn't twitching. Which meant that either Edward was either not that mad…. or the far worst alternative, that Edward was actually so angry that he managed to bypass most of the usual warning signs completely and was now burning with the heat and power of five suns.

Duck prayed it was the former.

"Ah." Edward said again. "I'm going to kill Marklin."

"He's already dead."

"Then I'm going to kill him even HARDER."

"I- "

"Duck, don't push me."

"Point taken."

Silence returned to the two engines. Duck had the distinct feeling that Edward was directing a part of his anger towards him. He was glad to see Jinty and Pug, and he was aware that this was the first time such a sentence had ever been thought ever.

"No sign of her." Jinty said softly.

"Not a bloody bit!" Pug said, with more grunting and more anger. "We sure she's even on this god damn railway!? Or was Truro just yanking our chain?"

"Oh please, like he'd do that!" Duck suddenly had the strangest sense as though he was missing vital information about something. He brushed it off and continued talking. "If she's not here, then the way to find her is." Duck said, looking to Edward for back-up.

Edward then proceeded to ignore this, and asked a rather awkward question. Awkward in that it was actually a really good question and Duck had the feeling that if Edward knew the answer, he would slowly dismember the three of them painfully over the course of the next hour. "So. This Boomer fellow. I assume he's a rather powerful man?"

"He'll have a army at his beck and call." Jinty agreed, and then promptly realized the same thing that Duck did (Pug took a few minutes, as he often did) in that telling Edward this was a Bad Idea with capital letters on both words.

"Army, hmm? How big?"

"Well, it's rather hard to say-" Duck started, and then Edward finally looked at him and Duck realized suddenly that Edward wasn't angry in the sense of burning hot rage filled ranting like Gordon could get.

No, he was one of those who had anger that was so very freezing cold, that grew colder and colder and colder as he shoveled it down into his boiler, every little jibe and jab and punch and smart arse remark that was made towards him was shoved down there and hidden, out of the way, because If Edward ever snapped, he would do far worse than the others would.

And that anger was now being directed at Duck.

"Montague, let me tell you something. I've had a pretty rough couple of days, all right? Everyone on the Island have either disappeared from plain sight, or they are playing the most intense and well thought out game of hide and go seek ever conceived of. I have one engine in the works getting attended to by a bunch of mechanical claws with R.A.I-"

"What?"

"Rudimentary Artificial Intelligence."

"-I've got engines up the wazoo complaining about **EVERYTHING** under the bloody sun, which, admittedly is not that far from the usual status quo, but it has become **ESPECIALLY** painful, there's apparently a magical goddess who apparently frolics with the rainbows and the pixies because she's so **PERFECT** , the entire Island's apparently stuck in a time loop, one of my closest friends has turned out to be a sleeper agent for an Illuminati for engines group, I've found out that one of my dear friends died because a swarm of bees were fiddled with AND MY PAINTWORK IS BEGINNING TO GET RUSTY, SO PLEASE, JUST. TELL. ME. THE. TRUTH."

Jinty was the first to speak after a two minute silence. "We assume that Boomer has managed to gather together enough members of his biker gang, and enough of the Other Railway staff members, to number over two hundred, maybe even three."

"Oh." Edward sighed in relief. "I mean, it's bad, don't get me wrong, but you had me thinking thousands, millions of humans swarming over with crowbars and guns and all that. No, we can probably deal with that!"

"And of course, not counting the Fat Director's lot as well. There's all the thousands of diesels that have been specially modified for combat, plus the various army vehicles that have been requisitioned over the past few years, from bombers to tanks to even a couple of lorries-"

Duck wasn't sure how he did it, but Edward had somehow managed to turn himself around and, in the wink of a eye, smashed Pug into a set of buffers. Pug squawked and fought back, but Edward wasn't to be shifted.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" He shrieked, any attempt at composure now lost.

"Get off me, you maniac! Duck, help me out!"

Duck coughed, aware that he was dangling on a tight rope that was rapidly fraying before his very eyes. "Now, er, Edward, please, I understand it looks bad-"

"Bad? BAD?!" Edward backed off, giving Pug the chance to breath again and glared at Duck. "This isn't bad. This has long left the same planet as bad. Tell me something, Duck, when would we have known that this was a possibility? The end of our world, shock of all shocks, is a pretty big deal for us!"

"I know, I know!" Duck said, miserably. "But I couldn't-"

"Blow your cover, no matter how much you wanted to, I know!" Edward's eyes were filled with something that approached legitimate hatred. "But I warn you, Duck. Any deaths from here on out? That's on you, because you and your two little gremlins here couldn't be arsed to give us a warning!"

 **"How amusing."** said a silken voice. **"I was about to say the very same thing."**

The four of them froze, and Edward quickly backed up onto the nearest turntable. He spun around and came face to face with the leering visage of Diesel 10. Backing up once more, he joined Duck, Pug and Jinty, all of whom looked at the diesel with horror.

 **"I see my reputation proceeds me."** Diesel 10 smiled, a sickening smile, the kind of smile that indicated that whatever the person smiling it was thinking, it wasn't pleasant in the slightest. **"You know, it is fitting that I get to see you two-"** His claw gestured towards Duck and Edward, who both looked as though they'd rather go through another mayoral election than be here at this moment. **"-before all of this kicks off, as it was, because I'm got some things to get off my chest. If I had one."**

Pug drew himself up to his full height, which admittedly wasn't much, and snapped back into professional mode. "By the powers invested in me, by the Iron Circle and the free engines of the world, I place you, Diesel 10, under custody."

"That'll work." muttered Jinty, sweating despite her sarcastic response.

 **"Oh, it is good to see that little do or die British spirit hasn't been beaten out of you yet, er, Pug, was it? You'll have to forgive me if my memories aren't that good, this body was severely damaged when it was given to me and-"** He laughed. **"Oh! That explains it, I suppose. Little residual spark of resistance building up inside me-"**

"The hell are you on about?"

 **"Oh, so sorry, Edward, old chap!"** Somehow, Diesel 10 managed to put a horrifying amount of emphasis on those last words, and somehow they managed to unsettle Edward. " **Okay, kiddies, little lesson, seeing as you are very far away from anyone who could even remotely help you- And don't even think about trying to go back, my associates are already making sure the line is blocked. What do you know about me? As in, Diesel 10, not the Malevolence."**

"Less than we should." admitted Duck.

 **"All right, try this one on for size. How did I get here?"**

"Via ferry. Or the mainland bridge." Jinty remarked, on edge. "Is there a point to this?"

 **"Oh there is. And you are correct in a way, Miss Jinty. I did arrive over the Vicarstown Bridge. Or rather, part of me did. You see, I am in a somewhat precarious situation at the moment. I have not the power to manifest myself in my true body, there is still a final piece of me lodged in that delightful little scamp known as Marklin, so I required this patchwork job."**

"Still not seeing a point here, Ten." remarked Edward, trying to sound bored.

 **"Oh I shall get there, my good sir! When you are as old as the universe itself,you begin to get a little picky about the forms you inhabit. Not a human, said I, for I've used humans in the past as vessels, and they have always gone wrong. No, to take the form that will turn this world to ashes, I wanted one that would be truly fitting to destroy my arch-rival with. A train. The simple talking trains that gave her so much joy. Got parts from Russia thanks to the Juggernaut, the US from Boomer, even a bit from my other half's former home country of Germany. But the main body, this-"** He gestured again with his claw **"-this all came from Sodor. Do you want to know how?"**

Duck suddenly turned pale. "No."

 **"Now, you see, Duck here kept up a regular correspondence with the Flying Scotsman and the City of Truro, reporting, as it were, on the main events of the island. According to them, there were communication difficulties. At first, there weren't. But then we realized what a unique chance it was. We took advantage of it. All the information went through us first. A few minutes of delay would hardly be noticed by Truro and Scotsman. In fact, it would almost be expected.**

 **How the Island's anti-aircraft guns were being armed, how the nuclear shelters were located in every section of the town, Davidson's many mines and explosives left under the track...even down to the location of the hidden catacombs that the electric engine used to use to get around the Island. All of the Island's weakest points and strongest defenses have been cataloged and studied and analyzed to death over the past twelve or thirteen years. The Iron Circle, set up to protect the engines of the world, ironically had given us the perfect way to eliminate them."**

Diesel 10 was enjoying himself, but with great effort, he got back on track. **"And the engines too! We studied all of them. Every last one. Every little reference, every last place of work, all their vices and virtues. Finally we found a candidate to become the host of my essence. One who wouldn't be missed, one whose work took him all over the Island...one who was due a transfer. And so if he vanished for a year or so? Well, what was the problem with that? An excuse could always be made, and it was very easy. Easier than you could have possibly imagined.**

 **For a spy, Duck, you, Mr Pug and Miss Jinty were very easy to fool. Oh, and I thank you two as well! The notes that your drivers and firemen provided the Iron Circle on the biology and anatomy of the living and breathing engines? Perfect. Yes it appears you aren't as clever as you like to think, after all."**

By now, all three of the spies were deathly white. Pug, for the first time, was without the ability to say or shout anything, as the horrible realization dawned on him. Jinty was shaking, her mouth silently moving. And as for Duck, he actually seemed to be on the verge of keeling over right there and then.

"So-" he stammered at last "-so the only reason that you're here..."

 **"Is because of YOU!"** Diesel 10 laughed hard at this. **"Isn't it ironic? The three engines entrusted to protect the last safe haven of steam engines, and to find their god, will be the ones responsible for the destruction of every living thing made of metal and wood on this Island!"**

"Wait." Edward frowned. "Who was your body?"

Diesel 10 smiled, and his voice changed yet again.

But this time... this time it was a very familiar voice.

"Hello, Edward, old chum! How are you? Those twins, eh, still causing mischief? Why'd you leave me, Edward? To die? It was painful, Edward. The claw, and the heat, and the acid and the molten metal pouring over my body. Why didn't you save me, Edward? I thought we were friends."

Edward started backwards in shock. Duck stared in horror at the way 10's face had shifted. It looked so...unbearably familiar. The smile, the eyes, the voice, it only belonged to one other engine he knew of-

"BoCo?" whispered Edward, bafflement clear in his voice. And then it clicked. "No..." he croaked, his throat suddenly dry. "You...you couldn't have. He...You didn't!"

 **"I did!"**

Edward felt as though his entire boiler was about to burst. "But...but he...he can't be dead...this is a trick! Duck, this is just a trick, right?! This is another one of those Malevolence tricks, the kind that he used to get Boomer on his side, right?!" He looked desperately to Duck.

Duck couldn't look him in the eye.

"Duck!?" Edward's voice was desperate now, pleading, and Duck realized with a great amount of pain that he had never even heard Edward sound like this, like a scared child trying desperately to get his parents to tell him everything was going to be all right. "BoCo's still alive, isn't he?! Come on Duck, please, you're scaring me right now, he, he, he's got to be alive, he just has to-"

Duck couldn't even muster up the courage to say the single, terrible word.

"Duck?" Edward began shaking violently. "Oh...nonononononono-"

 **"It was painful!"** 10 was so jauntily cheerful. **"Oh my! We ripped his face off last, in all honesty, because watching his eyes roll back into his head was just too much fun to pass up! We dipped him rear first into this huge pool of molten metal, and oh how he SCREAMED! I can't quite recall what his last words were, there was far too much bellowing in agony as we ripped his eyes out to replace them with these much improved ones. Pretty sure it was something along the lines of "Help, Edward, help." something like that. Could have just as easily been "Aaaaaah!" for all I remember."**

Edward stared, and then let out the most heart-wrenching wail that Duck had ever heard. It sounded as though his very soul had been stabbed.

And then, with supreme effort, the blue engine shuddered once...and snapped back into chilly calm. "You will die. You will all die. I will make sure of it."

 **"Bring it on, as I believe the kids are saying."**

"You-" Pug was trembling, but not with fear, but with outright anger. "YOU BASTARD!" And he raced forward, disregarding the shaken Jinty's plea to stop. Already, his buffer beam was splitting to reveal a machine gun in place-

-which 10 crushed like a Styrofoam cup, before his claw reached out and grabbed hold of Pug's face. **"Let's see how long this lasts. I'm curious, because honestly, you engines barely put up much of a fight, do you?"** Pug's gasps of pain were becoming weaker and weaker as the claw began to pull his face from the steambox. **"You lasted a lot less than BoCo, I'll be honest. He didn't even tell us anything important. I mean, we knew he didn't know anything important, but he didn't even try and barter for his own life. You, on the other hand-"**

It was at that moment that Edward raced forward and poured every ounce of his furious frame into smashing Diesel 10 backwards. It worked...to a extent, as the claw also took a large amount of Pug's head with it. With a hideous groaning noise, black smoke poured out of the shell of the tank engine, and it collapsed backwards, dead.

For a split second, Jinty stared at Pug's corpse. Then, with a roar that shook the trees, she charged towards Diesel 10, switching onto the opposite line to avoid the grip of the claw.

"GO!" She bellowed to Duck and Edward. "I'LL HOLD HIM OFF!"

"Jinty-"

"Make this worth it, Montague! Make it worth it!"

 **"Aw, how cute."** 10 caught hold of her buffers, and tugged hard. **"Let's see what you've got under-"** He stared at the twin AK-47's in the section where her buffers should have been **"-there?"**

"Rule Britannia!"

As the gunfire reigned, both engines rushed onto the branch line. Duck glanced at Edward, and was horrified to see his expression.

"You wouldn't!" Edward shouted as they crashed through the trees, desperately. "I...I know you had to do some things, but please, Duck, tell me you didn't give away all of our military secrets! To them?!" Edward was half crazed by this point, anger and sorrow and disbelief clashing against each other like gladiators in a Colosseum. "You've given an army their way onto the Island of Sodor!"

"i...I had to!" Duck insisted, though it felt more and more hollow as he thought about it. "Truro and Scotsman demanded it! For the safety of everyone, just...please, hear me out-"

Edward let out a roar of frustration and anger, such that the island had never heard before.

"I know! I know, and I'm so sorry!" Duck was on the verge of crying as well. "But, but we can mourn him once we-"

"Surprise!" Splatter and Dodge grabbed hold of Duck by the buffers. "We can't have you leaving us, can we, Splatter? Not until we've had our fun!" Splatter laughed hysterically at Dodge's statement.

"RUN EDWARD! RUN!" Even as Duck fought, he had just enough time to see Edward vanish through a clump of trees. He felt a twinge of sadness as Edward barely even looked back.

Not that he didn't deserve it. The thought of BoCo, screaming in agony as he was slowly being torn apart was...he shuddered. Edward had to be in a world of pain right now.

The scream from behind him, and the shudder inducing snap that followed, made Duck say a silent prayer for both Jinty and Pug. He hadn't liked them, but the two of them had fought bravely for... for whatever it was they fought for, and they had given their lives in service of engine-kind.

 **"Now-"** said 10, limping over. **"-we won't keep you long. Just one single code, is all that we need, and then-"** He smiled, bitterly. **"Well, we'll let fate decide, shall we?"** His bullet ridden face twisted into a sneer, and as Duck was dragged off, he watched as Jinty and Pug's bodies were hauled off with him.

No one was any the wiser.

...

Edward crashed through brambles and bushes and trees and various other growing plants. He didn't even feel the blows to his face anymore. He felt numb., and his thoughts whirred around his head, bouncing off his mind and not sticking for more than a second before they went off again.

He rushed on. He briefly wondered if Duck was okay, but then the far angrier part of his brain, the one that listened to reason about as much as Gordon listened to little engines, smacked back his reason and began furiously ranting about it was all Duck's fault, that it was because of him that BoCo was-

-was-

He still couldn't think it. He still couldn't make the connection.

 _"Do not blame him, Edward."_

He slammed on his brakes, desperately looking around for the voice in case it was one of the diesels after him, but he skidded onwards, and he shut his eyes before the buffers knocked him back.

It was only a minute or so after he kept going that he realized that he should have hit the buffers by this point, and he opened his eyes to find himself...in the strangest place he had ever seen.

It was a tunnel. Or at least, that was what it resembled to a extent. Everywhere there were trees, trees that Edward had never seen or even heard of before, reaching out, branches that seemed to grip hold of the rails, roots that seemed to wrap around the strange, pulsating green light that lit this...place. The rails seemed to be made out of normal materials, but then if he looked closer, he could see that it also seemed to be pulsating. As thought it was... _breathing._

He couldn't stop either, and he let out a scream of terror, for now the roots were coming to life, and they were reaching out, climbing towards his cab and his wheels, the branches were clawing at his eyes and mouth, he was being smothered in the wood-

And then, with a mighty whoosh and a strange sound like the jangling of bells, he smashed through into daylight, onto rails that were somehow so much bigger than he was used to, and at last, he dived into the best thing he could think of, a old siding, which would provide shelter, protection... perhaps even safety.

And as he stopped there, panting and whimpering as he heard the sounds of strange trains and people talking, he closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. But of course, he couldn't. The island was going to be under attack soon, Duck had just been kidnapped, he was lost in a strange yard, evil incarnate was on the prowl and BoCo was-

-was-

-was...

BoCo was dead, he forced himself to admit. He's dead. He's gone.

Edward sat there, in the cold siding, and stewed. He thought long and hard about his next move, if there was any next move to be made. He waited until night to fall, and all the while, he thought only of the idea of crushing Diesel 10 beneath his wheels, watching the light fade from his eyes...snuffing his life out completely.

He didn't cry. Not once.

No matter how hard he wanted to.

* * *

Dramatic!

REVIEW TIME.

 **Game-Watch:** I know, right. Weird time to be alive!.

 **MattPrice01:** Glad you appreciate it, my man! Ha! I'm glad that I'm doing something right!

 **Kamen Rider Necrom:** There will be CRUSHING involved!

 **Bronze Shield** : Yay! Glad it worked, that movie was a decent one in my opinion, and I figured that having a nice bit of slapstick couldn't hurt. Might do a few lighter moments like that as I go along.

 **bigyihsuan** : My apologies, good sir! This one is a little shorter than the last one, but not by much! Hope you enjoy despite the length!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** That is is. Basically, any errors that pop up are a result of the shoddy translation of the real events to the big screen.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Thank you, thank you! Please, by all means, go into more depth! Benedict Cumberbatch is definitely what I'm hearing when I write Ten's serious dialogue. Splatter and Dodge being rewritten was just because I wanted to do something interesting with them! Glad you enjoyed so much!

 **TrainManiac:** Yep! And spoiler, that might not be the longest chapter I've got planned for the story! Sean Pertwee actually makes a lot of sense, considering what his voice sounded like in the original trailers. I'm hearing him as Benedict Cumberbatch, so somewhere in the middle there's a good medium. Hope you've enjoyed this one!

 **Greatwestern1522:** Wellllllll who knows? Perhaps...I'm not going to say a word.

 **AaronCottrell97:** Thank you so much! Yeah, it's...rough. Not going to lie, there'll be some points where I will literally wave my hands in the air and say "I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S HAPPENING!" so just to warn you.

 **UGX7:** Thank you! And don't worry man, take your time. And hey, a Transformers fan! Neat! Diesel 10 and Blitzwing is actually a great comparison! Except Diesel 10 is more serious most of the time! And those are some damn fine ideas you have!

So, some notes!

-I forgot to mention this last time, but 199 is actually Spamcan from the story Super Rescue. I included him here in the original draft, because I had originally planned to include him as a reoccurring villain in Season 4 and 5. This did not pan out, but I did want to use him again, I didn't want a nameless character to be such a threat to Oliver. What happens if Super Rescue gets adapted like the Small Railway Engines stories? I'll cross that bridge when I reach it.

-Finally, Duck's secret has been revealed! For those of you with good memories, the Iron Circle was the official name given to Lady's advisors in the sections set in Medieval times during the past segments in season 5. Scotsman and co co-opted it's use to try and show their commitment to finding out and protecting Lady at all costs! A lot of thought has gone into this, even down to specific character reactions. Percy and Duck's friendship was one of the best parts of Season 2 and 3 for me, hence Percy's somewhat hurt reaction here. Toby knowing that Duck was a spy was a reference to a throwaway line in Season 5 where he admitted to having figured it out. For those who think Edward might be overreacting, I think that it's a fair reaction to learning that one of your friends has had a ulterior motive for staying with you for years, and on top of that, you're not sure if he's telling the truth or not.

-You'll note that the story that Henry tells, while having the basic facts down, does not match what happened in Season 5. This is deliberate, as it's a fairytale retelling of the events by people who weren't there. It's an idealized version.

-Poor Jinty and Pug. From the moment I started writing the original draft, I knew they'd die as proof that Diesel 10 really was not messing around much. I had originally wondered about having their deaths be the first scene instead of the attack on the Iron Circle's HQ, but I wanted it to have more impact, so I moved it here.

-You'll note that this chapter is very much Edward focused, for the most part. That was actually deliberate, as it's going to be the last point for a good while in story that Edward's going to be on the Island where the thick of the action is, and with the rest of the engines. He's not being taken out of the story, because I want to make up for him not being in the movie at all, but he's definitely going to have a smaller role for a bit.

-The Duck explanation scene went through several different drafts. Originally, as back when I wrote the first draft I hadn't even started Season 4 yet, a lot of the information about Lady and the Old Ones was put here, before I scrapped that and put it into Season 5. Then, I was originally planning on having Duck show the engines a video of Scotsman briefing him on the mission. Again, this got cut because I felt that it didn't flow right. Hence the flashback!

-Speaking of said flashback, the engines included in the upper echelons (bar Truro and Eustace, the former of whom appeared in the Railway Series before, and the latter who was merely a cameo in one of the books) are those who appear in the book Thomas and the Great Railway Show. For those unaware, these are Duchess of Hamilton, Iron Duke, Mallard, Green Arrow and Stephenson's Rocket. But wait, I hear you cry! Stephenson's Rocket? But what about Stephen? What about King of the Railway? All in good time, I say back! If you haven't worked out by now, I always have a plan!

-The items in Sir Topham Hatt's office are somewhat random, but some of them in particular are references to the way that I first watched this film, on VHS. The Magic Stars and Thomas the Tank Engine models were advertised before the film started, and thus have always stuck in my mind otherwise. There'll be little references like that throughout the story.

-Continuing the Railway Series references, King James is a real engine also! He was also mentioned in the book 'James and the Diesel Engines', which has always been a favorite of mine from the Christopher Awdry books. This in no small part is down to the Ted Robbins narration. King James I **was** scrapped in 1964, though not by sentient diesels who hated steam.

-Speaking of which, this brings me onto the last little point. Truro makes a distinction here between the sentient and non-sentient engines that are being killed. This is me _stretching_ a little bit to sort of keep the story light hearted. Truth be told, the Beeching Act is HORRIFYING in the Thomas universe, because that means that god knows how many sentient engines were put to death because they weren't useful any more. Hence the creation of the Other Railway all those episodes ago in the Abridged series, which gives me a convenient scapegoat for killing off any living, breathing engines. In-universe, though I won't get to say it, Beeching was very clear that killing off the sentient engines was not cool. It was just that the Other Railway had so much leeway that they could do what they liked.

Next time! Things happen! More plot, more shenanigans, more everything!


	133. The Magic Railroad: Part 3

**Part 3: The Mr Conductor is a Prat Show**

Meanwhile, unaware of the shenanigans happening, the six other engines had returned to Tidmouth after a long day of searching for... anything really. Mr Conductor had found himself unable to find a room for the night, not least because he really didn't do with sleeping on his own. So he had hitched a ride back with Percy, and set up a little corner in the sheds for him to get some shut eye.

He had failed to account for the fact that there was a massive hole at the end of the shed that needed fixing, and also that the only bed-wear he had decided to pack was the most stereotypical pajamas ever conceived of. His cap, admittedly a rather childish one, also had the word 'sleeping' written upon it for unknown reasons, which was also the target for much mockery.

"You look like Noddy!" snapped Gordon.

"No, I say he's more a Big Ears." suggested Henry.

"Ha, ha, hysterical. Now let me get some sleep!"

The engines then deliberately continued to talk loudly, and Mr Conductor began to realize why Sir Topham always seemed to be losing his hair when they bumped into each other from time to time. He resigned himself to the fact that he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon, and thus began walking around yawning exaggeratedly in an attempt to psych out the other engines into giving up and going to bed. He heard some pointed remarks by James and Percy regarding his nightgown, and thus decided that if he wasn't getting any sleep, then neither would they.

So, very deliberately, he stood up, picked up his alarm clock and very deliberately began winding it up as loudly as he could. He was rewarded with a small grimace from Thomas, who was the nearest to him, and a warning growl from Gordon. Grinning to himself, Mr Conductor hurried down a flight of stairs put into place in case an emergency ever broke out and they needed to evacuate the crews, and picked up a baseball bat.

What a baseball bat was doing there has not been established to this day, and will forever likely remain a great mystery of the ages, like the Sphinx or Stonehenge, or where James's ego came from. Some things are just not meant to have an answer.

"So who dropped the ball then? Oof!" Mr C grabbed a ball and began bouncing it up and down, laughing at his own joke. "I think I'll have a nice cup of cocoa, will you two join me?" He raised the ball to his ear "No? What would you rather do instead? Go outside and play? You weird, strange ball, you! Ah well, I certainly get it." He turned to the bat "And you?" He hit the ball with the bat "Why'd you always do that? You need a time out!" And he strode over to make a cup of cocoa.

The six engines stared at Mr Conductor in alarm.

"Terrific, the only human left with even a remote chance of helping us, and he's a complete nutcase!" Toby muttered rebelliously.

"Okay, if he starts talking to the alarm clock, we run him over and put him out of his misery." Percy suggested.

"I'm with you on that." remarked Henry, grimly.

"Can anyone hear that?" Thomas remarked. "Sounds like cackling?"

"It's probably Mr C." remarked Gordon, grumpily. "He's nuts enough, I'll say that."

"No, seriously, there's a lot of cackling."

"Needs to be sweeter." remarked Mr Conductor, after trying his cup of cocoa. He headed off into the makeshift kitchen to get some.

 **"All right Pinchie, time to feast yourself."**

"Hang on a moment-" Thomas's eyes widened. The other five engines sat up straight as well. For those who had met him, it sounded a great deal like Diesel 10. Those who hadn't could still smell a bad un from a mile off. Mr Conductor was completely oblivious to all of this, as he took a sip of his cocoa, smiled and let out a sigh of contentment.

Then the wall caved in, and Diesel 10 reached out with his claw towards the engines. Thomas screamed a rather undignified scream and rammed the shed door. It did not shatter into little splinters, much to his disappointment, but stayed resolutely shut.

"You know-" remarked Henry, in a surprisingly calm voice for the situation "-I was rather hoping that my death would be slightly more dignified than this."

"OH GOD!" James wailed, who was not surprisingly calm, as can be clearly gathered. "WE'RE GOING TO DIE!"

Mr Conductor had spilt his cocoa in the panic, and dived across for his whistle. He missed, hitting his head on the wall. Dazed, he had just enough to time to see the absolutely massive face of Diesel 10 glaring in through the area where the scaffolding used to be. Grabbing his hat, the Conductor stood to his full height...and was then knocked back down when the shed shuddered as more scaffolding came crashing down.

The engines were panicked, and were trying to get out. But the doors were bolted fast, and nothing short of a guided missile could break through them in a single blow. Somehow.

"Cinders and ashes! It's Diesel!"

"NO SHIT!" shouted the other five engines to Thomas. The laughter rang out across the sheds, Diesel's face lighting up with no small amount of joy at the sight of the fear in the engines.

"It's been a honor, lads!" shouted Toby, who was pretty sure that this was what death looked like for engines. "Well, except for you, James!"

"GO TO HELL!" James wailed.

"YOU FIRST!"

 **"Hello Twinkletoes!"** Diesel 10 leered at Mr Conductor, while the tender engines tried once again to break the doors down **. "Long time no see! Course, last time I met you, it was... well, quite a few decades ago, and it wasn't you, rather. That title of yours is the only reason I'm going to kill you, I just want you to know that. I have a problem, shall we say, with your family. I have a plan. You're not part of it."**

"HA! The joke is on you, bud! You can't catch me!" And plucking his whistle out of mid-air, Mr Conductor blew on it. It let out it's shrill response...and did nothing. He blinked. He tried again. Nothing happened. He was vaguely aware of the engines getting even more terrified at this.

The claw snapped and snapped as it came closer to Mr C **. "Losing the sparkle, eh? Well, what lovely timing! I'll take care of you, first, and then I'll take my time with the others. I'll rip their faces apart and mangle their buffers, and slash their boilers and tear apart their steamboxes and burn them alive in the smelter's yard, and only then, will I grant them the mercy of death!"**

"That sounds nice." Percy said, completely deadpan.

 **"Now, out of curiosity, and this is just a formality before I end your life, Mr C, where is the lost engine? If you tell me, I'll spare- ...No, hang on, I won't spare your life, that would be stupid, but it'll be quicker. I'll get it out of Duck, anyway, and I know for a fact that the sheep over there have no earthly idea."**

"You won't find her here!"

"YEAH! SO PLEASE LEAVE US ALONE!?" It must be said that James's pleading was somewhat embarrassing for the rest of the engines.

"BAA!" As last words go, Percy's were not nearly as impressive as they had been in his head. At least he'd made Toby crack up one last time, there was always that.

 **"Ah, bravado it is. You're not clever enough to stop me."**

"Oh yeah!?" The Conductor scrambled forward, and grabbed the first thing that came to hand.

 **"...Uh, is that-"**

"THAT'S RIGHT, DIESEL!" Mr C began to wildly improvise "IT'S SUGAR!" He paused, and closed his eyes for ten seconds. He couldn't have grabbed anything useful, like a gun, oh no, it had to be a bag of goddamn sugar. "I throw this into your tank, it'll seize you up for good!"

There was a long silence. Henry looked to Diesel 10. "You know, you can just kill us now, this is just embarrassing."

 **"Yes, well, there are a number of flaws in your careful and well thought out plan there, matey. First of all, you're made of flesh and I can easily crush you. Two, that's a bag of sugar, you're not fooling anyone. Three-"**

"Three, he needs to actually reach your tank." Toby added.

 **"Thank you Toby, and four- Wait, nononono-"** His voice changed in the whiny American voice "Ohhhh no! Oh, I have been bested!" And Diesel 10 began to back up **. "Damn it, why is it that the engine I have to get my parts from was a total idiot and a coward! Oh well, more fun for me tomorrow! Make the most of tonight, Twinkletoes, because tomorrow is going to be a horrible day for you! And the same goes for the tin kettles in there! I've killed two engines today, I'm willing to have more than a few hat-tricks before the week is through."**

His escape was somewhat ruined by the fact that part of the wreckage had gotten caught between buffers and face. And by the fact that his normal, British voice was arguing with the whining American one about how embarrassing this was and how they had had all of the pawns in their clutches. The American voice argued: BUT SUGAR. The British voice was beginning to think that clearly his perfect body had been very slightly over-hyped.

"Well-" remarked Gordon once they were perfectly sure the Diesel was gone "-that was...a thing that happened."

"It occurs to me that maybe using sugar won't work a second time." Henry said to no one in particular. "The fact that it worked somehow a first time is, in and of itself, a major miracle not seen since the time of the New Testament."

"Hardy ha." Mr Conductor stared at his whistle in bafflement. Such a thing had never happened before, and not only in his experience. The Conductor family's legacy stretched back to the time of the Romans, and yet... nothing had ever happened like this. No one had ever lost the ability to use gold dust. No one...

"Well that was terrific!" Thomas's acidic tones cut into Conductor's thoughts, and propelled him back into reality. "Nice work, Mr C, really well done, I'm so glad that this sparkle of yours decided that now was the correct time to give up on life! What the hell happened?!"

"I don't know, Thomas! I'll have to sleep on it!"

"For real this time!?" Percy snapped, his voice gradually becoming more and more higher pitched. His fear had not quite died down yet.

"On your sparkle?"

"Don't be a smartarse, Thomas. On the problem of what happened to it, of course."

"Mr Conductor, without the sparkle or the lost engine, you can't travel here and help us anymore... not that you have today. I mean, really, if you want to leave, I'm actually thinking that we'll be somewhat better off"

"I'll solve that problem when I come to it, Percy. Get some sleep."

"Easy for you to say."

And, because they had no other choice, the engines tried to fall back asleep once more. The key word being tried.

It wasn't as though the Conductor tried to keep them awake, mostly because he was himself trying to get himself off to the land of nod as fast as he could. It was just that...well, he had the unfortunate habit of talking in his sleep.

"Sparkle! Gold Dust! Magic! Railroad! Buffers! Lost Engine! Spies! Models! A movie star! Professor and Mary Ann!"

Percy bit his tongue, and forced the many, many sarcastic comments he wanted to say back into the darker areas of his mind.

"My family told me as long as there is a railroad-"

"Railway" muttered Toby, Gordon and Henry together, somehow, in their sleep

"-there is harmony! As long as there is gold dust, there is energy!"

"Sounds like a load of old tosh to me." muttered Percy, picking the least offensive insult he could.

"You will never have to worry! Hahahahahaha-" And Mr C continued in this pattern for quite a while, laughing hysterically to himself.

"Oh god, I don't know how much more of this I can take" Toby groaned. "It feels like we're in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest!"

"Yeah, sure!" Mr Conductor scolded himself, and finally drifted off to sleep. But it was not a good kind of sleep. It was unrestful, and Mr Conductor fidgeted around as he tried to find a comfortable position.

Not that the content of the dream was much better either.

He was standing on what appeared to be a newly built freeway, the tar was still wet as he trudged his way through it. His uniform was in tatters, and he was vaguely aware that there appeared to be blood dripping from his forehead. This bothered him somewhat less than it really should have.

"Mr C!"

He frowned. It sounded like Stacy. "Oh. Dream. Right." He looked down at his legs, rapidly being swallowed by the hot and sticky tar, and scratched his cheek. "Hmmm, well, I think I need to ask myself some questions about my mental state, but aside from that." He strode forward, as best as one could stride forward in hot tar, and grinned at her "So, what's happening. Stacy? Haven't seen you outside Shining Time Station for a long-" He suddenly noticed something. "-time?"

Rubbish was lying all around him, including a shattered jukebox and the remains of a old painting of what he recognized as Old Smokey. Right next to him, he could see the village square, with chunks of grass torn out of it, and a strange black mechanical device was glowing and pulsating like crazy.

The freeway was also standing right where Shining Time should have been.

"Why aren't you here!?" Stacy wept, and Mr Conductor tried to take a step forward to reach out, but the tar now suddenly seemed to solidify around him "Why couldn't you travel any more to the Island of Sodor, or stay back home with us at Shining Time!?"

"Uh uh, no way, brain, you don't get to guilt trip me!" Mr C struggled forward, trying in vain to shift the tar, which now appeared to have risen to his waist.

"The magic is broken." Stacy looked him dead in the eye. Dead being the key word, as suddenly she appeared to crumble right before him, decaying rapidly.

"God alive, what the hell's going on!?" Mr Conductor finally managed to yank himself free of the tar, and backed away from Stacy's corpse, which was now decomposing into dust at a horrifyingly fast rate. He looked around wildly, desperately looking for somewhere to run to, as black smoke began to fill the air. "I'd like to wake up now, please!"

"Why…. weren't…you…. there?"

The horrible, wheezing voice that sounded as if it was on the verge of completely shattering chilled the Conductor to the bone. He turned around, and fell backwards in horror, as the horrifying specter of Thomas the Tank Engine coughing what appeared to be a blood-like substance up. His face was gaunt and his eyes were bloodshot.

Then, with a single blow, Thomas was torn apart by Diesel 10. Or at least, Mr Conductor thought it was Diesel 10. He had the same claw as Ten, but he seemed to have grown to a absolutely massive height now, his body was a huge, pulsating mass of black shadows that lashed out at anything and everything, and his face was larger and more bestial than any engine could ever be.

With a roar, he raised his claw and shook it triumphantly at the skies. Mr Conductor followed it up, and saw three shadowy figures outlined against the sun. he recognized them from Duck's description: P.T Boomer, Captain Zero and, in the middle, the Fat Director. And then he realized that what he was standing in wasn't tar at all. It was whatever shadowy force Diesel 10 was made of, swallowing the world up, and him along with it

He jerked up in the bed, gasping aloud. He looked around, patted the ground to make sure that it was still there and wasn't about to swallow him and the engines up whole and wiped the sweat from his brow "What the heck's happening to our railroad and our world?! My universe, all of our universes are in danger! I've got to find more gold dust!"

"GO TO SLEEP!" roared the engines as one.

...

"We have a problem, Skarloey."

"Another one, boyo!? We're not out of the nectar of the gods, are we?"

"No, Skarloey, the alcohol is still well stocked up." As Skarloey breathed a sigh of relief, Rusty continued onwards. "No, it's just that I've been unable to find a way to contact Bertram up at the mines. I asked Ivo Hugh to head on up and look out for him after the meeting with Mr Condiments, or whatever he calls himself. He's not back yet, and with all the rumors flying about with regards to this new Diesel, I don't want to take chances."

"Quite right. How about this? You hold down the fort here, while I mosey on up there with Peter Sam to try and see if we can't find something out."

"...You want to take Peter Sam with you."

"Yes."

"To potentially fight against a serial killer."

"Uh huh."

"On your own."

"Look, boyo, Peter Sam could probably baffle the Cheshire Cat in a battle of wits!" At the expression of alarm on Rusty's face, the red engine sighed. "All right. I'm taking him to get the boy out of your hair for a bit, mate. You have enough worries dealing with Duncan and Sir Handel without having to be nursemaid, or the gender neutral equivalent of one, to Sammy boy. He'll be safe, I promise."

"...If you are sure."

"See you later! Smoke us a kipper, and all that!"

...

 **"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!"**

It was a rather strange thing, Duck decided, that he couldn't decide whether or not the fact that Diesel 10 was enraged and slamming his claw into everything he could find was terrifying or somewhat hilarious.

Diesels rushed forward to help him, amongst them Arry and Bert. "What is it, sir?" Arry asked, his voice the very epitome of concern for his master's well being. He noted internally that there were many ways for him to interpret Ten's question. There was the honest one, the brutally honest one, the technically lying one...he could have been there forever had Ten not slammed the claw into the ground.

 **"I had them, Arry, I. HAD. THEM. I was on the verge of snuffing out that miserable little Conductor and taking the lives of those little tin pot pests, when-"** He used his claw to point at himself **"-The other fellow comes in, the American, the idiot backed us away from a bag of sugar. SUGAR! I once managed to convince an entire village to eat itself, bones and all, and I've been scared off by a bag of SUGAR!"** He was taking it well, all things considered. So far, not one person had been boiled alive.

"Hmmm." Arry frowned, his brow wrinkling in interest. "That is a interesting fact, my lord. The process was obviously a work in progress, but I never expected something such as this to go down." He hemmed and hawed for a moment, then appeared to hit upon a idea "This is a side effect, as you have already worked out, no doubt, of using parts from the experimental diesels that the Americans were attempting to perfect. And from the Juggernaut, and from the Metropolitan Vickers we scrapped for parts a year or so ago."

 **"Obviously."**

"Well then, the high amount of magic that you possess, coupled with the...unusual nature in which those who donated parts to you donated them, combined to produce this effect. Think of it as an after image of all those who came before you. Ghosts, or voices, depends which one you'd prefer."

 **"I gather that, Arry. Now, how do I make it stop!?"**

"Simple. I put a bullet in your brain!" Duck's mirth was interrupted rudely when one diesel with a cattle prod slammed it into his face. Even so, it was worth it.

"Why, sir, if I may be so bold, are we keeping that one around?"

 **"He has knowledge of the way the Iron Circle work. Once my powers are fully recharged, and once I have a proper grip on this body, I can...remove the information I need. His compliance isn't a factor. But, in the meantime, Arry, while you and Bert consider a way to reduce these...annoying attacks of mine, you can play with him."**

A smile crept over Bert's face. Arry continued onwards, simpering."Oh, thank you, sir!"

"Excuse me, mate, but what do you want me to do?"

Ten smirked. **"Ah, George, my friend. For you, I have a rather important job. I want you to flatten the rails. Destroy the buffers. Kill every truck that you can."**

The idea of magic was lost on George the steamroller, so the diesel had decided to not tell him much about that side of things. Instead, as reward for his services, George was to gain control over the turntables of the Island, to be used as his own personal roller rink. Clanking away, the steamroller chugged off, followed closely by the three Horrid Lorries.

Duck sighed. "Well. come on then! Let's see what the grim reapers of the scrapyard have in store! If I'm not impressed, I'm asking for my money back."

...

 _A YEAR PREVIOUSLY._

 _"It's a flaw, to be sure." Gotch remarked, as he cut into a nice juicy steak. "We could have just as easily gone for a normal Warship class and saved ourselves a hell of a lot of trouble."_

 _"Of course we could have." Boomer agreed, tucking into his own steak. "We could have made the ultimate fighting machine. We could have done a lot of things different. But here is the thing about the Fat Director, Gotch. He looks at the ultimate devil, the creature of dark and shadow that can destroy nearly anything in it's path and thinks "I can use this to my advantage!". So he creates these flaws that'll hamper his ability to think."_

 _"Voices in his head?"_

 _"Exactly. Now, with all the souls he'll be powered with, the Malevolence will be unstoppable. But at the moment, he will not be the Malevolence. He'll be Diesel 10, and Diesel 10 is stoppable, and controllable. It would take a lot of effort, but he can be stopped. The voices are a Trojan horse, meant to be a way of stopping him in his tracks should he start to rebel."_

 _"If you know all this, then why aren't you working alongside him?"_

 _Boomer grinned. "Thing is, Gotch, I have my own agenda. You know what the most obvious thing to do is? The thing that no one has thought of doing because if they did, then they'd have a monster they couldn't control?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"I'll let you figure it out. On one side of the world, Diesel 10. Most of the Malevolence in him. On the other side, Marklin. He also has part of the Malevolence inside him."_

 _Gotch frowned. "They haven't thought of making the Malevolence whole again?"_

 _"Nailed it."_

 _"...And is that your plan?"_

 _"Only the tip of the iceberg. Besides, we have a long way to go."_

...

Elsewhere, the Rainbow Sun backed into the large station at New Bigg City. There had been rumors floating around that the stationmaster was a complete and utter nut who insisted upon greeting passengers with a loaded gun, and thus all trains had been postponed until such time as they could take him off to a nice and quiet padded room. Lily wandered forward, looking around blankly. Her mother had been called back for an important meeting regarding her pregnancy, and so she had trusted that Lily knew her way around.

She did, usually. It was just that the entire station had never been this jam-packed before, and it was a little confusing considering how many trains looked similar.

As fate would have it, Mutt had traveled with Billy to the big station that morning. Now, we will never know exactly went through Mutt's mind at this particular junction, for the simple reason that he is a dog, and that a great deal of his thoughts consisted of 'Food', 'Sit', 'Fetch', 'Chase cat' and variations of those themes. However, something (Or someone, someone with a kind female voice) had spoken to him on that particular day, saying that perhaps Lily could help him, and that both could help Mr Conductor. But only if she met someone special at Shining Time first.

This was a tenuous link even for a dog's brain to make, but as he was a good dog, Mutt spotted the girl named Lily wandering around the many platforms in bafflement.

"Attention!" The voice over the speakers called out "Last train for Muffle Mountain leaving now! The last train for Shining Time Station will be departing at track 4! Also, for the love of God, we're aware that our numbering system is terrible! We don't need a constant reminder of it! We're depressed enough as it is!"

Lily frowned, and looked around for the number of the current platform she was on. But so many people were jostling and shoving each other, it was impossible for her to see. She spotted the dog, and noticing that he had a lack of owner, hurried over. "Now, I don't suppose you'd know where track four is, would you?"

Some people would have considered this to be a bit...odd. Lily said that dogs were far better conversationalists than people.

Mutt barked.

"Do you?" She looked at the nearest train "Is that it? …. Oh, why not?" If it was the wrong train, then she could just as easily phone home or get Uncle Burnett to get her. She grinned at the dog, aware that most people were looking at her oddly but not giving a single care "I hope you're right!"

Mutt felt no guilt. True, he had sent Lily on the wrong train, but it was for the right reasons. At least, that was his view on it, as a dog morality often didn't come into many of his decisions. There were usually three sections of his brain: Bones, walks and food. He rarely considered what his grand place in the cosmos was, and he was quite happy not to.

He jumped on the front of the train just as it began to pull out from the platform, as Lily relaxed back and began to listen to the latest song by Dayna Manning, 'I Know How the Moon Must Feel'.

….

Burnett parked his car on the lane besides his farm, and wearily climbed out, holding onto the door as he gingerly levered himself out. There was always a bit of phantom pain sometimes when it came to driving. He attributed that to his growing up during the war. He had got off lucky, though.

He didn't bother locking the car. It was an old beetle that he had managed to get as a birthday present from his sister in law, and it hadn't been in tip-top condition when she had 'generously' dumped it on him. If someone were to steal it, they would probably send it back with a full refund.

As he went inside, a sudden thought lead to him rifling through the set of old books on his shelf. He almost smiled as he leafed through a copy of 'The Romance of Railroads'. It certainly took him back. He glanced at the clock. "Funny….Lily should be here by now." He tried to calm his mind by thinking about how responsible Lily was supposed to be. But even so, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but worry. He headed over to his phone, and reluctantly dialled Stacy's home number.

"Hello, Stacy? Uh, yes, this is Burnett. Look, I'd hate to call you right now, but I'm expecting my grand-daughter, Lily, to be coming- Yes, I know, I don't look old enough to be a grandfather, but, please, she was supposed to come about half an hour ago, and I haven't seen her. So, could you just head back to the station and check, please? Thank you. I'll be out fixing up a car if you do, so if you can pick her up and drop her off by the signpost, that'd be….right, thanks."

He groaned as he placed the phone down, and reluctantly headed back out to the car. He had reluctantly agreed to fix up an old pickup truck for Schemer, the owner of the arcade in Shining Time, just so he'd get off his back.

He wasn't to know that, as Stacy left the phone booth and headed over to the station in her own car, P.T Boomer was playing back the call and listening with great interest.

…..

"I can't believe this is how we're spending the day after we were all threatened."

"Truly, this is a fate worse than death."

Both Gordon and Henry were trapped in the sheds until James could use the turntable, and James couldn't use the turntable until his two-hour long transformation into the fabulous red engine was complete, and this couldn't be completed until Mr Conductor finished scrubbing his face with a broom. It was a…unique way of washing James's face.

Much had been made of Duck and Edward's disappearance, a fact that worried all of the engines a great deal. Even the bigger engines, like Gordon and Henry, were worried. In fact, those two probably more than most. In their own way, they were aware that they and Edward were amongst the oldest engines still left on the Island, and even though Gordon especially still argued a great deal, they were still fond of the blue engine. Everyone was searching the island whilst doing work.

Save for James, of course.

"Left a bit! Aaah, right a bit! No, up a tad! Oh, yeah, that's the spot!"

"This is obscene."

Gordon agreed with Henry's statement.

"There, James." Mr Conductor put his broom down, wondering vaguely why it was that he had somehow completely forgotten his mission about saving the collapse of his universe or some such rot. "Tickle all gone?"

"Oh yes!" James hadn't a tickle really, he was lying through his teeth to get special treatment. "I mean, er, no. Still itchy, so if you could just-"Mr Conductor yawned, and James saw an opportunity to guilt Mr Conductor into doing more buffing on him "Mr C! Why do you look so tired? Is it because I'm red?! It is, isn't it!? Diesel says red is a tiring colour- "

"Are you sure he wasn't talking about you?" Gordon muttered.

"-but I think it looks so nice against the snow! …It's not green, is it?"

"OI!" Henry shouted. Percy shot James a dirty look as he pulled a line of tankers and the breakdown crane away from the sheds.

"Oh no, James." Mr Conductor saw through James's attempts to get him to do more work very easily. James wasn't subtle in the slightest. Words like subtle were meant for other engines. "I think that red is bright and cheerful! Like fire, and chicken pox, and Communism! But it reminds me a lot of my gold dust. Or at least it did. It must be again."

"Oh get over yerself." snapped Douglas.

"Preach, Douglas." Henry muttered. "You weren't here last night! Do you know, this fool wrote an entire ode to his gold dust, weeping as he did so?! I swear to God, I've heard old Anglo-Saxon poets that go on less about subjects than he did!"

"You just don't appreciate art!"

"And you just don't appreciate how much you are beginning to grate on our nerves!" Henry groaned. "Douglas, let's go get drunk. It's a damn sight more enjoyable than whatever...this is!"

"Right on!"

Mr Conductor acted very maturely and stuck his tongue out at the two departing engines."Sorry James, can't do anything else, got to go to the windmill to search for something important. Off you go to work!"

"Keep your steam up!" James puffed as he left the sheds, finally. It wasn't until he had reached the station to fetch his coaches that he realized that Mr Conductor had gotten away with insulting him.

...

"God damn it!"

Trying to follow the map in Sir Topham Hatt's office that Mr Conductor had stolen was a bit like trying to run through quicksand. It was certainly doable, but only by certain types of people.

In retrospect, Mr Conductor thought, I should have taken up that offer from Percy to just take me there. But no, I just had to be the man, didn't I? I had to have a goddamn inferiority complex about steam trains! What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I climbing a wall? I regret a lot of my life choices!

Finally, he flipped himself over the wall, twisting his ankle as he did so. He mopped his brow, and glanced around, expecting to smell dough, or flour, or well cooked pastries.

Instead, he smelt cow dung.

"Where's the windmill?" he asked aloud. "Shouldn't-" He consulted the map, and then realized that he was reading it upside down. Which he should have noticed a while ago, perhaps. "I'm supposed to be by the windmill and I am instead by...Here there be dragons. Huh. Well, shit."

He kicked out. His foot made contact with a large stone, and he hopped around in anger until he tripped and fell ass over teakettle. "Well-" he said, face muffled by the dirt "-now I've completely lost my sense of direction!"

He sat up, wiped the dirt from his face, and pondered. Out of curiosity, he tried his whistle once again. Nothing. Not even a flash, this time. He tried once more, and then reluctantly slipped it back into his pocket. Dejectedly, he sat down on the wall, and pondered what to do. It was foolish, he reasoned, to go climbing on back down the wall. He could fall, or worse, ruin his designer clothing.

"All gone. Really. All gone. If I don't find the source and make more, then I know what the consequences will be. In retrospect, telling the engines who actually live on this Island may have been a fair idea." Mr Conductor cursed his brain for not being it's usual idiotic and forgetful self.

"No one's ever told me what to do in a gold dust crisis. And I can't believe I'm saying these words. If you can't remember the clue, then the windmill will remind you...where's the windmill? ...What's the clue!?"

No one answered him.

He wasn't exactly sure why he was speaking aloud in such a manner.

Still, he had to start somewhere. He boldly strode off in the direction that he had deduced from a very ingenious solution (Eeny-Meenie-Minie-Mo) was the correct path.

Right into a pond.

...

Later that day, the engines gathered together to hold a meeting to discuss progress on the disappearances. Percy couldn't attend, and Toby could only stay for a few minutes, due to a call from Peter Sam that he needed to take care of.

Bertie, in a remarkably cheerful mood despite the fact that he had no passengers, rushed by. "Why so glum, steamers!? Smile, it's a sunny day! Brm brm!"

Yes. He actually said that. The sun was beginning to get to his brain.

"Not sunny. At least not in a metaphorical sense, which I am...for some reason interpreting it as! Mr C's not at the windmill, I've checked. All of them. And there's still no sign of Edward or Duck on my end." James looked worried, actually worried about what was going on. This was the sign of the apocalypse, in the humble opinion of the other engines.

"Silly yank's probably lost the last bit of his sparkle." grumbled Thomas. "Probably got himself lost in the forest somewhere, and he's curled up somewhere whimpering." He had little tolerance for Mr Conductor at the moment.

"The hell is Bertie on about! My smokebox doesn't feel sunny!" Henry blew his rather red nose on a over-sized tissue "Feels like it's stuffed up!"

"A rather sudden cold, if I may say so, Henry." noted Toby. "I saw you earlier on and you looked fine."

"It's the nasty fumes from those dingy diesels- er, no offence, Mavis." Gordon quickly attempted to put Mavis, who had come along to make sure Toby was okay, at ease.

"No, Toby, you're right. It is sudden." Henry suddenly began talking more earnestly. "I think it's the Island. I've always been somewhat in-tune with it, you know-" He growled at the loud groans that came from the assembled engines. "-Well I have! I have been the one most concerned for the safety of this Island, and as such, my cold is clearly a sign from the great Earth Goddess Gaia-"

"Okay, Reverend Sharpton, unless Gaia sends these messages via fax machine, I really don't care." James clicked his tongue, and attempted to appeal to Mavis to back him up.

She rolled her eyes, and looked at Toby, who quickly spoke up.

"No sign on our behalf of Edward."

"Ye don't think he's gone off in a huff like he did back during the events with that dreadful electric engine?" Donald asked.

"No. Edward would never abandon us when we needed him this much." Thomas looked around "And of course, no sign of Duck."

"I don't like this." muttered Douglas "I haff a feeling that it's a diesel related issue!"

"Perhaps he thinks that they know something about the lost engine?" Henry suggested, sneezing once again.

"If he finds her, I fear that's the end for us." Toby looked grim "I was able to find a couple of things out while I was going about looking for our chums, you know, to see what we were up against. Found an old jotter that Duck had been hiding." He paused. "The jotter itself are very old, a lot of the ink's faded and it was originally written with a quill which makes it hard for me to see it properly, but-"

"Yes?"

"Well, according to the book, if Diesel 10 is this...Malevolence that Duck was talking about, then he's currently in the first stage of his transformation into the ultimate world destroying evil creating entity that people keep saying he is. He's not yet at his full power."

"What'll get him there?"

"Nothing much. Killing Lady should help. All that ancient power and magic without a vessel to hold onto it, it automatically seeks out the most powerful being in the area at the time. Absorb that, and he's got the power to remake the world as he sees fit. The first phase, however, is characterized by a great deal of...er-"

"What?" Gordon laughed nervously "Fun? Party planning?"

"Killing."

"Even an engine as big as me! Surely you jest!"

"Yes Gordon. Even you. Anyway, there's another section that suggests that fusing with his 'other half' will fix everything. Though god knows what that means."

"AT-CHOO!" sneezed Thomas, so loud that the entire ground seemed to shake. "Oh thanks a bundle, Henry!"

"Say it, don't spray it, Thomas!"

"Stop using Americanisms, James, it makes you sound like a twat! I think that sneezing powder's still up my funnel! Now, while chatting about our impending doom is fun and all, I'd rather go about and start looking for the chums. Oh, and Mr Conductor, I suppose."

"Let's get back to work." Toby suggested "That's what he would have wanted. But as the oldest engine here with Edward missing-"

"Who put you in charge?!" demanded James.

"I did. Now listen. Considering how big the island is, Diesel 10 can be anywhere, and can strike at any time. What I suggest we do, is that we make sure that we arm ourselves as best we can with the help of the Pinchers, just in case something should happen. The Fat Controller left anti-aircraft guns all over the Island when the COld War ended, and I have no doubt that the Pinchers can find us any old bits of tat that we can use to protect ourselves."

This was agreed upon as being a wise idea indeed, and soon both Toby and Mavis departed to meet up with Peter Sam.

"How bout a race, Thomas!?"

"Have you got a problem, Bertie? Can't today, anyway, I have to solve a mystery!"

"All that's missing is the cowardly dog, you meddling kid! Oh, by the way, I win! Brum brum!"

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"I've been drinking some weird oil recently."

...

"I'd thought, see, that the boyo should get you because, well, you were the one who found him, right bud?"

"I understand, Skarloey." Toby didn't, in all honesty, but he was aware that whatever it was, it must have been serious. He glanced to Mavis, who was looking a little nervous. "You didn't have to come, Mave, I was fine to do this on my own."

"I'm fine." Mavis grinned. "Can't get rid of me that easily, old timer."

"Oi!" Toby chuckled. "Less of that, if you please!" He suddenly stopped. "Okay, is it just me, or can you hear that?"

"What?"

"That screaming."

All three paused, and then hurried forward.

Peter Sam was looking on helplessly as he reversed around the corner, looking terrified. He caught sight of Skarloey and began babbling. "Oh! He...He just sort of...got worse! I tried to keep him watered and fueled as best I could, but all of a sudden he started howling, and-"

"It's fine, Peter Sam, it's okay. You've done your best." Toby was firm, gentle, but with the distinct tinge of authority. "Listen, Skarloey'll take you back to Crovan's Gate, I'll deal with...with whatever happens, kay?" Peter Sam looked nervously, but did as he was told. "Good lad. Skarloey, I should be back in a hour or so with news."

"Thank you, boyo!"

As they left, Toby looked grimly round the corner. He took a very deep breath, and tried as best he could to steel himself. "Mave, I'm not sure either of us is going to like what we see around the corner."

"I know. I'm still giving you a hand though."

"Good. Forward, m'dear." And together, the two rounded the corner towards the Mine Fairground.

Even Toby couldn't have prepared himself for what he saw. He let out a gasp, and felt Mavis shudder behind him.

In front of him was Bertram. Or rather, what was left of him. If you were to get up close and scrape away all the dirt and soot and ash that was emitting from his funnel, outwardly there would appear to be no sign of trouble. And yet black smoke was pouring from his funnel, from his wheels, even from his cylinders, which was not supposed to happen even at the worst times. A strange, blood-like substance was leaking from his whistle, and from the sides of his boiler.

His face...his eyes were wide open, and both Toby and Mavis could see just enough to know that the same blood-ish substance seemed to cover them, just a tad. The black smoke was coming from his mouth as well, and with a horrified moan, Toby realized that Bertram appeared to be cooking from the inside out.

Then, the Old Warrior caught sight of him. And despite everything...he laughed. "You came to help!" he howled with pain and amusement in equal measures in his voice. "Help me, like Stuart did! Help me!? His blasted manager and that damn tender engine are the reasons why I'm here!"

"Mavis, get me...get me-" Much to his horror, Toby realized that there was no one Mavis could get. There were no fitters, no men at the works, no way to contact anyone via telephone...all they had was the Pinchers, and even then, getting Bertram to the works was going to be nigh impossible. "Get me...Duke! Get me Duke!"

"Yes, of course!" Mavis hurried back, refusing to look at Bertram. Toby didn't blame her, but he forced himself forward. If Bertram was to die, then he didn't like the idea of him being on his own. "Bertram? Old Warrior? Can you hear me?"

"Course I can."

"Look, what happened! You were fine last I saw of you!"

Another cackle, but this time one of bitterness. "Silly old fool that I was, thought that I could stop them."

"Stop them?" Toby frowned. "Stop who?! Diesel?"

"No, no, no... the Fat Director."

"What?!"

"... My name isn't really Bertram at all. I'm Old, but I'm no Warrior. I was in those mines for about three years, if even that. But I have been trapped for far longer elsewhere. My real name is Smudger. I came here when I was younger to work on the Mid-Sodor Railway. Well, that obviously didn't work out. Maybe I did ride a little rough. Maybe I was ruder than I should have been. But...of all things, a generator!?"

Toby stared, this time in pity. "You're Smudger? From Thomas's story?! ...You poor thing. God alive, I forgot that was what they used to do to...disobedient engines. It was cruel, and barbaric!"

"Someone who gets it! Falcon never got it, too busy looking at his bloody manifestos. And Stuart, whenever he wasn't off on his own little world, was always swayed back by Duke. Duke!" Bertram- or Smudger, Toby had no idea what to call him -spat, a hard lump of something that looked like tissue. "Duke, his grace, rattling on about how 'they' did things differently over here. Silly old fool. Set in his ways. To him, I was a traitor. I just wanted to ride a little rough, was that really so bad!? ...So...So I waited. And waited. No one picked me when it was time to divide up the assets of the railway, so I was left along with that old rustbucket."

Toby looked around at the sound of chuffing. Mavis had been there a while, and Duke, standing unsteadily in front of her, puffed forward, having heard everything. Whether or not it went in or not, though...

"But people came, as they always did, and began to tear the area up to get at HIM! Duke was lucky. People cared about him. Not about me. Sentenced to rotting in some ditch somewhere while he got to go home, get repainted and given jobs to do...but they took me. To the scrapyard. That's when he found me. Gotch. He took me back to this...odd looking railway. He sat me down, and oiled and greased me, all the things that no one had done since I was torn apart and put back together. And he brought this man in, this Fat Director. And we talked. He said he understood my plight, and the plight of others. Others whose legacy it was to be forgotten, to be the ones who didn't get episodes centered around their exploits, and books written about their foibles and positives. Engines whom you'd be lucky to get down as a footnote in history. Atlas, Alfred, John, Jennings, Albert, Jim, Tim, Jerry...we're just fodder for the rest of you."

The smoke had died down now, but Toby was fully aware that Bertram wasn't getting up again. "And what happened?" he asked gently.

Silence. Then "He told me that I could go back and have a proper life again. I could pull passengers, I could take trucks, I could be as reckless as I wanted and I'd only get punished for it. It is a far better thing to be locked up in the sheds for a week or so, than to be condemned to a slow, agonizing living death as a generator. All I had to do was pass on a few bits of information when it came my way, I wouldn't even need to take it to him, my new crew could. What the hell would you have done? I took the deal. And then they buggered it up. Couldn't work out if I was a tank engine or a tender engine. They messed around with my insides so goddamn much, it was a miracle that they got me there at all. They scrapped the old plan of presenting me as a new engine and shoved me in a dingy mine shaft for years. But I got out eventually, and...well, stuff happened. They passed on info, don't ask me what, I can't remember."

Toby gently began to push Bertram back into the shade. "But then...why this?"

"I...I was listening last night at the meeting, and I heard my driver and fireman talking about the army he's gathered...this Boomer fellow. They said that he'd used a spell in a attempt to completely eradicate the Island. I never wanted that! ...He'd messed it up somehow, some magic countered it, and so he was only able to get the humans. But my driver and fireman had been off the Island when that happened. When they got back, they said they were going to...to...I...I couldn't let it happen. I attacked them. Didn't see it coming. The fireman got off a lucky shot in the cab, and...and here I am. Pretty sure that the Fat Director put a killswitch in me."

Another cough. "But listen to me! That quiet one, the one that didn't do anything aside from hard work...the Stunt Double! Ivo Hugh! He was here, on the night that the humans were taken. And...and something happened. He got knocked off the rails, and when my crew got here, they teleported him back to the Other Railway! He was innocent! I never wanted to harm anyone!"

Duke watched Smudger, or Bertram, write in agony. He stepped forward. "I'm sorry, old boy. I...I don't quite remember you. It's all gone, you see. My memory. I only get flashes of it now and again. Silly, really. When you've gone through so much and I had it relatively easy. I am sorry. So, so, sorry."

The engine didn't seem to notice. "Toby."

"Hmm?"

"Do you think...if I prayed hard enough...God might forgive me for my sins?"

"I don't know, Bertram. But it can't hurt to try." Toby looked back, and gestured for Mavis to come forward.

The four of them sat together and prayed aloud for a very long time.

Until there was only three of them, as a matter of fact. Until the black smoke had died down completely, until the last ragged breath had been drawn...until the final words, an acceptance of a apology overdue for decades now, had been spoken. Until it was that Bertram the Old Warrior, formerly known as Smudger, finally died.

...

And now, back to the comedy!

It had been five hours, and Mr Conductor was rapidly beginning to be of the opinion that he would never get out of this damn forest. He had drunk something that looked and smelled like water (Actually a new form of moonshine cooked up by Carlin in the eighties. It tasted like it had been there since the eighties too) and was now convinced that he was in Wonderland, chatting with the White Rabbit over tea.

As he stumbled through yet another clearing, he began to think of the many things he had wanted to do with his life before coming to the Island. Go fishing, tend to his flowers, have sex at any point...he was missing out on so much.

It was then that he noticed something upon the floor. "What's this?" He bent down to pick it up. At least, in his mind. In reality, he was currently spinning around on the floor like a turtle on it's back, foaming at the mouth, as he waited for the inevitable descent off the high it had given him.

The note, which was in fact real, had been left by some other people of dubious standards when it came to what they put into their bodies. Mr Conductor read aloud "Noticed you left your thinking cap behind, try these instead, they're good for the brain. Ignore the smell of vomit, it goes away after a while. Gone fishing, Rabbit!" To his addled mind, the idea that a six foot rabbit was somehow walking around the island and leaving random notes with remarkable penmanship made more sense to him than what the actual explanation was.

Throwing himself on the floor, Mr C reached out, clawed randomly at the dirt for a few minutes, before at last reaching a random collection of vegetables that were somehow there. Of course, in reality, these were not actually vegetables, because despite the magic restorative power that they have (can you tell who we're sponsored by?) even they are not capable of making the following leaps of logic that occurred now. No, these were miracle drugs, drugs that were supposed to open up your minds to find the answers to all the most pressing concerns there were.

For example, can one make an Alec Baldwin lookalike go absolutely off the chain nuts?

"How very thoughtful!" Mr Conductor declared. His current definition of the word 'thoughtful' was different from nearly everyone else's, being high as a kite at the time does that to you. Logic suggests that you don't eat random things that people have left behind without at least washing them first. So naturally, Mr Conductor took a big bite out of one of the 'carrots'.

"PLANE! DRAIN!" he bellowed, scaring away the birds. He blinked. Perhaps this 'carrot' was a magical one, like the ones his grandpappy had grown in a special greenhouse and which the police officers were very interested in taking from him. He took another bite. "MOUNTAIN! FOUNTAIN! Might be something! I'll try the celery!" This was truly the best idea he had ever had.

What was happening, though Mr Conductor would have no recollection of this by the time night rolled around, was that the drugs were unblocking his memories, in a way, of things his parents had told him. An actual rabbit watched with bafflement as Mr Conductor continued his Yellow Submarine style trip with the 'celery'.

"Sausage!? Bicycle? HIC! Toothpaste! BEACH! HIC!"

He paused. "Beach...Beach... BEACH! AH HA! THAT'S IT! I HAVE TO MAKE A CALL!"

The rabbit watched as the mad fool jumped high in the air in excitement, and then fell down a hole.

Humans, it thought to itself, and disappeared.

...

"I can keep you safe here for a week, maybe week and a half, tops, you got it?"

Etienne nodded, and Axel let the workmen shut the door. The French had helped to create a secondary base for the Iron Circle should the first one fall for any reason. It was a bit more cramped, but the thirty or so survivors of the massacre didn't mind. All in all, they were a sorry lot. Mallard and the Duchess of Hamilton moved amongst the wounded, trying their best to see if they could assist in any way. Iron Duke and Stephenson's Rock were too old to do anything more than rest up at the moment, which left Green Arrow in charge of trying to raise a signal from his cousins Dominion of Canada and Republic of South Africa.

Scotsman, Truro and the few remaining international heads of state gathered round, discussing what to do next.

"This is bad. How much do you reckon they've gotten away with, intelligence wise?"

"Luckily, sir, most of it was located at the Tower of London, so they haven't got their hands on anything vital. Just timetables and..."

"And what, Truro?"

"...And all records of our contacts with Shining Time."

There was a sudden, horrible silence. In the middle of this, a workmen walked up. "Scuse me sir, but there's a diesel outside. He claims to be from the Island of Sodor. Says he has some news for you."

"What's his name?"

"It's rather hard to make out...at first he said it was Nigel Thornberry, then Jeremy Paxman. I finally got him to admit his real name was Derek, only for him to start smoking from the engine."

"Is it a trick?"

"A bloody strange one if it is, sir."

"Hmm...at this point, I'm willing to try anything. Bring him in."

...

It was a beautiful day at Kauai. The sun shone down, the water was a peaceful and beautiful looking blue, the sand was soft and warm under the fingers of the beach bum lying down, and there was nary a seagull in sight.

However, no one else was on the beach, save for the one beach bum previously mentioned. He had many names, but usually he was referred to as 'Hey, You with the surfboard' or Junior, for short. He was an expert in beaches, and a long time examiner of how to avoid work and enjoy himself. He hummed to himself as he slathered more sunscreen over his arms and legs, and tried to stop his gold dust from teleporting himself away.

If he had had his eyes open, Junior would have seen something very, very strange indeed. One of the clouds suddenly seemed to tear itself apart, as a strange navy bluish hole appeared out of nowhere, with strands of red, green, orange and purple energy rippling out faster and faster until at last, with a rather loud crashing sound, a single hot air balloon tumbled out from the spiral, fell to the beach and smashed itself to pieces. A second later, the strange hole in the sky seemed to fix itself, and vanished without a trace.

Five seconds later, a bedraggled figure stood up from the wreckage. He brushed himself down, looked around and his surroundings and bellowed to the sky:

"I'M BACK YOU F**KING BASTARDS!"

* * *

Guess who's back  
Back again  
Carlin's back.  
Tell a friend.

REVIEW TIME.

 **Game-Watch:** Yeah, you're not wrong. I actually wanted to think of an explanation for why the hell the portrait keeps changing, but I got nowt.

 **MattPrice01:** Thank you! I appreciate that, really did want to make the reveal a big and dramatic one. It's actually why I left the scene on that note, wanted to have it feel more powerful that way. Oh, the Power Rangers analogy was a shout out to that, but the idea that I actually had will come into play next time. I hope.

 **Kamen Rider Necrom:** Oh don't worry. He'll suffer. Mwahahaha.

 **Bronze Shield** : Sorry mate. But those secret agents, eh? So weird.

 **bigyihsuan** : Oh it's going to get really bloody insane! And Edward is...absent from this chapter, but you'll see him next time! Hopefully you'll find what I've done interesting!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Edward's arc in this was one of the things that I really wanted to write. I'm compensating for the lack of Edward episodes/appearances since Season 3 in many ways.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Thanks! Comedy is still important! As you can tell from this chapter, there's a bit of whiplash, but I want there to be something for people to laugh at. And that's a decent idea. I'll think about it!

 **TrainManiac:** I appreciate that. The stitching together is not the first time that I'll do that, but I can promise you it was the most painful one to do. I've done what I think is a better version in this chapter with the meeting of all the engines, so I hope you appreciate that. Yeah, emotions are running high!

 **Reid007:** Thanks! Wanted to get that feeling. She will be appearing in this chapter! I hope you like this.

 **AaronCottrell97:** Ah! Someone who remembers that! Yeah, same here. Can't believe I was ever that young. But I have fond memories of watching the VHS. And yeah, Edward going nuts was meant to be pretty damn cool.

 **UGX7:** Thanks for the kind words! Yeah, Jinty at the very least I wanted to give some redeeming features to, because I wanted her last stand to mean something. That, and I wanted to very much shake up the idea of there being a force that would help make everything all right. The Iron Circle isn't coming to the rescue this time. The Island is mostly on it's own.

All righty, let's crack on with these facts! Again, this part is slightly shorter than the second part, that's primarily because I figured that ending it on the return of Carlin was far more entertaining than dragging more stuff out and trying to find a good end point from there. Next chapter should be a bit longer though, so there's that.

-First off, let me deal with the elephant in the room right away. Bertram is DEAD. Period. He's actually the second character who was actually canon to the TV series that I've killed off, but I did it because I really didn't see a potential future for him in my series. He doesn't pop back again in the series proper, he's a one shot character in every sense of the word. Some of you may find his death a bit underwhelming, and that's fair. It was essentially me getting rid of yet another plot point that I felt tangled up the series a bit. I really did enjoy writing his last conversation with Duke though.

-Ivo Hugh going missing is leading to something, I swear. The original plan was for him to have a bigger role in Season 5, but that went out the window when I realized that there were surprisingly few episodes with the Narrow Gauge characters.

-The shed scene is probably my favorite scene to write thus far, primarily because of how genuinely fun it was to make fun of Diesel 10's weakness. I mean, I know it's true to the type of engine he is, but still, it's pretty stupid.

-As can be judged by the somewhat cynical title, this is where the film really begins to show it's flaws in my opinion. It's far too human centric, and the Mr Conductor stuff is just weird. I mean...even by Thomas the Tank Engine standards weird. I swear, writing for him getting into all of these random situations is so much fun, because it means I get to make fun of all the random shit that I was confused of when I was a child. For example, the hell is in those vegetables he's eating? Can rabbits write? How can they write?

-You've also seen a bit of Lily in this chapter. As I do like Mara Wilson on the whole, and i feel as though her character deserves it, I did add a bit more personality to her. As in, she might be legitimately insane. That is the only reason I can think of for why she's trusting a dog to tell her the way. So, yeah, I hope you like her. And if not, then...I'm screwed!

-And finally, the return of Carlin. Right from the beginning, one of the things I wanted to do was to have the two Conductors teaming up together, because when I think Mr Conductor, I think either Carlin or Baldwin. You'll find out a bit more about what happened between now and the last time we saw him, in which he was giving chase to the Malevolence, next chapter.

And next time, we'll see more of our chum Carlin! Until then, have a great day!


	134. The Magic Railroad: Part 4

**Part 4: Heeeeere's Junior!  
**

Junior took a long swig of something that, if the cops asked, was definitely not beer, no siree. The sudden increase of shade blocking his perfect spot to catch some sun made him open his eye up "Aye, yer're blocking the-"He paused, as the grey haired figure looked at him with scorn. Slowly, he put the drink down. "-ye took your time getting back."

"Where am I?"

"Standing in front of me, blocking out the sun." Junior smiled, and closed his eyes once again. This was a mistake, as he learned when the figure yanked him up rather hard by the tacky Hawaiian shirt and slammed him against the over-sized deck chair. "Ow! Okay, okay, ye're at Kauai, it's in Hawaii, no one else is here because I sent a fake alarm off so I could get a wee tan! Happy?! Cause I'm not! There's no bloody babes here, and babes are necessary to enjoying the beach experience! The hell have you even been!?"

"Year?"

"1999. Ye vanished for five years, I almost got concerned, auld man!"

"Almost? Yeah f*cking right! And don't call me old, all right? At least I look distinguished! You just look like a-!" Carlin dropped Junior back on his chair and sat down, grimly muttering to himself. "Had a few issues getting back, time is sort of…buckling. Oh well, at least the world hasn't blown up yet."

"Ye wanna give me an explanation on where the frigging hell ye've been?!"

Grimly, Carlin told him everything. The incident at Callan, the attempted asssasination, his recruitment by the government, his visits back and forth in time (He decided to skim over those for the sake of padding) and finally his last great chase against the strange Malevolence.

"So, from what ye're telling me, ye should nae have lost the Malevolence, right?"

"Right. Not a clue how that happened. Best guess is that because my balloon was a bit slower, I got thrown off course. Way off course, it was ninety eight when I left."

"Man, ye remember when ye used ta tell us what ye were getting up to? Like fun stuff where ye got drunk, pissed off yer fireman and made mischief with all the engines? And now look at ye! Super secret Illuminati style incidents, murder, random crossovers for no reason...face it man, yer life is a bloody soap opera!"

"Oh shut up!" Carlin didn't want to admit to Junior that he was right."Your seashell is ringing, by the way."

"Oh, ta!" Junior picked up the phone. "This is my shellphone."

Carlin let out a long, long groan. He felt the urgent need to hit something. Anything."That's…..I….answer the phone, Junior, before I break your back."

Junior grinned and raised it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Junior!?" The voice was tinny, almost as though the person speaking had no idea how to use a cell phone. "Is that you?"

"Cuz!" Junior gestured to Carlin, who crept onto the deck chair and listened. "Hiya! Listen, ye in a tunnel? Not a good line!"

"I'm talking into flowers at the moment, that's probably why!"

Both men blinked, looked at each other and shrugged it off. He had always been a strange one, they agreed silently. Carlin frowned. He recalled this Conductor all right. When he had left Shining Time for the fourth season back in 1994, he'd reluctantly rented out his house to his second cousin twice removed. He was, in simple terms, stupid. Very stupid.

"Junior, where are you!? Wait, wait, let me guess, I probably didn't have to even ask, you….beachsexual maniac."

"I'm in paradise, and no mistake! Hopped on Cloud Nine and here I am! It's terrific!" Junior winked at Carlin, who scoffed. He leaned in closer to the seashell phone (and immediately wondered why the hell that was even a thing) to try and listen.

"Junior! Listen to me, put down your bucket and spade, you've got to come to the Island of Sodor immediately!"

"You what?!" Carlin kicked Junior aside and lifted the phone up. "Listen to me, Mister, it's Carlin! I've finally got out of that time vortex, or whatever it was I fell into, and I haven't had much luck getting news from old Quickdraw McGraw over there! The f**k is happening to my Island?"

"Carlin!? Excellent! You can come too!"

"Now?" Junior struggled to his feet and tried to wrest the phone back from Carlin. The latter was not having it at all. "But I'm waiting on the perfect wave, ye can't just do this too me!"

"This is bigger than waves, pipsqueak!" Carlin snapped.

"Oh no, you're not, you idiot, you are coming here with Carlin, right now, it's a major emergency! You need to help me find the source of the family's gold dust!"

"And you decided that he was your first choice….why?" Carlin paused as Conductor's words clicked. "Hang about, what's this about gold dust?! You're running out!?"

"Yeah. Fast."

"But…..that's not supposed to happen."

"Tell me about it! No, seriously, tell me about it when you get here."

Junior made another grab for the phone. "What is tha source?!"

"Well, er, that's the trouble. I have not one single clue. Aside from a vague memory about something to do with a windmill or something."

"Well, congratulations, cousin. You're in the one place apart from Holland that has more windmills than it needs."

"Well, I appear ta have used up most of my own wee supply." Junior grinned sheepishly. Carlin paused, and slapped him across the back of the head.

"YOU WHAT?! CARLIN, SLAP HIM FOR ME!"

"Already done so, buddy."

"Good. Now listen, Junior, are you there?"

"Ow! Why'd ye have to- Er, yeah, still here, cuz."

"Right, listen to me. Carlin'll have enough gold-dust for the two of you to reach Shining Time Station, he knows the place, he'll be able to guide you through it. And in my signalbox-"

"Your signalbox?!" snapped Carlin, who was feeling rather protective of his old home.

"It's under the staircase, in a box marked 'Don't Touch, No, Really Junior, Don't Touch'. In there, is my last supply of the stuff. The two of you should be able to use it to get from Shining Time to Sodor in a easier fashion. Take care of this, Junior. Carlin, you take care of him. And, er-" Both men could see their cousin looking around as if to make sure that no one was listening "-tell NO ONE about the buffers, at any costs!?"

"Buffers! What buffers!?" shouted Carlin and Junior in unison, and were, in unison, shushed loudly. The seashell crackled as the harsh sound echoed across, causing a great deal of feedback..

"Really bad line on this, didnae he know that?!" Junior tapped the phone several times. "Hello!? My shellphone is nae working properly!"

"JUNIOR YOU HAVE TO-" The line fizzled out "-GET HERE RIGHT THIS-" And again "-NOW, BEFORE IT'S TOO-" And finally, the conversation ended rather abruptly as the connection cut out completely.

"Well." remarked Carlin. "That was odd. Shall we get started, f**kface?"

"Want my money back" groaned Junior. But nonetheless, he stood up and clasped Carlin's shoulder, as the older man pulled out his whistle and blew a short, sharp blast on it. Within seconds, the beach was completely devoid of life.

...

The sound of the whistle suddenly woke Lily up. She glanced around, surprised to find herself at the station already. She shook herself, wiped the sleep from her eyes and pulled her bags together. She handed the Conductor her ticket, and stepped out onto the platform.

It was then that she looked at the sign. "Shining Time...what does that mean? Did that dog get me on the wrong train? ...I swore I wouldn't be taken in by a dog again, not after what happened last time." She didn't dwell on this incident, rather she sat down on a bench for a moment. Someone was bound to show up, and she could properly ask them.

As she sat, and ate her sandwiches, her attention was drawn to a second engine who had quietly came up from behind the Rainbow Sun as it finally departed. It came to a stop not too far from her. It was a blue tender engine, with red stripes crossing his boiler, the number '2' written upon his tender and a face.

...Yes, she realized, you saw right. A face.

To most people, this would have been rather a shock. But Lily, as has been shown in this story before, followed the advice of dogs and carried around a stuffed bluebird, so perhaps we can excuse her lack of a reaction.

"Hello there."

The engine looked around, sharply. "Oh! ...You...You can see me?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're a great big steam engine standing next to the platform!"

"A fair point. But everyone else I've tried to converse with seems to be...well, put it bluntly, they ignore me. I even tried talking to that train that just left, but not a word. Which means I'm over going insane, or this town is missing with the perception something fierce." He peered at her, genuinely looking at her. "You look rather young to be on your own."

"You sound rather British to be in America."

"Once again, a fair point. I, er, don't suppose you'd believe that I just randomly happened to bash into some buffers and was magically transported here, would you? And that I've spent the last...I don't know, day? Maybe? Day or so in a siding, plotting revenge."

Lily shrugged. "Well, I mean, I guess. You're a talking train, after all. Perhaps I'm still asleep in the carriage, and I'm dreaming of all this."

"Perhaps you are." The engine chuckled, good humoredly. "Well, if I'm a dream, I suppose there is little harm in me asking for your name? I've asked everyone else, it would nice to know I've at least learned something from today."

"Lily."

"Edward. As I say, Lily, you look like you're a little lost. Anything I can help with?"

"Unless you can get me to-" She frowned "-any station back along that way?"

"Ah. Sorry. Would if I could, but like I say, magic buffers don't really care about my geographical abilities. Besides, the points are set against me at the moment. And even this lot would probably start noticing if I accidentally whacked right into one of their honking great locomotives." He muttered under his breath something that sounded like "Always overcompensating, these Americans" before returning to the conversation at hand. But, I'm sure there's someone still inside who can help."

"Thanks." She looked down at Mutt, who was looking at her innocently. "You wanted me to get off here, didn't you?" She looked around, and was about to head inside the station when she stopped and turned back around. "Are you hungry?"

Edward was about to say no, but was struck all of a sudden by a desperate need for some sustenance. It didn't have to be coal, just as long as it got into his fire one way or another. "Well, I am a bit. Don't suppose you have any coal on you, do you?"

"No, clean forgot. Knew there was something, there always is." Lily hesitated, then reached into her backpack. "I don't suppose some sandwiches would help?"

Edward frowned for a moment. "Well, I've never really tried anything other than coal before, but, I suppose that they'll do nicely. I mean, they'll burn just the same. If you could be so kind as to pop them into my mouth. I can do the rest."

Lily shrugged. She had had weirder requests than feeding a steam engine food. Somehow. Once she had given him the last bit of food, she smiled, gave a jaunty wave and walked back into the station.

Edward chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip. It wasn't that bad. He preferred coal, of course, but needs must, and there were definitely worse things to be putting into your firebox. He waited for a moment, wishing to see if Lily was okay. Then the aftertaste came in, and he dearly wished he had asked Lily what was in the sandwiches, because it was more than a little...bitter.

Inside the station, Lily looked around. No one seemed to be here at the moment. She had caught that rare bit of peace and quiet between the day-shift and the night-shift, but she was not to know that. She sat down in the empty lobby, next to Schemer's stall, and asked aloud "Where is everyone?" to Mutt. Mutt, of course, said nothing. He was a dog. "What have you brought me here for?!"

 _And this,_ she thought, _is why Aunt Matilda thinks you might be slightly odd. And why she sent you to that shrink._

Just then, there was a loud clattering noise from somewhere, the sound of someone tripping and falling down a rather large set of steps and several four letter words that you can't repeat aloud that seemed to emit from a rather broad American accent. "God damn it, did you have to pull everything out?! Look at this place! The hell is even that painting? I may not have seen him for a while, but even so, if he's gotten the place that bad in this short amount of time, I shall eat your hat!"

"Ach, give me a break and help me find the damn things! Bloody hell, you're not wrong though! His filing system is mega-ultra-super-unfresh untidy!"

"Don't you use your hip-90's slogans with me, you little f*ck! Or I'll **** you in the *** with my ******* foot!"

Lily looked around, but there was no one there. No footsteps, save for the very, very quiet ones that seemed to be coming from-

The mural on the wall seemed to be rocking slightly, not enough to shatter it, but just enough to indicate that something, or someone, was inside the walls. She stood up, and looked at the painting of the signalbox, as the two accents, one Scottish and one American bickered loudly. The words themselves were smothered in their rather thick accents, so it was hard to tell, but she gathered that Scotty was rather excited and clumsy about finding whatever it was they were looking for, and Yank was...rather pissed off about the whole affair. And apparently spoke in asterisks for whatever reason.

Lily stared for a moment. And then, on a whim, she reached out and knocked on the door.

"What the f**k was that?!" hissed the American.

"Hello!" said the Scot, cheerfully.

"SSSHHH! Get rid of them! Unless it's Stacy, in which case...call me, she knows me, we'll be fine! God damn, why couldn't we have just used the key!? OH NO! You had to be flashy and try and get in via teleportation! Nearly put my damn legs in the wall. Your mother would have f**king stewed me in a pot with the rabbit!"

There was a sudden sound like the jingling of bells, and Lily took a step back as hundreds of gold particles rushed together to form...a rather bedraggled looking man dressed like a very confused and fashion-blind genie. "Got to get ta Island, gotta help cuz! Fo'real!" He straightened himself up and wiped his shorts down, before at last looking up properly and offering a rather frazzled grin. "Hiya! How you doing?"

"Ummmmmmmm-"

"Who are ye, dawg?" He made a pose. It was a bad one.

"I'm Lily." She was still somewhat shocked. Of all the things she had expected to see this morning, little men who beamed in and out like Star Trek characters were very low on the list. "Who are you?"

"C Junior! You must have heard of me! i'm very popular!"

"PAH!" snorted the American.

"Did I, er, drop my sunglasses when I came in here?" Junior turned around and looked across the mantle. Lily's mind was still whirring away on the fact that in one day, she had gotten lost, followed a dog, met a talking engine and was now conversing about sunglasses with a little tiny Scot. Clearly, there had been something in those sandwiches.

"I...don't know. Are you a leprechaun?"

"Wrong part of the UK, Lily. Oh well, might as well use more of this stuff to head back to the beach and-" The door to the signalbox swung open, somehow, and a rather wrinkled hand reached around to slap Junior in the face. "Point taken. See ye, Lily!"

Lily blinked as Junior vanished once again.

"Well-" she remarked to no one in particular "-that was...odd." She reached forward and brushed at the mantle. "What is this stuff? Glitter?" She examined the strange dust on her fingers with bafflement.

Today had been a odd day.

...

"Wake up, Ivo. Wake up."

Ivo Hugh awoke to find a gag in his mouth, guns pointing at his face and the mocking voice of the Fat Director ringing in where his ears would be if he had any. He tried to speak, to scream, but the gag muffled everything he said.

"Ah, now this is a sight for sore eyes. Really, it is. It's been far too long, old friend. You remember me, don't you? Or, well, it would be understandable if you didn't. Don't bother trying to back away. Even if the guns didn't shoot you to pieces, the narrow gauge track ends the second you get out of the building." The Fat Direcotr handed some instructions to Captain Zero. Though Ivo wasn't to know it, these were instructions on what to do with the Fakes, as it were. D1, D3 and D4 were to be kept back at the Other Railway so as to be of further use should the attack go badly, but D2 and D6 (Better known as Class 40) were to join the invasion fleet immediately.

"Now, Ivo, let me explain something to you. Why are you here, you are probably wondering. What did I do? It's nothing personal, I assure you. The fact that you were formerly one of my servants before that unfortunate incident with Davidson destroyed my control over you has nothing to do with this. No, you are to be an example. I have operated in the shadows for far too long, Ivo. Even when I've murdered engines, it's always been quiet. Never a public thing. You're going to be the first death screened to all enginekind."

Ivo's eyes widened.

"Actually, I'd rather it had been anyone but you. You're a nobody, Ivo Hugh. You're a character who the author of this sorry affair wanted to be memorable, or why else would he deliver you unto me? And then he got bored, and moved on to bigger and better things. My only hope is that your death shakes the others up enough so that they know exactly who they are dealing with."

Unknown to the Fat Director, Ivo's wheels were slowly moving, slowly breaking through the bonds of the ropes.

...

On the Island, it was steadily growing darker and darker. The weather was once again acting up, and as over at Shining Time it was just about reaching sunrise, already the sky here was overcast. The sun had almost completely vanished from view and everything seemed tinged in navy blue.

Mr Conductor had decided to make camp for the night. Being high off his ass had taken a lot out of him, apparently, as he had discovered when he awoke to find that he was chewing a bunch of flowers and had been using said flowers as a phone, prior to this. Fitting for how he had spent his day, his coat was wrapped around him like a straitjacket, as he struggled to find a way to get to sleep without freezing his nuts off.

And then, just as he rested his head on the side...something happened. It was like a dream, except it wasn't a dream, because he hadn't even closed his eyes.

"The magic is gone" he heard himself say, disembodied, like a faint whisper upon the wind. He turned around, and once again found himself in Shining Time Station, standing besides a old ice cream kiosk that seemed to be completely abandoned. The faint outlines of dead bodies lay around him, bodies of all shapes and sizes. The wind blew even harder, wiping away even the outlines, scattering rubbish across the ground "Why'd I take my gold dust for granted?!"

Then, suddenly, he found himself standing back on the Island. What was left of it.

Carnage lay everywhere, trucks were lying, their remains strewn across the ground, the rotting remains of a few coaches covering the walls of any buildings. He was in what appeared to be Crovan's Gate, or what remained of it. The station itself was completely obliterated, only the cracked remains of the platform could alert him to the fact he was even standing on it. The Skarloey sheds were razed to the ground, Sir Handel and Peter Sam's faces frozen and immortalized in horror upon their corpses.

He staggered back, and now he was standing on a hill. Gordon's Hill, his mind helpfully explained. But the lines below were ripped apart, shattered completely, and he could see where chunks of the earth had been gouged out of the area, like a child eating an apple. He rushed to the top. "I can't help without my gold dust!" the voice echoed, as Mr Conductor stared at the vision of Diesel 10 and Gordon locked in battle.

Then he was elsewhere once more, this time on the Big Dipper viaduct. He looked from left to right, but there was no one in sight. But there was something wrong. The ground beneath his feet was crumbling fast. "What is the source of my gold-dust?!"

But in the distance, he could hear chuffing noises, and his mind was suddenly filled for a moment with a single image, a pair of wheels whirring and moving fast, wheels of a steam engine, pink...no, reddish purple wheels that moved and sparked as something jumped from them and caught the sun's rays, sparkling brightly-

And then he sat upright, straight as a twig. He took a deep breath, and looked around. The vision, or whatever it was, had finished. But still, there was the sound of chuffing, echoing in his ears. "Is someone there?! Thomas, is that you?"

"Mr Conductor, where are you, you daft berk!? We need you! Oh for god's sake, you take your eye off them for a moment and-"

Thomas had completely puffed past Mr Conductor, not helped by the fact that for some reason, the latter had completely forgotten that legs existed, and that he could easily stand up and attract the attention of the little blue tank engine. And that he could increase the volume of his voice. Clearly we're dealing with Einstien here.

"Thomas?" He called after him, but it was too late. Big damn surprise there. He sank back down again. "How can I say I'm really useful now?"

He paused. "In fact...Did I ever say that?"

Seconds later, he lept up and began randomly running around in circles screaming in panic as ants began crawling up his trouser pants.

...

In Shining Time, Lily was playing a random harmonica she had found just lying around. She imagined that such whimsical instruments often got left, just in case. Shining Time rubbed her as the kind of place where sane and rational things went to die a long, painful, but happy death.

"Hello?"

Lily jumped, and looked around to see a woman, dressed in red and looking over at her in concern. "H-Hello?"

"Excuse me, didn't mean to startle you. Are you Lily?" At the nod, she visibly sagged in relief. "Oh thank goodness, I've been looking for you everywhere. I'm Stacy Jones, the manager here. Your grandpa's quite worried, he's been looking for you, and...well, you must have gotten on the wrong train."

"Must have!" Lily grinned sheepishly "I, er, took a wrong turning. Followed some wrong advice. I'm in trouble, aren't I?"

"No! No, of course you're not! First time out of the Bigg City, anything can happen. But, if it's okay, I'll take you to him? He's out on a job, but I'm pretty sure that he'll be happy to see you!" Lily could almost see the woman mentally adding in her brain "As happy as he ever is" because that was the kind of man her grandfather was. She nodded, and followed Stacy out across the platform.

She saw Edward, who was arguing with the Rainbow Sun. "All right, you listen here! SPEAK TO ME! GOD DAMN IT, YOU CAN NOT GIVE ME THE SILENT TREATMENT! NOTICE ME! STOP IGNORING ME, YOU LITTLE-" He paused mid-sentence, spotted her and grinned. She waved back, and left him to his shouting.

Stacy chattered quite a bit as she drove Lily to the crossroads. Lily didn't mind, she was really quite a nice person, even if she did drive rather…. erratically. Perhaps when she was talking, it somehow did the opposite of what happened to most normal people and focused her. "So, did you know…my grandmother?"

"No, not me, but my mother did! Lovely lady."

"Tasha?" Lily wasn't that surprised at the idea that she had been lovely, but it was just that…. when she had seen her, Grandma Tasha was either asleep, heavily on experimental medication or suffering through the stages of that horrible disease. A sharp speed bump brought her back to the present, rapidly.

"Wonderful dancer. In fact-"Stacy rifled around in her glovebox, and Lily braced herself as the car swerved slightly."-pretty sure I've got something here-"

"Watch out for that sheep!"

"Baaaaa!" wailed said sheep, already re-evaluating it's life choices.

"-Ah! Here it is!" She handed Lily a rather crumpled photograph. Lily spread it over her knees, and looked intently at it. Though it appeared quite old and crinkled, it clearly showed two figures dancing in a rather beautiful looking old ball room. It was black and white, so it was rather hard to see, but she could definitely see that one of them was Uncle Burnett, positively beaming with joy as he lead the girl in a slow dance. The girl had her back to the camera, but what was clear was the very jealous expressions on many of the visitor's faces. "She was a catch, was your grandmother. There was a lot of anger the day he married her."

"He must have loved her a lot. I think he kept calling her Lady, or something."

"Lady?" Stacy frowned, puzzled.

"Yes, when she was...when she was sick, I heard them talk about it. A lot, actually."

"I wish...never mind."

"Stacy?"

"Oh, it's nothing."

Lily looked at her for a while, but she seemed to realize that she wasn't going to get anything out of her. Luckily, before the silence could get any more awkward, the car rounded a bend, and there, by the crossroads, Lily saw her grandfather.

He was standing there, besides a rather mean looking biker, telling him exactly where he could in great detail. The biker sneered, and straddled his motorbike. As he did so, the stranger looked Lily dead in the eyes, and his mouth fell open a little bit. Lily stared back, not wanting to be intimidated. With a sudden shake of his head, the biker started his bike up, and rushed off. She looked to her grandfather, who was busy packing up some of his tools from a old, beat up pick up truck.

"Stacy, I'm...nervous."

"Maybe he is, too. From what he's told me, it's been a while since you've seen each other He's bound to be a bit worried."

And, well, he's weird. Lily knew that Stacy was also mentally adding that too.

Burnett, deep in thought and with his brow thorough furrowed, finally turned around and noticed Stacy.

"Hello Burnett."

"Stacy." In that moment, it almost looked like he tried smiling. Almost. He seemed somewhat ill at ease, as though whatever that biker had said had really put him off. And then he clapped eyes on Lily, and something that resembled a soft smile crept over his face. Stacy marveled to herself. All her years, she had never seen him smile, and yet, the moment his grand-daughter had arrived...she shook herself as Burnett softly remarked "Hello Lily."

"Hi grandpa. Sorry about...well, getting lost."

"It's all right. Got lost myself a couple of times when I first came here. No shame in it. I'm just glad you're okay." He stopped himself, almost embarrassed at showing his emotions.

"Well have a good evening, Burnett...if you could get those birdhouses set up for tomorrow, that'd be swell."

"Thanks Stacy. I'll...do that, then." Burnett finished up locking the old truck up, slid a couple of tools onto it and awkwardly fiddled as he closed the door. "Night."

Well, this was painfully awkward.

"Stacy!" Lily was aware that this was potentially an odd question, but she had to know. "You said I wish? In the car?"

"I wish?" Stacy frowned. Then it dawned on her, that really she couldn't tell the child what she had really meant. No, tell her the truth. Just a smaller one. "Well, I was just thinking aloud how nice it would be if you could come back and visit Shining Time tomorrow. If your grandpa will let you, that is?"

Lily looked up, eagerly. Burnett swallowed, and had to ruefully acknowledge that it was clear that even if he had wanted to fight this battle, he wouldn't have won any way. She had too much of Tasha's smile in her. He nodded briefly, then opened up the door for her to climb in. It came off in his hands. Swearing under his breath, Burnett gave a stiff wave to Stacy as she headed off, and as he stuck the door of the truck back on bluntly.

"Thank god I'm only keeping it for today." he muttered to no one in particular as he climbed in, turned the key and started off.

They had just neared the farmhouse when Lily remembered something in her bag. She routed around for it, let out a quietly triumphant whoop as she grabbed it and lightly tapped her grandfather's side. "Uh, grandpa? I...I remembered how Grandma Tasha taught me how to make one when I was little. This one's for you, if you'd...like it, obviously, I mean you don't have to-"

"Thank you, Lily." Burnett sounded a little choked as he said it, but he slipped it on, and looked down at it with a strange mixture of pride, fondness and sadness. Lily just hoped that he wouldn't lose it. As they pulled up, she yawned, and Burnett affectionately noogied her head. "Bed time for you, when we get in. I know that you young un's would probably like a go on the computer, but you've had a long day."

...

That night, as Lily slept in her bed, distracted by the vague sounds of steam whistles in the distance, and as Burnett Stone once again stirred his fire and stared pensively into the flames as he massaged the bracelet, and as Edward prepared himself to spend yet another night in a cold, unfamiliar siding with no one to talk to but himself, the faint sound of a motorbike could be heard buzzing it's way across the roads out of Shining Time.

The sound of Lady's magic echoed across Muffle Mountain, and it was driving PT Boomer incredibly angry that he was unable to find it. It occurred to him that he needed to talk to someone, fast.

What no one had really shown, in great deal, in some of the TV shows that had been filled there, was how close the valley was to the sea, or to at least one of the rivers that lead as close to the sea as possible. Boomer stopped his bike, dismounted it and strode along to one of the docks that had been left abandoned as night had dawned. Several of his goons were waiting there.

There stood the two tugs. Imposing, almost impossible to make out a defining feature on either, save for the color of their eyes. Green, a green that glowed in the night like the most powerful lighthouse. And standing there, having just disembarked off the boats, was Gotch and several of Captain Zero's men, loaned for the night.

"You took your goddamn time!" He snapped "I was beginning to think that maybe you were having a rough time."

"What news of the Fat Director?" said Boomer, weary, and not ready for a fight with Gotch at this hour.

 **"He brings word that soon, you will have the power you need."** said a very familiar voice. As Marklin materialized, Boomer noted with interest the way that the tank engine seemed almost...solid. The killing spree at the Iron Circle had obviously given Marklin enough power to almost be fully corporeal again. **"Captain Zero and his men are readying the boats for the attack, and the machine is ready for a test. I see you've been getting a bit of a power boost, though."**

"Never enough" growled Boomer "It will never be enough until SHE is dead! Permanently this time!"

 **"And once she is, then you will have her energy, as per our agreement. The ultimate aphrodisiac. Myself and Ten get the souls, you get her magic. You will have everything you want. But make no mistake, the Fat Director grows weary of how long it is taking you to find her. And there is only so long that I can manipulate him into thinking that I'm his servant."**

"Tell him that I'm almost there. I just need to search the mountains a bit more! Gotch, you can give me a hand with that, unless you want me to talk to the Director about your dirty little secrets!"

"You threatening me, Boomer?! Me?! Don't forget, I'm on your side with this!" He gestured to the sailors. "All of these? They're tired of the incompetency of the Other Railway like you and I are. They're going to take care of business. But don't you go pushing my buttons now! Not when we're this close!"

Marklin rolled his eyes **. "But onto business...you brought them?"**

With a flick of his hand, Boomer sent his henchmen, who had only just arrived, to drag something from beneath a large canvas. Fifteen Sudrians stood in nervous anticipation, all Norris's.

Boomer seemed to understand what was expected of him at this moment in time, and as such, he spoke a few words at a rather fast pace. What it was, no human ear could discern, and no language has ever been officially credited as being the originator for such words. But they had a effect.

Suddenly, all fifteen went ramrod straight. Their mouths clamped up, their arms fell into place by their sides, their eyes bulged...they were like perfect soldier dolls. And in the night air, illuminated by the green light, something arose from them. A strange blue material, that raced from their bodies to Boomer's. The latter gasped and groaned and began moaning aloud in that strange, unknown language, but it didn't stop.

Not until the final bit of the essence vanished, and with it, the control of the bodies. With a strange sound. like the blowing of the wind, the Sudrians just...collapsed. One moment they were solid matter, the next they were just dust on the floor.

Boomer, meanwhile, straightened himself up. He cracked his bones back into place, stretched his body out and let out a long hiss of release.

Then, stretching a hand out, he pointed to the water.

Within seconds, the Green Eyes found themselves in a river of blood, thick blood that congealed and stank to the high heavens, blood that tasted of copper should one be inclined to taste it. Boomer seemed to be delighted by this, and Gotch wasn't sure why at first. Then, as Boomer pointed next to a rather large mountain, and with a single flick of his wrist, managed to wrench the top of it off like a cork from a bottle, Gotch understood a little better.

"That's power!" he muttered in awe.

 **"The Malevolence's powers have been shared between Ten and myself. Were he here, Captain Zero would recall upon our first meeting, the Fat Director scrawled a rune into the dirt. That rune has been effectively trapping every soul on that Island between life and death since then. That is millions of souls building up over time. All the confusion and delay has been feeding us, keeping us living. It's not for nothing that I have stayed in the world of the living, even when I was dead, for so long."** Marklin laughed **. "Think of the souls as batteries. I have so many batteries now, Gotch. I've given some power to Boomer to give him a taste of the stuff. Death and pain feed us, and Boomer in turn feeds Ten and I a small fraction of his power whenever he kills people. By now, that fix alone should have given Boomer enough power to take control of this miserable valley overnight."**

"Then why doesn't he?"

 **"Because it is not time yet. Nearly. But not yet."**

 **...**

"Guys?! Guys! Oh come on, guys, what the hell's going on!? Don't you ignore me, I'm bloody Bulstrode!"

Bloody Bulstrode was ignored.

 **...**

Percy shivered, as the cold wind whistled alongside his boiler. The mail train was being unloaded by the pinchers now, and the stations didn't half look a mess with all the mail and parcels being tossed to the side. Edward and Duck still hadn't been located, and that was worrying Percy a great deal. And so, with lots on his mind, he passed Gordon with the express, and entered Knapford station.

Luckily, Thomas was there. "Percy, how's it going?"

"This is my last stop before Tidmouth, and then I'm turning in for the night. But I've been thinking."

"Filthy habit, never do it unless I have to."

"Oh, shut it, Thomas. Look, how does that idiot of a Conductor travel here?"

"Terribly!"

"Seriously."

"By his magic plot convenient gold-dust, how else?"

"But, look, there has to be a way that he gets here. So, I've been thinking. This lost engine had a lost railway, we know that much from Duck. So what if that's Mr Conductor's railway?"

"You've lost me. But he did say something about how it keeps getting bumpier and bumpier every time he comes here."

Percy considered this "Then maybe that has something to do with the fact that he was talking about buffers in his sleep. They're at the end of lines. So maybe that's how he travels here. On a magic railway. So if we find this Lady, we find the railway, we find THAT, and we find a way for Mr C to get his own gold dust back, which'll give us a way to fight back against whatever sick plan this Boomer fellow has."

"Percy, you are clever!"

Percy missed the sarcasm completely.

Toby, who had been waiting back away from the two chattering tank engines, noticed a very odd looking diesel move away from the siding of one of the worksheds. Past Cranky, whom had been moved here via some of the non rail vehicles for safety, and towards the general direction of one of the many smelter's yards. He grimly idled forward, just in time to hear Thomas say "My wheels are feeling very, very wobbly. Think that diesel's around here?"

"You're not wrong. Sorry chums. Diesel heard all you said. You, er, can't keep your voices down, can you?"

Percy rolled his eyes.

"Look, I'll go after him. I'll see how much I can learn, maybe that way, we can be prepared for any eventuality. I mean, Douglas has already started playing the bagpipes to keep the other engines calm, it can't get any worse than that. You'd better carry on, and prepare for every eventuality."

"You're brave, Toby. Very brave." Percy remarked, admiringly.

"Ah, he won't bother with a old henhouse like me! Thinks I'm really useless!" And with that, Toby bravely set off.

He heard singing, an american voice, singing a rather stupid version of 'I've Been Working on the Railroad'. He rolled his eyes, and advanced forwards. And now he began to realize how quiet it was on this part of the Island. He saw the Horrid Lorries advance up the road towards the smelters, and behind them, drifting at a glacial pace, was George the Steamroller. The latter had a dreamy look in his eye, and kept muttering "Roller-rink" to himself.

The trucks, Toby realized in horror. They must have gotten on the wrong side of him. He paused, and for a moment, considered turning back. He wavered a instant, and then headed on, until at last, the mist and steam fell enough to see the red glow of the smelter's.

 **"Come and join the party, George!"** came the booming voice.

"Party! Hooray!" said Splatter and Dodge. Toby could tell that it was fake, the stupidity. Something you learnt very early on when living on Sodor was how to tell who was an actual idiot, or a pretender. These two were far smarter than they let on. At the back, Arry and Bert watched, quietly, without emotion. Toby was aware of them blathering on, but toned it out. He looked forward, and there, in the corner, was...Duck!

The Great Western looked like hell. His left side had been almost gutted, dissected with no real neatness. He was alive, at least, for the moment.

 **"Correction! Join the party that's over! Isn't that the worst bit of a party? You know, I had that sensation. I was alive, in a time when the worst thing you could do to someone was to wage war with swords and axes and hot pokers and all that nasty stuff. But you go away for a few centuries, and you know what you find when you wake up? How much the human race has outdone itself when it comes to ways to kill each other! Fascinating, truly fascinating. And I missed it all! Just like how Twinkletoes is going to miss the death of his precious magic railroad, as the yanks call it."**

"What?" whispered Toby.

"Now, George, what progress on the buffer situation?" Arry spoke up.

"Did the best I could. These stupid liberal fools are too busy focusing on their own pleasures to notice a steamroller go about his business. Wouldn't even notice. Only place I haven't got to yet is Kirk Ronan. As many of the buffers have been destroyed as can be. The rails are damaged. There's going to be little way for them to get off the Island once the attack starts."

"And the trucks?"

"Not a bad situation, I suppose" said Lorry 2. "We've taken out some of their biggest members, but the inner circle has made sure to avoid us. Spiteful Breakvan and his cohorts still live."

 **"Not to worry."** Ten was coldly confident. **"I imagine that our allies will have something to say about that. Speaking of which...Captain Zero, I imagine you have some information for us. Something concrete."**

Zero stepped out. He looked pale. "Well, the Fat Director is making his way to Shining Time as we speak, alongside Marklin. In theory, that means that he'll be leaving the command of the diesels under...yercontrol."

"How many?"

Zero very quietly swallowed "At least two thousand. Mebbe more."

Toby let out a gasp, which he stifled as best he could. "I've got to delay him, distract him, something...hmm." He looked around, for anything, anything at all. Nothing sprang to mind, until he looked at a shattered bit of glass that reflected back. His eyes fixed on his bell, and grinning, he rang it loud and proud.

Ten's transformation was remarkable. Within seconds his cool and calm voice had transformed into the paranoid wreck that was terrified of sugar "WHAT!? THE OLD TEAPOT! SMASH HIM!"

Toby laughed hysterically as, with a great clatter, the claw smashed the support of the roof down, crushing the group underneath it. Retreating, he winked to Duck, who raised a feeble smile in acknowledgement.

"So, did you mean to let the roof fall in?"

"All the way in."

Diesel 10 breathed in harshly, and tried very hard not to scream. He failed.

...

Diesel may have been in a dump,.but the steam engines carried on being really useful for the rest of the next day. As the sun rose, Toby passed the news of what had happened to Percy, who passed it to James, Henry and Gordon, who spread the news to every engine and coach across the Island. Even as the trains, which seemed to be getting longer, were being pulled by the main seven minus one, the others were beginning to carry out a larger plan.

The Scottish twins had located Toad the night before, and had managed to extricate the hapless breakvan to the works, where the Works Diesel was keeping a close eye on the recovering Oliver. Donald had argued furiously with the other engines that the Works Diesels wasn't to be trusted, but Toby had bluntly informed him that they had little choice in the matter. He then ordered that Douglas begin negotiations with the Spiteful Breakvan, but unfortunately, finding him was rather hard.

The road vehicles were doing their bit too. The warning about George and the Lorries gave Bertie a reason to follow them, under the guise of protection. Butch, meanwhile, had come across the rather clever solution of deliberately causing obstructions. Something that George had figured out with regards to his anti-rail propaganda was that said rails gave the engines the chance to cross the island much faster. The Lorries were beginning to get angrier, and were making mistake after mistake in their attempt to find a way out of Tidmouth Town, which was beginning to resemble a Micheal Bay movie in terms of destruction.

Even those that could not help nearly as much tried their hardest, Annie, Clarabel and Old Slowcoach had managed to galvanize many of the other coaches into preparing themselves for a fight, and they had done so splendidly. A few renegade trucks, those that had been promised something by Ten, had tried their luck in getting into the Shunting Yards. One vicious battle later, and somehow the coaches had seen off the trucks, who were battered, bruised and sorely humiliated. Somehow. Trevor and Terrance, neither that mobile, had focused their time in making sure that the Fulton Ferry, still moored at the long since abandoned Tidmouth Harbour, was filled up like an ark. With the assistance of Cranky (living up to his name), they had overseen the loading of some of the coaches, non-rail vehicles and even one or two engines that wanted to get out. No one had any idea how such a ship was to be maneuvered out of the docks, but this was a problem for another time.

The Narrow Gauge engines made sure to keep their eyes out for anything suspicious...well, more than usual. All save Duke, who appeared to have retreated back into senility once again. Bertram/Smudger's death had done rather a number on him, and at times he appeared to be revisiting his life on the Mid Sodor Railway. The engines left him there, and instead had Ivo Hugh, the Stunt Double, take over the running of the trains.

And all the while, the engines sang together, a song to keep their spirits up. Really Useful Engine was rapidly becoming the anthem for the whole Island working together.

A plan was put into place by the other engines for rescuing Duck. With everyone keeping a eye on the three diesels, Thomas hurried backwards from one of his last jobs of the afternoon to get ready. However, on the way, he saw Henry, who looked very much ill.

"What's the matter?"

"Boiler ache!" Henry shuddered, and turned a interesting shade of green.

"Don't worry! There's six coal trucks of special Sudrian coal that'll make you feel better. I hope."

"Thanks Thomas. That'll help." A rather nasty sound echoed from Henry's boiler. "Ooh heck!" He still held onto the theory that the Island was trying to tell him something, but what, he wasn't sure of.

Thomas backed down onto the trucks, hard. With a clatter, one of them rolled backwards into a siding, out of the way. And then, with a curious whistling sound, it vanished from sight the second it hit the buffers. The little blue tank engine knew nothing of this, of course, and started off cheerfully. He saw Bertie and whistled.

"Morning Thomas, with your one, two, three, four, five coal trucks!"

"Five? Thought I had six a moment ago. And...why did you count them out aloud? Bertie, are you feeling okay? Have you been back on the drink again? We talked about this- DON'T RUN AWAY FROM ME!"

Later, he met up with Percy. "Listen, Perce, we're meeting up not too far from Kirk Ronan, kay? Once we've got Duck out of there-"

"I've been worried about you!"

"Well, wish I could say the same, but I can't, so I won't!"

"You lost a coal truck today!"

"Yeah, when I was near that random pair of buffers at the end of the Kirk Ronan line near the little grotto that's there for no real reason!"

There was a long, and pregnant pause as each engine's thought went off on a completely different tangent before at last, the obvious slapped them in the face repeatedly.

"...You don't think-"

"HOLY SHIT HOW DID WE NOT WORK THAT OUT?!"

"Percy, you're a genius."

"That I am."

"You're in charge of protecting the buffers from Diesel-"

"WHAT!?" shrieked Percy, his voice raising several octaves.

"-and I'll go and have another search for Mr Conductor!"

"WHY ME?!"

"Because you're brave!"

"NO I'M NOT! I WANT TO GO HOME! WITH MY TEDDY!"

"And you're also expendable!"

"Fair enough!"

...

The Fat Director watched as the Other Railway practically emptied out, one by one, the diesels were moving across from their sheds, yards, shacks and other homes, all congregating via any track possible towards Sodor. Some diesels headed towards the docks, to be taken over via boat along with the many employees who had been training for this day for so long. Others took simpler paths, towards Vicarstown Bridge. And still many, many others waited for the sign.

The Facades had their own orders, so they had left ahead of time. Save for one. D6, the Class 40, was to be Marklin's own personal puppet until such time as he had amassed enough magic to regain a true form.

"Is the machine ready?" The Director asked. The engineers nodded. "Fire her up."

Switches were thrown, levers were pulled, the clock began to tick and whir and with a great and mighty roar of action, the Machine-

-did absolutely nothing.

The Fat Director looked at the engineers, who were sweating uncontrollably. "So...I think we have a problem-"

There was a brilliant flash that almost blinded everyone in a radius of ten feet of the Machine, which itself glowed a bright, burning orange that seemed to be the only thing around in the great and immense whiteness the flash had caused. Then, from the Machine, tendrils of blue and green energy lashed out, creating what seemed to be portals, similar to the ones that had caused Carlin's time travel journey to be possible.

"Shall we begin?"

...

The Big Dipper was a relatively new viaduct, that ran over Hawin Croka, a muddy brown river that looked as though it was the cause of several of the worst kind of diseases. Of course, that wasn't what Mr Conductor was thinking about as he trudged along, depressed. He was thinking about supper, and going home, and the several pounds of coke he had accidentally just snorted up his nose. Turns out stumbling into the China Clay Pits was not a good thing.

"Well, well, well. Twinkletoes, himself!"

Mr Conductor chanced a look back, and began to run as fast as he could. But no human can outrun a train, not for long, and this was no ordinary train. With a snarl of triumph, Diesel 10's claw reached out and snapped around Mr Conductor, painfully.

 **"Remember me? Tut tut. And your uniform is terrible! That's what they care about over here, isn't it, the proper uniform for the proper job. Fat Hatt won't have any need for you with that sloppy work. Oh, and look! No sugar! How very, very droll of you! Were you looking for me? Oh I am touched."**

As Diesel 10 continued in this vein, he casually trundled across the Big Dipper, claw squeezing down tighter and tighter. The Conductor wheezed, trying desperately to breathe, but it was getting harder and harder.

 **"Okay then, so let's run through this all one last time. I know about the buffers."** Diesel 10 wasn't lying on this score. He had suddenly worked out, in the middle of the night, that George had said that he had taken out every buffer except for the ones at Kirk Ronan. It did not take an idiot to work out what that meant. **"So, that's one link there that I don't need you for."**

The keystone was shifting. Parts of the bridge were coming apart...like Mr Conductor's dream!

"MY UNIVERSE IS STARTING TO CRUMBLE!" he wailed.

 **"God, get it together, America is not the center of the universe! You know, I'm actually glad I missed having to listen to all those Presidents going on about having power over the greatest nation in the world. It gets so boring after a while! You know what isn't boring? Death. And chaos. And watching as the universe crumbles around you for real. Now, I know about the Magic Railway...or Railroad. Whatever. Take that, and you have the power to transport yourself to every known area on the globe. No more will I just be restrained to Britain. America, Holland, Portugal, Asia, the whole of Europe, will be mine! Once I find her, you humans and puffballs are going to die, period. You'll be history, left in the rubble while my kind take over and rule over you. Just tell me where the buffers are. Go on, just confirm my little theory."**

Mr Conductor had pulled out some bolt cutters he had in his pocket for...some reason, and was trying to snip off one of the hydraulic cables.

 **"Ten seconds."** With a jolt, the cutters fell nearly out of Mr C's reach. He struggled forward for them. **"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four."** He reached out and...grabbed them. **"Three!"** He wrapped the cutters around the cable, and began to squeeze hard. **"Two!"**

The cable snapped.

 **"One!"**

Mr Conductor suddenly turned into a bird. At least, that was how he felt as Pinchy launched him like a lawndart up, up and away. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGH!" He screamed as he soared through the air, right into a pile of mailbags.

.

.

.

.

Wait, what? Hold on, let me check the script.

...

...

Wait, talking tumbleweed? I don't recall that. No, no it must be here somewhere.

...

...

...

No, it says right here. 'MR CONDUCTOR LANDS ON A BUNCH OF CONVENIENT MAILBAGS NEXT TO THE WINDMILL. HE THEN SAYS'

"Did you put all of this here for me? You must have known I was coming! How kind of you! Oh, and I'm at the windmill, now that's what I call an happy landing."

'AND THEN WE JUST MOVE ON'

... **WHAT**?! NOTHING!? NO! Even for this story, this is too much to ask! There is breaking the fourth wall, there is what this story has done for the past hundred plus chapters, and then there is THIS. Even this story has limits, mate! LIMITS.

NO. You know what? Fine. I'm not even going to comment on it. We'll all just have to accept that as a bloody mystery for the rest of our lives.

Urgh. I hate my life sometimes.

Anyway, Mr Lucky Buggar got up and hurried to the side of the windmill. There, on the bricks, were words written in dusty smoke like writing. Clearly someone's pen had run out. "Must be it!" he said, excited.

STOKE UP THE MAGIC IN THE MOUNTAIN, AND THE LADY WILL SMILE. THEN WATCH THE SWIRLS THAT SPIN SO WELL.

Mr Conductor stared. "THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!"

...

"So, do you want to say how you let the Conductor escape?"

"Yeah, since you had him bang to rights."

Diesel 10 growled. "I was testing him, you morons! To see if he could escape! And he did. So, obviously, there's work that still needs to be done on this ramshackle body of mine! "

"Liar liar."

"Pants on fire."

"This routine of yours is getting old." Suddenly, both Splatter and Dodge found themselves floating above the rails. "I'd advise you to shut up and let go of the issue before you find yourself dead. Playtime is over, Splodge. Now, it's time for the next lesson. How to stop being a bunch of incoherent-"

At that moment, James nudged the button that released the coal through the hopper that Diesel 10 was conveniently under. Coal had been building up in such a deluge that it completely covered him from claw to wheels.

"HAHAHAHAHA- Are they in yet, Henry?"

"HEEEHEEEHEEE- I think so, Gordon. Yes, there they are!"

It was unusual of James to think up a cunning plan at the best of times, so the fact that during the worst of times he had come up with one like this was nothing short of amazing. This distraction was a way to make sure that Diesel 10 was occupied with being trapped in by the coal, while Duck was rescued by a crack team of experts and geniuses.

Sadly, they weren't around, so they had to settle for the Works Diesel and the Scottish twins instead.

Donald and Douglas looked grimly at each other, then without a word, they moved into action. Cutting past the furious Diesel 10, they arrived at the Smelters with a good bit of time to spare. They looked left and right, but there was no sign of diesel or road vehicle. They were on their own. They met up with Butch, the breakdown truck, who quickly called them over.

"All right." whispered he. "Duck's been strung up over there. Now, if you can get a flatbed under him, I can use my hook to wiggle him free!"

"Sounds like a rather shite plan!" Donald hissed.

"The diesel from the works is still trying to get the breakdown train in operational condition, but those bastards did a real number on it. At the moment, this is the best we can do!"

Douglas saw that Donald was about to say something that he'd regret, and hurriedly cut in. "All right, all right, Butch, ye get the poor wee sod down, and we'll do the rest."

...

"You know, it's funny matey, I don't actually remember you arriving on the Island."

Oliver was high off his caboose on pain meds at the moment, so he wasn't really aware of what he was rambling on about. The Works Diesel paid him no heed either, but just kept on trying to spot areas where the Pinchers could repair the Breakdown Train.

"You just randomly appeared one day...or were you always there? I'll have to ask Duck when I see him next. If I see him next. Cause, it's strange we only started paying attention to you around about 1994 or 1995, isn't it?"

The Works Diesel would have shrugged, had he shoulders.

"You know, if you were a character in the story, you'd be very poorly handled indeed!"

The Work Diesel did what any self-respecting engine did and tuned Oliver out.

...

As Donald and Douglas moved closer, and Butch got ready to sling his hook at Duck, they realized too late that they were not alone.

"Hello, hello, hello."

There was a low growl, and Douglas recoiled in horror as Arry and Bert moved from out of the red shadows on either side of Duck. He suddenly felt very weak, and a memory, unbidden, arose from the past.

"Douggie, calm down!" Donald recognized all too well the signs of Douglas's minor panic attack. So long ago, when he had been ordered to Sodor, he had been ordered to leave Douglas in the 'care' of the Grim Reapers of the rails. It had only been a very lucky escape that had prevented Douglas from going the way of so many of Arry and Bert's victims.

"Well, well. At least we finally get to finish the job, eh, Bert?" Bert growled and chuckled at Arry's remark. Butch moved on forward, but found his pathway blocked by George the Steamroller.

"Traitor!" he growled.

"You're the traitor here, George."

There was a pause, and Duck grimaced in pain.

This was going to get messy.

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** Thank you! Oh, re-watching all Power Rangers stuff is great! Probably will steal that at some point!

 **Game-Watch:** Alec Baldwin as a Padawan. I'd watch that Star Wars movie.

 **Kamen Rider Necrom:** Once more, I have a plan for that eventuality!

 **Bronze Shield** : The sugar gag was great, probably the most fun I've had writing a scene for a while. Hope you thought I did good with Junior!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** He pretty much does the same in the movie, too. It's entertaining, but stupid. So I went whole hog. Yeah, Lily is...despite some weird moments. ...Eh, he'll have to settle for his cousin so far. But never say never!

 **Radical sandwiches** : Thanks! Glad you liked the funny and the sad equally as well! Appreciate it.

 **TrainManiac:** Oh, thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it, a pure comedy chapter like that's fun sometimes. As for the Bertram scene...yeah. Bit of a necessary evil though, in my opinion. Just to get it over with.

 **Reid007:** Yep. One of my favorite parts of writing that last chapter, to be honest.

 **AaronCottrell97:** Ha! Yeah, pretty much. Just another little bit to get out of the way, really. Was going to save his death for later, but I felt as though eliminating hm early sets something else up nicely. Yeah, I'm with you there. There was a youtube comment that I read the other day which summed it up nicely. I want to see the Director's Cut of the Magic Railroad, because I'd love to see any extra footage of models that we don't have access to at this point in time. However, that won't fix the main problems of the movie, that it's focused too much on Shining Time and the humans. Hopefully what I'm doing is striking a decent balance between the two.

 **UGX7:** You'll have to wait a little longer for Derek's bit, I'm afraid. But yeah, Bertram getting killed off was, as I've said, just because I want to set something else up later. Actually, you might be closer than you think with the Day of the Doctors bit...the soundtrack is great, How the Moon Must Feel got name-checked primarily because of how nice it sounds.

Now then, let's discuss! Before we start though, a brief explanation of how the next few parts are going to work. If we assume for the moment that I will be sticking to my plan of ten parts for the movie, and this is Part 4, then the following is what I currently have planned.

-Part 5 will see more human interaction with Lily and Patch and Burnett, and it will also serve to start bringing most of the action onto Sodor.  
-Part 6 will, hopefully, begin setting up Parts 7 and 8, which will be primarily where a lot of big actions will be happening that is original to my story and my story alone.  
-As just mentioned, the big battle will be split up into Part 7 and 8, hopefully, which is good since it allows me to expand on a lot of things. Originally, it was just going to be Part 8, but that was too big even by my standards.  
-Part 9 will be something of a mix. This is where I shall deal with the movie's climax, while also setting up for MY fanfiction's own climax, which will take place in...  
-Part 10! The biggest chapter of the lot by my reckoning. A lot of stuff introduced over the last year and a bit will be resolved, fingers crossed. Think of it as a clearing out for the next Volume. Oh boy, you'll love this!

Now, onto regular notes!

-We are, roughly, reaching the point where I had to pause writing while I carried on with doing Season 4 and 5. For the record, the next update might take some time as I'm busy writing a lot of stuff instead of just editing. Hope you don't mind waiting a bit longer!

-You will also note that from here on out, I'm beginning to cut down once again on things being said. For example, a lot of the back and forth between Splodge and Ten at the coaling plant is cut out here, as does the lyrics to Really Useful Engine and the entire montage. This is partly a pragmatic choice (The Really Useful Engine bit really does serve no purpose in the story aside from adding another song, and it does carry the theme of how hard the engines are working regardless) and partly because they contribute little to anything to the story. The coaling plant scene is actually the last time we get a proper scene with Gordon and Henry in the movie, they don't show up afterwards except in crowd shots. Splodge's entire dialogue is so insipid in the movie, there's nothing really worth transcribing.

-Writing Carlin and Junior interacting was great. Basically, my idea of Junior is that he is a personification of the nineties. Hip slogans, casual attitude, looking like a real prat...he'd be practically at home in Shining Time should they have continued into the late-90's.

-That clock mentioned on the machine? That's not just a random bit I added. That's a call back to something that happened in this fic. I shall give major props to anyone who is able to work out what that reference is before I bring it up in story.

-Basically, the machine is a way for the Fat Director to get his army onto the Island without having to use the Vicarstown Bridge and clogging it up. This way is far more effective. And hey, there might be a few surprises on his side...DUN DUN DA.

-Both Ivo Hugh and the Works Diesel's bits was to poke fun at my...addiction for making things more complex and random than they need be. Sorry guys, don't know how you've put up with me for so long! XD. Mind, that doesn't meant that Ivo's bit here doesn't serve a purpose. It might not pay off in Magic Railroad, but I am setting something up for the future that might be interesting...

-Donald, Douglas and Butch vs Arry, Bert and George is actually a very late addition. Oriignally, the plan was for me to end on Douglas's line about planning to get Duck down. However, this changed when I realized that I wanted to have the twins do more before the big battle, as they were the only ones who I didn't have a proper plan for throughout this story. Likewise, I wanted to give Arry and Bert a moment in the sun, and to give Butch and George a bit more of a rivalry so that the next few parts will make more sense.

-That breakdown at the fourth wall breaking is just for shits and giggles. Hope you enjoy'd it.


	135. The Magic Railroad: Part 5

**Part 5: Here's To the Future, Hear the Cries of Youth  
**

"Annie, Clarabel...am I a good engine?"

This was a loaded question. A very loaded question. Imagine the biggest gun in the world, with unlimited ammo. That was how loaded this question was. Annie and Clarabel hemmed and hawwed deliberately for quite some time.

"Oh, sure, take your time! That's not worrying at all!"

"Oh, you're a lovely engine!"

"No, Annie, be truthful. Sometimes he can be a bit of a prat. And a fool. And a jerk. And a-"

"WE GET THE POINT!" Thomas shouted.

"Well yes, but he's our prat-fool-jerk!" Clarabel said defensively, "And you can be very useful in a crisis, Thomas! Remember the end of that ridiculous campaign to be mayor!? You stepped up when everyone else was panicking, and you got everyone to safety! And all those events that you've organized like the Christmas parties and how you'll try and help the kids as much as possible-"

"And then there's the time you nearly cost us a trip to London because you wanted to show Oliver that your's was bigger, if you understand."

"Okay, Annie, I've apologized to you a million times for that!" Thomas sighed, and looked thoughtful. "I just...I want to know that I'm doing something right. I want t be a hero, I want people to...I don't know, see me than more than just a tank engine- Don't give me that look." He snorted at Annie's expression. "No, it's just...it feels so long ago, doesn't it? When I started on the branch-line, and I was just so young and carefree, and I didn't care about anything! I kind of miss those days."

"Those were the days of our lives, Thomas."

"Don't quote the Mercury at me, Annie."

...

Edward spent the night lonely, and cold in a siding a way back down along the track. It had been a very, very confusing day. He had tried speaking to the Rainbow Sun again, but no luck was on his side again. The engine just wasn't capable of speech. Or anything, really. The humans had been little better. He had angrily sworn (Or tried to swear, this place made sure that any actual words that might be offensive were changed to somewhat toned down ones. On the plus side, it meant that Edward used some of his more colorful vocabulary) at them for hours, but for whatever reason, no one bar Lily had noticed.

"It's odd, isn't it, Edward?"

"It sure is, BoCo! You know, I feel like I'm right back on Sodor, except at least there, I knew they were ignoring me for no good reason! Here, it's just...bah!" Edward angrily whistled to, pun not intended, let off some steam.

"Okay, think logically about this."

"Logic? Pah! In this series?"

"Focus. Think of this like a Sherlock Holmes problem. Once you eliminate the impossible-"

"Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, and yadayada okay. So, impossible. I've been transported here by some sort of portal. The so-called Magic Railroad. I'm at Shining Time, which is in North America somewhere. There doesn't appear to be an ocean near here, but there is a river. Which means that I'm far, but not extremely so, from any docks."

"And even if you-"

"We."

"-YOU were able to get to the docks, there'd be no way to get onboard a ship that could take you back home, because no one seems to notice you."

"Right. Now, okay, let's think. It's impossible that it's the buffers on _this_ side of the world that triggers...the transportation, or whatever it is, because we've tried that already. Going back to the spot where we first came out of the portal doesn't help either."

"So it's random. The Magic Railroad doesn't have a fixed point anywhere else other than Sodor."

"That's...that sounds about right. But there has to be a reason that we were brought here! It can't have just been random happenstance, or else we'd be...well, in Holland, or Africa or something. Why this particular place?"

"And who was that voice you heard?"

"Oh, I'd assumed you'd had a sex change."

"Are you kidding? My voice would still be as deep as it ever was!"

"Heh."

"...So, you do know that I'm-"

"Not with us anymore?"

"Edward-"

"Gone to the choir invisible?"

"Edward-"

"In that great dieselworks in the sky?"

"Edward! You can say it."

"I have! Several times in fact. I have been sitting here thinking about it for ages! And I have thought of so many things, BoCo! So. Many. Things. I'm going to enjoy hurting Ten, you know. It's going to be fun, and I can't wait to wipe that smug, interfering smirk off of his face-"

"Edward, I'm not here right now."

"Of course not, you have no corporeal form."

"Edward, the more you dance around the actual word for what I am right now, the harder it's going to be for you to move on-"

"Who says I want to move on? Huh? People say that, people say that it's best to let the past go and keep looking forward, but they're all stupid people. Us engines, we can live forever, BoCo...but...you're not living forever. And I am angry and pissed off at that."

"You have a right to be-"

"So, no, we're not talking about this."

"When are we going to be-"

"Shut up, BoCo!" Edward took a deep breath, and looked around. He was on his own. Again. "...BoCo? ...Please come back, I didn't mean it."

Silence.

Edward turned away, looked towards the road, and watched as a man on a black motorcycle moved towards the main road. As hie head once again filled with images of hurting Diesel 10, he began to sing under his breath.

 _"Cause those were the days of my life..."_

...

"Boy! Come back here!"

Patch ran as fast as he could. Boomer had been trying to talk to him, again, but the sudden glare in his eyes made him suddenly afraid. He had steered his horse off the path and into a quiet meadow, before disembarking and hurrying away like Peter Rabbit from a leather wearing Mr McGregor.

At last, when he was quite sure that he had lost the biker, he stopped to catch his breath. He was deep in the woods, where there was very little overall intrusion by man. He was pretty sure that this was where the Stone's farm was situated.

Also, there was a random tire swing left lying around on a tree. Clearly someone had decided that 50's era Shining Time wasn't stereotypical enough yet, so they had put in a goddamn tire swing.

And there, right next to the tree, ripping up grass was...

A girl.

Patch's mind, addled by growing hormones, began to panic. He knew that, hypothetically, girls were real and that said girls also tended to be considered rather nice looking. He knew for instance, that his mother had also once, many moons ago, been a girl. But he hadn't been aware of how pretty girls looked until he saw this one. She was different, and odd, and looked a little out of place, and was all the prettier for it.

"Hey!" He said, aware that his voice was a little higher pitched than it needed to be. He leaned against a tree branch, which promptly snapped, dropping him to the ground. A light laugh from the girl caught his attention, and he scrambled up, furiously brushing away the smudges and marks that landing flat on his ass had given him. "So, reckon you can climb that? Old Faithful?"

The girl looked at the tree, then at him. "Old Faithful?"

"Yes, it's, er, very sacred. We all dance around it to celebrate...things."

She laughed. "You're making that up."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Hmmm. All right, what do I win?"

"Oh, uh-"

"Do I get a pony?"

"Isn't that a bit stereotypical?"

"You are literally living in a town called 'Shining Time'. I counted at least five instances where I could have sworn the entire town was monochrome like those old fifties shows that my mom used to watch."

"Fair enough. I've got a horse that we can go on, if you want." Patch tried to grin, cockily. It failed. "So, you gonna climb or what?"

One second later, he stared in surprise as she attacked the tree with great precision. She stumbled on up there, gripping the bark as though she had been climbing the tree for years. She finally reached the top branch, leaned back against the bark and gave a cocky little smirk. "So, about that pony?"

Patch laughed. "Okay, okay, you got me."

"Should think so, too! Enforcing gender stereotypes like that!" She slid downwards, landing on the ground feet first. She barely even stumbled as she headed back to Patch. "See?"

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

"On the fire escape! And, you know, on trees. The city's do have them, you know, despite what people claim. We're not all nutjobs who don't understand what the hell soil is."

"...Hi, by the way."

"Hi."

"I'm Patch."

"Lily. So, you live here, then?"

"My mom and dad run the stables. Hence my access to the 'pony' as you call it!"

"Morning, Patch." said Burnett, walking along the pathway. He had spotted Boomer not too long ago, and had attempted to run over to him to get some straight answers from him. But with a single contemptuous glare, he'd revved his bike and was gone before Burnett had even made it halfway to him.

Burnett wondered why it was that, years after Lady had been injured, he was still being kept out of the loop of things.

"Good morning, Mr Stone! I...don't have many jobs today." Patch decided to be bold. "I'm riding into Shining Time today, just to get a couple of errands done, some things finished up...Lily could come on in with me...only if she wants to!"

"Yeah, why not, I'd like to go!"

Burnett's immediate response was to politely refuse. He didn't like the fact that Boomer was so close to them, nor the fact that for whatever reason, strange things had been happening all the time. Even stranger than usual. But looking at both of them there...he couldn't help seeing a little bit of himself and Tasha in them. He sighed, trying not to sound too depressed, and failing. "Sure, have fun. Listen, get back by sunset, the night's here are crazy."

"Parties?"

Burnett gave his brief almost-smile for a second. "Not exactly." He left it there, and turned around with a final wave.

"Do you want to come too?"

He stopped in his tracks as Lily asked this question. He was suddenly filled with...he didn't know what. Images? Ideas? Thoughts flew through his head. What if he did so? It wouldn't hurt-

"No." He found himself saying. "Thanks, but I don't often go there, anymore. It's er...It's just the way things are." And with this cryptic statement, he continued to walk away, back towards the mountain. He just about remembered to return Lily's forlorn goodbye before he found the nearest tree and began banging his head against it. With every bang, he cursed his stupidity.

"So...how good are you at riding a horse? Or, to ask a better question, have you ever ridden a horse before?"

"Nope! But it can't be that hard!" Lily clenched her fist and raised up to the sky. "Bring it on, world!"

...

"Oh thank god, there's a wheatfield through which we can ride through dramatically!"

"Yes, they might as well call it...Cliche Time Station."

Lily stared at the back of Patch's neck for a moment, telling just by the flush of red that he was blushing, and snorted. "Was that the best you could come up with?"

"Yeah, it's been one of those days!"

As they rode along, Patch tried to hide the genuine excitement he felt in having finally met someone who he could talk to. True, he was slightly tongue-tied at the moment, not least because he'd never had so much fun in what felt like years, but-"

"So, where are you taking me?"

"Woah! Easy girl. I've always wanted to go this way. There are a bunch of shadowy lines here that I've seen on this old map I had." Patch pointed to areas where the wheat was either flattened down or gone completely, all in a straight line. "These could be railroad tracks but there's no known record of any line being built here!"

"Oooh, it's a mystery! I've met a talking train, you know."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, he's actually at Shining Time! You wanna come meet him!?"

Patch shrugged. "Sure. Why not?" He just accepted things as they were at the moment. He was having so much fun that he didn't care if it was logical or not. To hell with it, he thought, and spurred the horse on faster.

...

"Well Lady, what are we to do?"

Burnett shone the lamp once more over the lost engine's body. Dust and cobwebs had already begun to gather once more. Moss, not helped by the wet patches, covered the buffers. Almost mechanically, Burnett reached for the rag and began to dust her down again.

"What is it about childhood, eh? Why did it always seem so simple when me and Tasha were kids...and Petey, of course." He carefully began to wipe down the buffers. "There's something, isn't there, that can make everything seem better in childhood? You look at an old show, US or UK, and you saw all the good things. The voice acting was unique, the models were perfect, the drawings were crafted with love. And now you go back. And you can hear how the company was too badly off to hire more than a core set of actors. You see the strings holding up the clay or the bits of felt. You see where a piece of stock footage had to be used because it was more convenient. And you wonder...where did it all go?"

Lady, of course, didn't respond.

"It was like that with you. It was always summertime, or like an Enid Blyton novel. Mysteries and stories and secrets and lashings of ginger beer for everyone. Where no one died, or was too badly hurt, and the bad guys always got punished. The four of us had such a blast, didn't we? Or was that just another memory? Cause I think Pete always had this edge to him. I don't think it was just Tasha marrying me. That was the tipping point, yeah, but I don't think that's...quite all, is it?"

...

 _MANY YEARS AGO._

 _"You know what really pisses me off?"_

 _"Language, Pete."_

 _"Fu-" Pete paused, and swallowed. "To hell with language, Burn, we're in Britain. People back over the pond think they're so cultured and on their high horse, they're bloody hooligans if you ask me! They eff and blind like it's no one's business! No, what screws me up is the feeling that she's not telling us everything!"_

 _"Of course she's not telling us everything. She's how many years old, Pete? As sharp as she is, I don't expect her to remember everything!"_

 _"What about the railroad? Huh? You notice that she never, ever lets us see it. We're being trained by her, and she's keeping something from us."_

 _"Teachers are allowed to have secrets. You remember Ms Wakefield? She turned out to be one of the Les-Bi-Annes! Never would have known it!" Burnett was teasing, of course, trying to get Boomer to snap out of his funk._

 _"I don't like it. I don't like having secrets kept from me!"_

 _"All right lads!" Carlin headed on in and clasped both men on the shoulder. "Looking forward to the funfair tonight! I am! I'm going to drink until I pass out under the f**king coconut shy!"_

...

"Wae aye, lads!"

"Wae...aye?" Henry sighed. "James, why are you talking in Geordie-eese, I thought we were past the random introduction of accents into the series. Besides, I could have sworn you were Liverpudlian."

James huffed. "Last time I try to be culturally sensitive. Bastard. How about another round for the three of us, eh, Perce?"

"Sure, got nothing better to do." Contrary to popular belief, the Sidings did not operate via magic. Rather, there were certain grooves built into the rails that Percy could rll onto and select the beverage of his client's choice. Then, the beverage was poured and passed along like a Wallace and Gromit cartoon to the engine in question. "So, I could have sworn Thomas told you to take care of distracting Diesel 10 and those two...Splatter and Dodge?"

"Yeah, we figured that it wasn't tender engine work!" Gordon puffed up, even more so than usual, as he sipped his beer. "So we got a couple of the outside engines to handle it."

"Oh, you mean the guys who work down by the docks. The ones who basically do all the hard work but we never get the background information on."

"Yeah, like Butch."

"Who?"

"Exactly."

"Now now, be fair, he saved my life, you know!"

"That's true, Percy. But then, firemen saved my life during that really hot summer, and I still can't tell you their names, addresses or anything remotely interesting about them, other than they appeared to be straight out of Tumpton."

"You're right, James. What we really need is one of those fire engines that runs on rails. You know, a really big, annoying American one that won't shut the hell up about how fiery he is."

"Oh, what, like Fiery Flynn?"

"Sounds like a beer to me!"

"I'll drink to that!" Gordon slurred. Percy shook his head, and silently began watering down the beer. Sure, it was illegal and a little dodgy, but they'd thank him when they had somewhat stable livers...or at least, whatever passed for livers in the engine's body. That was another one of those complicated questions that Percy wondered about sometimes, like why it was that engines weren't allowed to have relationships with other engines, or why only tugs seemed to have actual hair.

"I tell you what, though!" Gordon said, enthusiastically. A little too enthusiastically, as it turned out, as he nearly went over on his side. "When I see Diesel 10, I'm going to nut him one! Right in his big fat face!"

"Really? And then what?"

"I'll kill him, of course!" Gordon grinned the grin of someone who really has had too much. Percy quietly stopped pouring beer for him all together. Water it was from here on out. "And I shall do so as Gordon does all things!"

"Poorly?"

"Fastest...and best! I'm the greatest!" He sneered. "Duck thinks he's so frigging good at his job, but if it came down to fighting, he'd choke and fold under the slightest bit of pressure!"

"Oh yeah?" Percy said quietly. "Well, he's still trapped at the smelters. You abandoned him because you couldn't be arsed to stay."

"Oh, don't you start! He lied to you too, you know."

"I am aware of that." Percy said, through clenched teeth. "But the engine's probably in extreme pain at the moment, and we're sitting here trying to drink our problems away!" He paused. "Bar's closed, gents. I'm sodding off."

"To where?"

"Thomas gave me a job to do, and it's high time that I did it. I'm heading over to Kirk Ronan, see if I can't find out what the hell is up with that bloody grotto that only just sprang up."

"Running away, Percy? Gonna find a backing signal again, are you?"

"DON'Y PUSH ME GORDON!"

The sudden shout took everyone off guard. Even Percy. But Gordon recovered quickly. "Oh yeah? Make me then, you bloody goblin! James, let go of me! He's going to mouth off to us, he needs to be-"

"Gordon, you're late for the express. I'll get your coaches for you, we'll head off, get this done with. It'll be like nothing's happened at all." It was a sign of how bad Gordon was drunk that A: Even James thought he was going a bit far and B: James was offering to shunt. As they moved off, James shot Percy a look that was either apologetic or...slightly angry.

"Don't let him get to you."

"It's bad for all of us, you know!" Percy snapped at Henry. As he moved to collect his trucks to dump at Kirk Ronan, he continued talking to the big green engine, who was still nursing a big cold. "Why does he get to act like he's the only bloody asshole struggling with things!?"

"Because he's Gordon."

"...And that's all you're going to give me? Fine." Percy headed off in a foul mood, leaving Henry to wonder if he should have really thought more about his choice in friends. After a moment, he decided to head on back to the Smelters. Perhaps if he could confirm what was happening there, he'd be doing something useful.

...

"Hi, Edward!"

Edward glanced, and then put on his best happy face. "Lily! Good to see you. Did you get home all right?"

"Yeah! Thanks, uh, this is Patch."

Patch looked at Edward, somewhat shocked. He wondered if there had been something in the vending machine he and Lily had gotten food from. He would not put it past them. "Uhhhhhhhh, hello?"

"Hello...Patch." Edward grinned. "Is it the face? It's the face, isn't it? I've always been told that I need plastic surgery. Do you need to lie down?"

"That might be a good idea."

Patch sat down. "So, Lily...I might head off for a bit, get some things done. So, meet you back here at sunset, right?"

"Right! I'm just going to call my parents!"

"For the record, Lily, I'd say that the station is empty, for the most part. No one's entered since this morning, I'd say it's their day off or something." Lily shot a grateful look towards Edward before she headed indoors. The blue engine slyly glanced at Patch. "Sooooooo...you and her?"

"What?" Patch frowned. Then he understood. "WHAT? No! Pfft! As if she'd go for- Besides, she lives far away!"

"Oh my gosh, you absolutely have a crush on her! Look at that blush!"

"Sssssh!"

"Oh great balls of fire, I've seen it before. First comes love, then comes marriage...and then something something something else that I can't remember off the top of me head-"

"How about we talk abut something else? Something not related to my love life? How about we talk about how you fuel yourself up?"

"I get coal in me fire. And if I need to eat anything, there's a part of my throat that makes sure it doesn't clog up my tubes. Same goes for drink, except that one's a bit easier. It gets taken to my tank, straight away, pretty much."

"Huh. Never knew that trains have a biology."

"Well of course we do. It's just an odd one...hey, are you the kid who worked on that sign back there? It's a lovely piece of work, isn't it?"

...

Lily made her call, and then looked outside the stained glass window. Edward was talking to himself, Patch having long gone, and she was all alone. Absently-mindedly, she ran her hand along the sill.

And then, she heard a really annoying noise. The dog besides her barked loudly, and she shot him a glare for the entire events of yesterday. But, as if by magic (Which of course, it was), there was a bright flash of dust and Junior arrived, singing...something.

"Choo choo choo-"

"You f**king choo choo any more, pal, and you'll be shitting teeth for a week!"

"So, like, obscene! Calm ye tits, Rufus, we'll be fine! Oh, hi Lily!"

"Hi, Junior." Lily still didn't see anything weird about conversing with two men who were about the same size of her hand, and quite frankly if you found anything wrong with that, that was on you.

"Hey presto! I'd given up on seeing you again!"

"It's been a DAY!" Carlin snapped. "Why the hell do we need a skateboard for!"

"A long day! Ye can't be dissin the skateboard, Shaggy-O! Lily, what's blue, green, red and goes Beep Beep?"

"A...parrot? Don't you mean "Chirp chirp?""

"Miss, he doesn't mean anything. He's a prat, through and through. And if was a joke, it was a bloody stupid one, if you ask me."

"Nah! It's trains! Talking trains!"

"Junior, trains don't go beep. They go peep. Also, they're not red, green and blue all at the same time, you nonce. We're not dealing with Jacob and his Technicolor Dreamcoat here!" Carlin looked as though he was about to ruin Junior's already bad joke even more when Junior cut in.

"And we are off to see them right now on the Island of Sodor!"

"Why are you telling her this, Junior?"

"Yeah, see, we-"

"You-"

"I, then, overslept! Had a banging dream though! Totally righteous! Got to get our skates on, ye want to come?"

"WHAT?!" shouted Carlin.

"Can we be back here by sunset?"

"No, wait, sorry Miss, but this is-"

"Well, I hope so!" This was not encouraging, so Junior added quickly. "I want to get back to the beach as fast as my wee legs can carry me! "

"What do you think, Mutt?"

"IS NO ONE LISTENING TO ME?!" ranted Carlin, as Mutt barked an agreement. Lily shrugged. She had no idea what else she was going to be doing for the next few hours while Patch was 'busy' doing his errands.

"Great! It's this way!" Junior pointed to the tunnel on the mural besides him. "It's the short cut!" He slapped it. "AAAAAA-Haaaaaa, the old thing still works!" He ignored Carlin's expression of distaste. "Well, there's three of us, so we'll have to-" And here he began dividing his share of the gold dust up. Carlin stared, flabbergasted, as he watched the last bit of dust drying up. "Ah, who cares if I use cuz's extra supply!? We'll have plenty more soon!"

"I CARE! And didn't anyone tell you that going with strangers was a very bad choice, Lily?!"

"Sure, but these strangers were at least as tall as me."

"You watch your mouth! The two of you are going nowhere!" Carlin stormed out of the station to get some air and to think things through. He pulled out a cell phone the size of a brick and tapped a number into it. "Starr? You get this message, you get the hell over to Shining Time, on the double. We've got some weird shit going down here!"

"Ignore him, he's just cranky! Oh what are you doing with that?"

Lily looked at the dust on her hand. "I know it just looks like glitter, but can I take this back for my grandpa?"

"Be my guest, dear girl! I'll just take care of it for ye!" Junior poured it into his pocket and shrugged. "Ready? Here goes!"

Carlin turned around. "Oh NO YOU-" But it was too late. Both Lily and Junior vanished in a cloud of sparkles and the vague sound of a novelty whistle being blown. "Son of a bastard!" He prayed that his sister never found out that he called her a bastard. He ran outside, spotted Edward and grabbed hold of him.

"Carlin, you've shrunk in the wash!"

"Oh piss off!" He snapped, and blew his own whistle. A terrified Edward started screaming as Carlin dragged him along for the ride.

...

What happened next was...odd.

There was a line beneath her feet. She wasn't touching it, whatever the hell Junior had given her was levitating her off the ground. But beneath that, beneath all the roots, there just seemed to be nothing. Nothing at all. The roots themselves were attached to tall trees that stretched over her head like a massive canopy. The strange glowing lights were equally as weird, and through them, she saw...things.

"What are these!?"

"Other universes!" she heard Carlin call back. "Things that might have been!"

In one universe, Carlin saw a younger Edward moving along the line with coaches behind him, pushing Gordon up the hill, watching as he bravely struggled on (Battered, weary but unbeaten), and as Thomas the Tank Engine rushed through a tunnel, his smile filled with the joy of youth. All of which seemed to be in a strange...drawing like quality. It was like he was looking at still images, but still images that were somehow moving at the same time! It was a total conumdrum.

In another one, he saw a group of female engines. Except these weren't just any old engines. Words appeared in his mind to see each one of his genderbent friends. Talia, Elsie, Helen, Georgina, Jane, Penny, Taffy. The engines were all bickering much like in his universe, as a female Lady Topham Hatt marched in to give them their orders and to put down their beers. Weird.

There was another one too, this one where he could hear snatches of conversation from humans. He could have sworn he saw Edward and Gordon smoking, with actual hands, and Henry and James arguing over paying a tab. Thomas arrived, in school uniform, and angrily groused about how Headmaster Topham was such a pain in the arse-

Another one, with them interacting with...pastoral ponies. And another, with them strange and terrible hybrid abominations, the result of a grief-stricken father's attempt to save his son's life. Yet another one, this time in an almost apocolyptic wasteland, where Toby grimly marched forward to confront a giant diesel with a massive claw. The Warship, he realized in horror, remembering the Battle of Crovan's Gate. It looked exactly like that, except with a face and a terrible grin etched upon grey skin.

So many universes. He saw the beginning and the end of all.

He looked away, trying not to let it destroy his mind, and focused more on Edward screaming at a incredibly high pitch as they raced along.

"You've grown bigger!"

"Or maybe yer're smaller!"

"Oh piss off, Junior! You're beginning to really grind my gears now! You've finally worked out how to adjust your size, have you? Good, great, just terrific! Why'd you bring an innocent along?"

"Eh. For kicks."

"You are getting PUNCHED when we get out of here!"

"Hey, ye cannae do that! I am still adjusting properly to my new-"

There was a loud THWACK as Carlin caught up with Junior and dealt him a blow across the ear.

"OW! OKAY! Whoa! Bit bouncy, isn't it?" Junior and Lily laughed. Carlin groaned. Edward kept on screaming.

"Where are we?!"

"The Conductor's railroad. Basically it's the way that we teleport from place to place. It's full of really stupid logic, best not to question it." Carlin advised.

"We're travelling miles and miles to get to the Island-"

"It's not in another universe, that's for sure!"

"-but to be honest, I doubt this is gonna last much longer! I mean, look at the state of it! It's well smack!"

"What are you even on about at this point, Junior?"

"A good question, Lily."

"Most likely it'll vanish like the engine that travelled on this railroad! Like the lost engine!" At Lily's questioning glance, Junior muttered. "Me and cuz never got to see it! But he did, apparently?"

"Huh...weird."

"Yeah, I really must look up what happened to Burnett Stone after we get back."

"Oh you knew my-"

"THE HELL IS THAT DOING THERE?!" Junior pointed to a single coal truck, who was currently questioning many of it's life choices and was regretting, oh, everything. That just about summed up his day.

"Oh god, here we come!"

"Ready yersefl! Buffers coming up! AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" screamed Junior.

"AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" screamed Carlin.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-" screamed Edward.

"WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" screamed Lily.

The buffers got closer and closer and closer...

...

And out they popped. Well, Edward didn't exactly pop out. Veered might be a better word. He landed on the rails with an incredibly undignified scream. He spent the next minute or so screaming, just to get it all out of his system.

"Are you done?"

"Almost. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH! ...Okay. Okay, we're good. I think." He turned back to see Lily and Junior stagger to their feet. "That boy's trouble, if you ask me."

"You recognize him?"

"Hmmm. Came here about 96, if I recall. Yeah, Sodorstock was a one off thanks to him. Pretty sure that Elsbridge is still recovering from the massive fire that started up by some mysterious Scotsman using stereotypical slang and the largest known hookah to exist."

"Ah, that sounds like him. Also, Sodorstock?"

"Oh yeah, you weren't there. Brings me on to my next point, actually. Where have you been!? Percy's missed you a ton, it would have been nice to get some letters from you!"

"Trust me, if I had had a choice, I would have called him straight away." Carlin explained briefly what had happened, but skipped over a lot of it. There was a bit of filler there. "And to top it all off, I still have a real pain in my side from my sister's side." He glared at Junior.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to see how badly the Island's been screwed up in my absence. You can take care of Lily and...Ewan McGregor's really, really, really bad stunt double, can't you?"

"Suppose I f**king have to!" Carlin paused. "Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"...It's great to see you again."

"No insult there...you really have changed, haven't you?" Edward gave a genuine smirk, and rolled off, laughing to himself. Carlin shook his head, trying himself not to crack a smile, before turning back to Junior and Lily.

"Where are we?"

"The Island of Sodor, of course-"

"Put the f**king compass down, Boy Scout, we've got a hell of a walk ahead of us." Carlin grabbed Junior by the lapels. "And you and me are going to have a talk."

"But I already know where babbies come from-"

One smack later, Carlin proceeded to tell Junior in no uncertain terms that he was, would be and always had been the single most stupid and selfish person he'd had to meet. Considering he knew James and Gordon, this was pretty big stuff. Eventually, he gave up when he realized that none of this was really sinking in and settled for kicking him in the shins.

They climbed the large embankment as best they could, Junior whimpering all the way and sneezing all the way. "I'm allergic to grass, man!" He said to Lily and Carlin's looks of confusion.

"Oh. Oh of f**King course you are. Why is my family full of idiots?!"

"Good thing I like climbing things!"

"Good thing we've got a way back to the station! Mind, I don't know if I can convince Edward to go back through that...whatever it was, again!" Carlin stormed up the hill, he had had worse to deal with. He overlooked the railway and a grin spread over his face. "HOME!"

"What's that sound?"

"I'll give you three hints, and the first two don't count!"

"Yeah, they're trains! They talk. We're just too far away to hear what they're saying!"

"EXPRESS COMING THROUGH!"

Carlin beamed. Somehow, hearing Gordon say his ridiculous catch-phrase made his heart do a loop-de-loop. He watched as the engines all hurried about doing their jobs. Bertie stopped for a moment, noticed Carlin and bellowed "MY MAIN MAN'S BACK!" and headed off in a rush to tell everyone. Carlin laughed, and then with a whooop, ran off towards Thomas.

"Annie, Clarabel, look! It's the dozy prat himself! We've found him!" The two coaches twittered away, but their enthusiasm was quickly curbed as they drew near. "Oh screw my bunker, it's that drugged up Scotsman!"

"Junior, look!"

"Yeah!" admitted Carlin. "I would have said much the same thing when I met you, Junior."

"Thomas! Hiya! Remember me, ye daft brush? Now, I know ye haven't seen me since-"

"Go straight to hell, Junior!" Thomas responded. "You stuffed party popers all down my funnel, mugged my fireman for drug money and then proceeded to burn down what remains of Knapford Harbor. Again! Do you realize how many times Knapford Harbor's been disgraced like that!?"

"It's a crap day to be me, apparently. Hey, we had a laugh!"

"You did. I cried for the sake of humanity." Thomas turned to see who else was with him and broke out into a genuine smile. "CARLIN! You old bastard, the hell did you spring up from?"

"Would you believe that I had tea with Mr f**king Benn of all people?!"

"Ah, you were off your balls in a pub. I should have guessed."

"Smartarse!" Carlin affectionately punched Thomas on the buffers, and regretted it almost instantly.

"AHEM!" Junior was not one who liked the spotlight being taken off him. "Allow me to introduce you!"

"You're talking to each other like this is normal!" Lily said, still somewhat dazed. Sure, one engine could be written away by an overactive imgination, but a whole Island of them?

"First prize! Lily, Thomas, Thomas, Lily! Now, how about we talk about how I'm the-"

"Hello there!" Lily said, deciding to embrace the madness.

"Hello Lily, welcome to hell. I mean Sodor. Slip of the tongue!" Thomas smiled a bit kinder though. "So, how are you getting along with the Chuckle Brothers over there."

Lily looked at Carlin and Junior, both of whom were arguing furiously about who was going to take the blame when it came to returning her home. "Uh...Ask me tomorrow. If I'm still here tomorrow."

"Ah, you might as well be a Sudrian! That's the standard response to two idiots arguing!" Thomas raised his voice. "Come on, you want to get to see Mr Flipping Conductor! Well so do I!"

"I'm very at home on trains!" Junior bragged. He took the controls...and was promptly elbowed into the back seat by Carlin. "Oi, wotcha!"

"I have actually driven trains for a living, you daft haggis eating bastard! Now, watch and learn kids. This is how a grown-up handles things!" Carlin started Thomas off. He paused, and then stopped again so that Lily could get on. "i'm just a little rusty!" He said, defensively.

"Annie, Clarabel, I'll get Percy to bring you back!"

"You what-?"

And with that, Thomas just flat out abandoned the two coaches there.

"Ohhhhh dear." Clarabel sighed.

"IN RESPONSE TO YOUR PREVIOUS QUESTION, YOU PRAT, YOU'RE A BLOODY AWFUL ENGINE!" shouted Annie.

...

The situation was tense. It was like a Western, if the Westerns had two very drunk Scotsmen and a tow truck taking on two very exaggerated cockney blokes and whatever the hell George was.

So, nothing like a Western then, really.

"So-" said Douglas, carefully "-how do ye want to do this-?"

Arry moved like lightning. Silently, he sped forward and rammed into Donald's tender, sending him stumbling forwards. Bert too moved forward, taking advantage of Douglas's concern for his twin to couple on up to the Number 10 and dragged him into the Smelters.

Seeing this, Butch raced forward, whirling his hook like a tomahawk. He flung it forward, and much to his surprise, it connected.

"BUTCH!"

"Sorry, Donald!"

Now, if only he could get it to connect with the right engine. George moved forward. True, he was moving at a glacial pace, but so close to Butch, he didn't really need to speed up that much. He slammed into the truck with as much power as he could. Stumbling backwards, Butch glared at the chortling steamroller. "NOT TODAY, GEORGE!" He cried, channeling Mighty Mouse, his hero, and swung his hook towards George's face.

This time it connected properly. With a scream, blood spurted out from the cut that had been gouged into George's face. But now he had managed to piss off the steamroller in a way no one else had done. George _reared_ backwards onto his rear wheels and brought the full weight of his roller down on Butch.

There was a crumpling sound as the truck's back buckled under the pressure of the mighty roller. Butch shrieked, panicked, and did the only thing he could think of. He revved his engine and roared forward. George was taken by surprise, and nearly went over on his side. Though he righted himself, it gave Butch just enough time to get out of the way, his back in extreme pain.

George growled. "You really are a bad excuse for a road vehicle, aren't you?"

"Why are you working for this COWARDLY COWARD ORGANIZATION OF COWARDS!?" Butch shouted, not wanting to let go of the fact that he finally had a character trait at last.

"Oh, if you really have to ask...I get the joy of getting to tear down the railway on this Island for all the road vehicles of the world! And I get a roller rink all to myself!" He cackled. "Those who will not accept me as their new ruler of the roads will be FLATTENED under my roller!"

"YOU FIEND!"

"And I've got a little help from my friends!" From out of nowhere, the three Horrid Lorries arrived in style, revving their engines at the hapless truck. "You're all on your own, Butch!"

He was. Donald and Arry's battle had taken them towards the opening to the Smelters, while Douglas and Bert were still deep inside it. Butch growled. He wasn't going to go down without one hell of a fight. His tires spun, sparks flew from his engine and-

"BRUM BRUM!"

"What was-" Lorry 2 was interrupted by a flying red bus. Bertie grinned manically, and then began spinning around, smacking into them over and over and over again, the Guy Fawkes dummy in his cab bouncing up and down like a lone pea in a frying pan.

"He's not alone! Now lads, either you want a race, or you'll want to GET out of here!"

Confronted by this, they had no choice but to retreat. This was not going to be the last time they ran into each other, though Butch, as the four of them backed off. He looked to Bertie. "Thank you, chum! Now, hurry, we have to get Montague down from there!"

"You got it, boss!"

Meanwhile, Douglas was confused. The red light of the Smelters made it almost impossible for him to see clearly where Bert had gone to...or where he could come from. To make matters worse, the strange sounds that were being made around him meant that even the telltale sound of his growling would be called into question.

"Ye coward!"

There. Was that a growl? It sounded a lot like it.

"Ye-ye heard me right! Ye're nae but a coward! Ye cannae fight any real engine, can ye? Ye just wait until they're trapped, with no way out or put into veritable shackles before ye can enjoy yer grisly little games! Ye and yer stupid brother are called the Grim Reapers! That's a mistake right there! The Grim Reaper actually has the balls to deal with someone face to face!"

There was a roar, and then from a siding, Bert came racing out, his eyes blazing. Douglas charged forward, going as fast as he could in the confined space. They hit each other at the same time, and it was only by a miracle that the two of them didn't get knocked off the rails. As it were, Douglas tried to ignore the feeling of his buffers buckling under the weight behind this surprisingly heavy little shunter.

"Ha! We ran away from ye?! Pah! Ye dinnae say that it was ye who killed all those engines? Ye're not subtle enough!"

Douglas's strategy was working. Bert's roar turned into a scream of pure rage, and he shoved all he had into pushing the Scottish Twin back, even a little. He put more, and more, and more into it...and then there was a loud bang, and black smoke began to pour from him. Bert gasped for air, as his engine spluttered and crawled to a stop.

"Ha! Yer're not the brightest haggis in the castle, are ye? That's the problem with Donald too, mind! Give him a safe, and he'll always try and hit it with a sledgehammer! But it's far easier when you know the combination!" Douglas switched onto the other track, leaving Bert to scream impotently as he raced outside. He watched gleefully as Donald began taking Arry to town. Blow after blow from Donald's buffers hit Arry's exposed side.

But Arry was...laughing? "Oh, thank god you two got here! I thought that everything was going to be boring...but now, you've given me exactly what I needed."

Donald frowned. Douglas stared. Butch and Bertie froze.

"Captain Zero? Can you hear me in there?"

"Course I can! By Lillie's Starboard, ye nearly caused me to lose my lunch!"

"Radio the Fat Director. It's time to start the invasion proper!"

"NO!" shouted Donald, and he charged at Arry. But the diesel had been faking his previous struggles, and with a "Wham!" and a "Bam!" and a couresty "SHUT THE HELL UP MAM!" he rammed into Donald's side.

And then the cavalry arrived. Edward, flanked by Mavis, Bill and Ben, stormed in. By this point, Bert had been lifted back onto the rails by one of the Pinchers, and both he and Arry rushed off, the latter of whom was triumphantly gloating.

"Lads!" Douglas beamed at Edward. "Ye're back then!"

"And better than ever! Right, here's the thing. You lot, get Montague back to the Works, he's going to need one hell of a clean-up before the big fight. Get yourselves checked over too, and that's an order!"

"Where are ye going?"

"The four of us have a date at the China Clay Pits. I think I've found a way to even the odds against Diesel 10! Douglas, once you're finished, I'll need you to do me a favor.!"

"Which is?"

"You'll need to find the Spiteful Brakevan, and tell him it's high time we worked together on this!"

...

As they traveled along the branch-line, Lily watched as Junior began whimpering again, clutching his stomach and leaning out of Thomas's cab. She heard Carlin mutter under his breath "Very at home with trains! Pah!"

Then they saw a bright flash in the distance. "Who is that?"

"Cuz!" shouted Junior. Thomas braked hard as they rounded the bend to the windmill. Mr Conductor sat on sacks of mail...or possibly flour, it was hard to tell. He looked very, very bored.

"Mr Conductor! You prathead!"

"Thomas!" Mr C stood up, and grinned at the sight of the blue engine. "Finally! I tried to wave down James, but he seemed to be in a bit of a huff about something and ignored me!"

"That's James to a tee." muttered Carlin.

"I'd say some random thing like "Thank throttles you're safe!" but I don't want to give myself a hernia." Thomas was grumpy.

Junior crawled out of the cab, stumbled around and nearly dropped Lily in an attempt to catch her as she jumped from the footstep. He turned to greet his very angry cousin with a smarmy grin even a mother would slap. "Hi cuz! So, ye look like ye've been having a rocking time! Have ye been getting sun?"

"In the last twenty four hours I've been abandoned, taken illegal substances, fallen into a pond, walked into a tree, got covered with ants and nearly got murdered by a massive heavy metal monster that threw me here. I only survived down to pure bullshit! Junior, the hell have you been?!"

"Well first of all, I'd say that's a pretty rocking day of it-"

Carlin dismounted and stormed towards Mr Conductor. The latter sighed. "Ah, at last, Carlin. Someone with a bit of-"

One punch later, Mr C stared up at Carlin in befuddlement.

"Of all the people in the entire world you can phone, you choose to phone THAT?!" He pointed to Junior, who was in the midst of picking his nose. "Next time, try phoning the police!? Or...anyone other than him!"

"Er, has your sparkle come back?" asked Thomas, wanting very much not to be an accessory to murder.

"No. It hasn't. But I've found a clue to it!"

"Well, let's hear it!" Junior said, eagerly.

"Stoke up the magic in the mountain, and..." Mr Conductor took a deep breath and... "I forget the rest! Drat!"

"Dither!" Everyone looked at Thomas. "What? I have no idea what's going on. You lot are all speaking gibberish, the entire world is going to hell, I like to feel as though I'm contributing SOMETHING of note here!"

"Oh, you too? I thought it was just me."

"No it is not, dear Lily. No it is not."

Junior decided that it was time to get real, and jumped onto the bags. He winced and felt to see if he had broken his ribs. "Hey cuz, ye look terrible."

"Well on that, we can agree." Carlin muttered, pulling a hip-flask out of Thomas's cab and began to chug it down.

"So, let's find some more gold-dust, cause I used yers up-"

"WHAT?!"

"-and THEN ye go back home, and I go back to the beach, and we only meet again in those absolutely terrible wee family reunions!"

Mr Conductor sighed, as Carlin finally ambled on over to sit besides the two of them. "Fine. Junior, listen to me very carefully-"

"I shall say this only once?" Carlin looked around at the baffled looks. "What? Oh come on, surely they have 'Allo Allo out in the states? Thomas, you've seen it!"

"Oh, I saw it, it's just not a very funny joke you just made!" At which point, something began to ring. Everyone looked around, before Mr Conductor pulled up a bunch of flowers.

"I've got it!"

"Nah, I'll take care of IT!" Junior was faster, and pulled up a pair of flowers. He was, understandably, very very high right now. "Hello? Hello? Huh, ye do have a deep voice! No, this is his cousin! His far prettier one too! And the one who gets all the girls! Who's this? Are ye interested in girls? What are you wearing right now? Oh hello Hatty!"

"JUNIOR GIVE ME THE PHONE!"

Carlin, Lily and Thomas watched with some bemusement as the two relatively grown men began battling over a bunch of flowers that were not, in fact, a phone. "Clearly, being alone for so long has left him a little stir crazy." Thomas muttered. "And is he trying to...flirt with Fatty?"

Carlin headed into the windmill, where the ACTUAL phone was ringing it's little heart out.

"So, Lily, how'd you end up with that quack?"

"It's a long story."

"We're going to be here a while, I'll listen." And so, they talked. As they did so, both Conductors argued vehemently about the flowers.

"No, no, he's hanging around here somewhere! Heeheehee! I am so endearing!"

"Sir Topham Hatt?! Yeah, ignore him, he just wanted to be friendly, and he's a complete bag of nothing when it comes to actual human interactions with actual people! No, he is not a dog. Though I understand the confusion. He is pretty much an English puppy in need of a good beating- I mean, training!" He slapped away Junior's hand. "Nothing to worry about, BYE!" And he slammed down the 'receiver' hard and glared at Junior.

"Ah, cuz, have ye met Lily? She's staying with the lonely old bast-I mean her grandpa stone!"

Mr C put on his best 'sane' face and headed over to meet Lily, who was comparing notes on most idiotic Conductor. "Hello Lily."

"Hello weird man who talks to flowers."

"Can we make that his title from now on?" asked Thomas, darkly. Carlin walked out, mood black and grim. But before they could say anything, there was a wooshing sound. Thomas stared in dumbstruck bafflement as the windmill's arms began swinging faster and faster with Junior attached.

"What-"

"-THE-"

"-f**king-"

"-HELL!?"

"WOAAAAAAAAAHOHOHOHO! WHEEEEEEEEE!"

"Oh it is too early in the morning for this." Thomas whimpered. "I shouldn't have woken up. I should have just gone back to sleep like a good little engine and let this horrible nightmare end."

"JUNIOR! WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE!? HOW DID YOU GET UP THERE!? COME DOWN!" Mr Conductor's voice would have carried more weight, had it not cracked completely on the second word. "IT'S TOO WINDY!"

"A common complaint when dealing with you, I'm sure." Carlin growled, drinking more and more.

"This is just like yon funfair! Give us two seconds!"

"Two seconds?! Junior, you're on Sodor! That's all you need to land yourself in some deep, deep-" Mr Conductor didn't finish his sentence, as the wind picked up, the arms turned faster and faster and faster. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the sound of Junior screaming at the top of his lungs, and the sound of Carlin groaning about his sister was going to kill him for getting her kid slain in such a undignified manner.

At which point, Junior was launched like a lawn dart through the air. He flew higher and higher and higher, even narrowly missing a painful death at the rotors of Harold, before landing with a thump on-

 **"Well well well, Twinkletoes Jr, I presume? How did you even survive a fall like that, anyway?"**

"I WANNA GO HOME!"

"No surfing here, Mr Kahuna!" The Malevolence growled as the American forced his way to the front of his mind. "Hold on tight, moondoggie!"

"Ye think not?!" Junior stood up and posed triumphantly. "YEEEEE-HAAAAA!"

At which point, the Malevolence took control and tucked Junior safely under the space where his claw would be, rather undercutting the moment a bit.

"Diesel's highjacked him! ...Ah well, no loss." Thomas knew that seemed callous, but even these few minutes in Junior's company had been a few minutes too many. Lily awkwardly tugged on Mr Conductor's arm.

"Will he be okay?"

"We have a nack for getting out of trouble, eventually."

"I don't know how you lot define eventually, but it's going to be an awfully long time until THAT one gets out of trouble." Thomas sighed, and then pulled himself together. "Carlin, how about we get out of here and then you can tell us what the Fat Man said. If that was Fatty!"

"Oh it was. You're not going to f**king believe this."

...

Oliver watched in surprise as two battered, weary but unbeaten Caledonians arrived bearing a rather injured Duck on a flatbed. "HAIL TO THE CONQUERING HEROES!" shouted Donald.

"Would ye mind giving Duck a wee tune up?" said Douglas, a bit quieter. The Works Diesel shot him a glare, and rolled his eyes to show just how much stuff he had to do. "Please?" With a grimace, the Works Diesel took the flatbed and began to examine the wounds.

...

Down in Boomer's basement, Lady Hatt clapped her hands and looked around. Everyone was looking at her, slightly nervous but ready for action. "All right, here's the plan! The guards can't hear exactly what we're saying, but we need to create some sort of noise. Any sort, really. Just as long as it makes them think that we're sitting here twiddling our thumbs!"

"And...why can't that be?" asked Jobling, nervously.

"Because something weird is going on back at home, and we need to sort it out!" snapped Mrs Kyndley. Her sister nodded sagely. "Obviously!" Jobling looked down, depressed.

"Right. Now, let's see what we have." She moved over to the furthest wall, the one that was nearest to Shining Time Station and bent down. The drivers, firemen and farmers had attacked it with every bit of strength and any tools that came to hand. At last, a hole had slowly been worn down through the concrete. It was a small hole, and even for the smallest child it would be quite a squeeze, but nonetheless, it would be a way out of here. "That's as good as we'll get. Right. Now, some of us will be staying here, obviously. We need to distract this Boomer fellow and the guards while you try and get back into Sodor. We'll be sending every child out of here. They will need some support. Do we have any volunteers?"

"We'll do it!" Sidney said grimly. Charlie nodded. "We'll take care of them."

"That's good. Because I will also be entrusting you with any sick or injured, plus any women here who are carrying children. It's a lot to ask of you, but-"

"Say the word, marm, and we'll die for them."

"Hopefully it won't come to that." muttered Sir Topham Hatt. He had been forced to issue demands for surrender to the engines of the Island through Carlin. He doubted they'd be foolish enough to that though. He pulled himself together and stood up. "While the plan is to get as many out as possible, there will be some who will not escape. Those who are staying for sure are myself, Lady Hatt, Mayor Bedella, the Kyndleys-"

"My hip is sure to shatter!"

"Rather you than me, dear sister!"

"-Mr Jobling, the Refreshment Lady and yes I know you have a name, I just don't care, and the vicar. Anyone else who wishes to stay may."

"I will!" shouted Old Bailey, his words slurring somewhat. Despite this, he actually seemed more sane than he had been in a while.

"Likewise." Mr Jobling grunted. "If only because I don't think I'd make it out there."

"Anyone else?"

There was a long silence as everyone considered it. Husbands and wives hugged each other, mothers held their children close to them...and the Norris's just clung together. So they were all surprised when a hand from an unlikely source came up, and then from that unlikely source came the unlikeliest of words. "I'll stay."

"Alec?"

"Yes, try not to sound too surprised!" Alec scowled. "Just that you'll need help. I'm not much of a fighter, but I'll try my best." He looked at the others and sighed. "It's been great knowing you all."

"Ham." muttered the Barber.

A few others agreed to stay. Bobblehat, the head of the Air Force, Tiger Moth's pilot amongst others. At last, it was time for the escape to begin. They all stared at the hole, nervously.

"Oh, for god's-" Nancy struggled forward, got on her stomach and crawled through the gap. It was a tight squeeze, and she yelped, but she eventually scrabbled through. The others started talking instantly, just to keep the illusion going. More and more people slipped through. It took several shoves to get Heaver through, and Charlie had to loosen some more of the cement before he could squeeze under, but it was going better than expected.

"SIR TOPHAM HATT!"

The shout froze everyone in their place. Jobling was halfway between freedom and the prison, his legs trapped in the room. Alec looked at the guard. He had yet to shine his light on the tunnel, but when he did...Alec didn't think Jobling would live very long in this world. Besides, much to his horror, two children still remained in the room.

He took a deep breath.

And swung a punch.

The guard squawked, not having expected this, but reached out and grabbed Alec's other hand, the one already balling up into a fist. He twisted, sharply, and with a howl, Alec felt his bone _snap_.

He chanced a look back. Jobling and the boys had been pulled free, and he could just about make out the sounds of everyone making like a tree and running like maniacs.

Then the butt of a shotgun smacked him right in the head, and he slumped to the ground. Immediately, two other guards dragged him away, while his victim took hold of Hatt's arm and without looking around him, marched the Controller out of there.

For a moment, the remaining people were silent. They heard the sound of two pairs of boots marching to the outside of the house. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing in the almost-deathly quiet. Then, softer footsteps, but only because of the dirt.

Then they stopped.

Alec's voice rang out."You know, you're really beginning to piss me o-"

The shot rang out, shattering the uneasy piece. Bedella gasped, Lady Hatt gripped the wall, Bobblehat screamed, and the Vicar immediately began muttering prayers under his breath. The Kyndley's grabbed each other's arms and held on tight.

If they had looked through the hole in the wall, they would have seen Alec's still twitching corpse lying there, alone and small in the mud.

...

Ivo Hugh struggled once more. The ropes were beginning to fray. If he just continued on like this, then maybe...just maybe-

"Captain, I will not start the invasion just yet. I need an hour to make sure that everything is prepared! Tell Arry that his desire for scrap will be the death of him! Right, I'll test the machine with an actual living being and send over one of our trump cards, but that's it! And don't contact me, I'll contact you!" The Fat Director slammed the phone down. "You can't find the help these days!" He pressed a button on the communications panel.

"Sir?"

"Send D3 through the portal. If he makes it through in one piece, then make sure he knows to head over to the China Clay Works."

There was a pause. And then...

"He's through! He's on the Island, sir!"

"Excellent." The Fat Director's smile was sick and twisted, much like the rest of him. "Now, put me through to the guards at the Vicarstown Bridge."

...

"What do you mean "I can't get in!" you silly little man!?" snapped Daisy to the official from the Other Railway. Vicarstown was blocked off, save for the diesels coming towards the Island.

"Sorry miss, but no engines bar those with clearance can get past this point!"

"But...but he did!"

The official turned, just in time to see a familiar flash of goldenrod rushing towards the bridge. He shouted for his men to stop the Bluebell Engine, but years of dodging and fighting had taught Stepney how to escape. With a wild cackle, he flew over the bridge, reached the other side and disappeared onto an adjoining track.

"Sir, we have an issue!"

"No we don't." The Fat Director said, smoothly. "Not even that Bluebell loving freak can stop us now!"

"How do you know that?"

"Oh-"

As Daisy was forced back by the guards, she was passed by the massive, iron clad and silent figure of the Juggernaut.

"-just a gut feeling."

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** Exactly! I love writing their interactions, it's really fun to do so! Wild Force and Ninja Storm are fairly decent, though the other two have some problems anyway! Hope you enjoy the rest of this!

 **Game-Watch:** Well, that's true.

 **Kamen Rider** **Necrom** : That they have. There'll be more of him as we go along!

 **Bronze Shield** : Glad you're loving it! This chapter was actually surprisingly easy to write...somewhat.

 **bigyihsuan** : Yep. It's weird.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Edward is definitely repressing a lot of anger. And he's basically trying to keep on top of things. Writing his stuff is one of my favorite parts, especially in this chapter. And yeah, Carlin steals the show big time. I really love writing him returning to his roots here.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Carlin has that covered, don't you worry! I'm glad you're loving it! There's more on the way!

 **TrainManiac:** Yeah, I had a lot of fun writing that chapter! And a little shout out to that idea in this chapter! The problem is that Britt was caught in the midst of executive meddling and the fact that it was going to be hard to make a movie that pleased both sides of the pond. I do admire her attempts though. It's a failure, but an interesting one.

 **Reid007:** Hey, in the movie, she just sort of deals with it all. Felt like I had to give some reason for that. Glad you liked her!

 **AaronCottrell97:** It's weird, but Toby is actually the best written character out of all the engines! If we had more of that Toby from that point onwards, I think he'd be much more popular. And he's the only voice that I would keep, really.

 **UGX7:** It's entirely possible that those were in fact flour bags. I even pointed that. My apologies for the error! That actually does make sense, in a way. Awdry had a LOT of characters introduced in the series, and some didn't really get that much detail (COUGH COUGH BEAR COUGH COUGH), so yeah, that's fair enough. Yeah, I don't know either about the song. It's a lovely bit anyway.

And now for normal notes!

-The references to Queen was done primarily because I felt that a bit of reflection of how the story started and where it is now was in order. In the previous chapter, I had Junior remark on it too. The best thing is that this is going to be the darkest thing I'm going to do with this universe for a good bit. After this, hopefully we can return to the simpler times that Edward talks about.

-On which note, the title is a shout out to one of my favorite Queen songs, 'I Want It All'. Figured that it fit the bill for this chapter.

-The reference to engine biology is my attempt to at the very least offer some explanation for how the engines can consume food and drink and not have it clog up their insides. Basically, I'm operating on the theory that it all goes through some process that sends it to the appropiate places (Fire for the food, tank for the water). So I hope that clears that up!

-And the reference to Starr? ...Wait and see.

-The universes shown in the journey through the railroad are varied. One represents the original Railway Series books as written by both Awdry's, another represents Shed 17's story, another looks at the traditional human style stories that I've seen, a gender-swapped universe which is there for no real reason and a more apocalyptic one. Basically, I'm trying to set some stuff up, that there are other universes out there. Who know's what might be coming from there, eh?

-Fun fact, in the original Shining Time show, Carlin's Mr Conductor did have a sister who came to visit in one episode. Now, while I have not watched that much of Shining TIme, I did recall watching that episode. Hence, Junior is her son. I basically wanted to expand on what the relationship between the Conductors actually is, though I haven't quite worked out what Baldwin's Conductor is to Carlin's yet.

-Donald and Douglas's fight was actually the second to last thing I did on this chapter, aside from Burnett's flashback. I actually found it really hard to do for the most part, but I hope it comes off okay. Butch's new persona is essentially my way of trying to give character to someone who doesn't even get any until Season 15, and I figured having George vs Butch would be cool. Likewise, giving Douglas a moment of awesome was fun too.

-D3, for those not in the know, is the duplicate of BoCo created back in Season 3. Just as a reminder.

-Speaking of Baldwin, poor Alec. I actually really enjoying writing him in Season 5, primarily because I liked writing Percy's interactions with a relative straight man throughout the entire thing, and I think he was a good contrast to Carlin. As he was the most developed of the human characters, however, I decided that I needed someone else to die in a heroic manner. A fun fact as well is that I was originally intending for the dead one to be Inspector Norris (The original from Season 2 who started the trend) back when I was writing this in February or March. But events moved on, and the fact that i introduced the Norris clan meant that killing him off would have had little impact. So again, sorry Alec!

-On a unrelated note, last chapter Marklin and Gotch made their way to Shining Time via a pair of green eyed Tugs. For those not in the know, they are the Pirates from the TUGS episode of the same name. Had I actually finished TUGS Abridged at this stage, there was going to be a massive tie in regarding what happened after the events of the show and how Captain Zero has managed to survive into the present day. However, that is not the case. I did not cut the two tugs for the reason that I felt it would be a nice shout out. And hey, maybe I will explain what happened to the Star Tugs and Z-Stacks...one day.

-The last scene was actually something that i had been considering cutting, but it felt like a good way to kill a few birds with one stone. Firstly, getting a Daisy cameo in there (This is the extent of her involvement in the plot, I don't have anything for her, unlike the others). Secondly, re-introducing the Juggernaut as a major threat (For the record, this one is 98462, the other one is still masquerading as Truro's help) which is going to be important once we get to the big battles.

Next time! The pieces fall into place for the grand battle, and Thomas has to make a decision! TUNE IN NEXT TIME, SAME ABRIDGING STORY, SAME ABRIDGING...website, I guess.


	136. The Magic Railroad: Part 6

**Part 6: The (Relative) Calm Before the Storm.  
**

As the sun set on Shining Time, Patch made his way to the mountain top, where Burnett was standing. The older man was busy messing around with some flowers, an odd, almost wistful expression on his face. As he turned, he noticed Patch on his own.

"Where's Lily?"

Patch looked scared. "I wish I knew."

Burnett's heart stopped for a moment, and he swayed, almost as if he was going to pass out completely. He struggled for a moment, then tried to pull himself coherently together. "What do you mean? You were with her, weren't you?"

"We got down to the station. She told me that she would be at the station once I had finished the errands. I believed her, so I headed off. I had the station in my line of sight the whole time, I swear to you. But I'm sorry, Mr Stone, I went back to get her and she...she wasn't there. No one could tell me anything because it was a slow work day and they hadn't been in much."

 _No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no-_

"Mr Stone?" He was about to cry. The boy...was about to cry. That shook Burnett out of his funk. Patch seemed scared. Was he scared...of him? No, this wasn't the boy's fault. What if Boomer...and that thought struck a chill in Burnett, the like of which has rarely been felt by anyone ever. The crossing...he had seen her there. And she had always looked so much like Tasha.

"Don't worry, Patch. We'll find her."

And off he walked, a grim purpose in mind for Boomer.

Patch hesitated for a moment, made sure that he couldn't be seen, and then cut off down the hill. He knew that Burnett couldn't take Boomer, just on sight alone. There was something not quite right about this, and he was determined to make sure that Mr Stone didn't get himself killed.

Bloody crazy old man.

...

"Well, well, well. Mr Hatt, in person. Oh, sorry, Sir Topham, of course, that's how the English like their people to be referred to, isn't it?"

"What do you want?"

"A good question. First of all, I have heard of your appetite, and your very, ah, specific tastes. So, fresh from Britain itself, I have laid out a buffet for you. The poor quality of the English food has one thing in common with the appalling way that you have been treated thus far."

"You see, Mr Boom-Boom, I'd be far more inclined to think you reasonable had your men just not shot one of my drivers." Hatt was still angry, but he had managed to keep calm for the most part. He hadn't known Alec personally, and truth be told for most of his life working with the railway he had been referred to as 'Him, Yes, That One, He Wot Done It' among the staff. But damn it, he was one of them!

Boomer shrugged. "Point taken. You can eat if you want, but I think we can skip the pleasantries, can't we? So, here's the deal. I want to know what the engines on your Island are planning."

"Haven't the faintest-"

"Oh, give me a break! You're their Controller!"

"And you think I have any actual power over them? It's, at best, a figurehead position!"

"I don't actually care, to be honest. You have experienced their weird and off the wall style of fighting before, and I want to know how to stop them. In return-"

"You'll what? Let me go? That won't do anything, you'll shoot me the second I get out of the house? My wife? If you think you're offering the two of us a chance out of here and leaving the others alone, you've got another think coming, matey!"

"Why-?"

"Am I so cynical? Again, it comes back to the fact that you just shot one of my drivers. Had your men waited a few minutes before punishing him, you would have had me at the very least thinking about your offer. But now? I don't trust you, anyone who does trust you is a fool, and I won't give you anything you want. Except a chat, of course. Because I am rather curious. You've been having me making phone calls an awful lot, haven't you?"

Boomer shrugged. He might as well go along with this. "Not my orders, I'm afraid. You see, this pain in the ass Director of mine wants me to try and create the sense that you're all fine. It's a remnant from the plans when you were all dead, of course."

"Of course." Hatt thought this was being said far too casually. "But here's the thing, I don't get why? The Fat Director? From what I know of him, he hates steam. Fine. This Gotch fellow-?"

"You heard that, then."

"Fanatic on the roads, always was. But you? You don't strike me as caring about steam or diesel or anything like that. You're not in this for money, or else you'd have gone after my safe and left it at that. Which means I'm either dealing with a megalomaniac, or there's some secret that you're hiding."

Boomer laughed harshly. "Oh, you do amuse me! Always did! A real figure of fun. "My Doctor has forbidden me to push!" and so on. It's cute, Fatty, and that might work on that little Island of yours. But here? Nah. No way. You don't even know who I am, do you? I am Peter Tiberius Lennox! I can trace my lineage back to the Founding Fathers!"

"Which one?"

"Jefferson."

"Figures, he put it around a lot. Not always with his wife, mind."

"Oh go ahead, make the bastard joke, everyone else does. But you know, it's funny. We've lost control of the world, Mr Hatt. All of it. We're fighting amongst ourselves, like cowards, and it'll only get worse from here on out, believe you me! We need someone strong and decisive to take control and...weed out all the problems of the world."

"...Pfft. Nice try."

"Did I have you convinced? I could have sworn I had you convinced! Ah well, clearly my acting skills need work. No. I just want the power because it's there. And because if I don't do it, someone else will. Might as well be on the winning team, right?"

"That's a lot of horse-"

"Careful, Fatty, don'y want you to lose that _tongue_ of yours. Not what you've left so much on the table."

Hatt stood up. "Can you take me back to my cell please? I think we're done talking here."

"Well, you're sort of right. But you're not going back to your cell."

"No?"

"No. Because we're going to Shining Time. And I will not lie, that might be the place where you die."

...

Night fell, as it often did.

"I am brave, I am brave. Thomas says I'm brave, so I'm brave. Wait, that doesn't mean anything coming from him! Oh, come on Percy, be a big boy! Just imagine what'll happen once you get back, eh? Being all brave and boastful and getting to see that look get slapped off Gordon's smug unbrave face! ...God, it's hard being brave. How do they manage it?"

At last, Percy reached Kirk Ronan. And what he saw shook him. "Oh god in heaven, Splatter and Dodge! Right near the buffers! Oh, sod me and call me Sally, what do I do now?!"

Just then, a murder of crows were scattered to the winds by a loud blast from Dodge's horn. Percy stifled a shriek, and watched as Splatter giggled hysterically. He realized to his horror that Splatter was practicing several painful looking techniques on one of the background engines who never did anything. And there was more black smoke and blood than was ever needed by any reasonable engine.

"Howdy partner, coming through!"

Percy knew he was drunk now, because he could have sworn that that was a talking tumbleweed. Thank god that it was just a hallucination, right?

And then the door slammed.

"The hell was that?!" snapped Dodge, on edge already. A sheepish looking Captain Zero got out of the shack and climbed onboard Dodge's cab, having been in there to look for medical supplies for his wounds.

"So, are we supposed to go through them, or-?"

"We?!" Splatter laughed. "Not me! You can go through and die if you want, but-"

"ME?! I was talking about you, dimwit!"

"Dimwit?! Oh, don't push me, brother. Don't push me..."

"This is something that the boss should do for himself."

An owl hooted. Zero screamed loudly. Splatter and Dodge looked at each other, wondering how quickly they could kill the good Captain before he gave their position away...and how to still keep it fun.

They didn't notice that Percy had already headed back to warn Thomas.

...

Carlin strode back and forth grimly. "It was Hatt, all right." He said for the fifth time. "He was panicked, you could tell." He groaned. "Damn it, I'd hoped that Boomer had died. I owe him one, he knocked off a pal of mine-"

"Run through what he told you again?" Thomas asked.

Carlin obliged. The basics were that Hatt had been ordered to tell Carlin that the engines should surrender now, so that their deaths were quicker and much less...enjoyable for certain diesels. Everyone had an idea of whom that meant. He had also informed Carlin that Boomer himself didn't care what happened to the Conductors, he would leave them to Diesel 10 and/or Marklin, but he wanted Carlin personally.

Mr Conductor hadn't responded to anything, and appeared to have completely given up on life, the universe and everything. At the moment he sat by the fire, flicking through cards. He was doing his best to keep Lily cheerful. That was his excuse anyway. Personally she looked as though she'd rather go stare at paint dry for an hour than watch this. Carlin emphasized.

"Oh come on, you could try to be useful!"

"Why'd you punch me?"

"Oh, I need a f**king reason to punch someone?"

"Yeah, you kinda do actually, Carlin, that's how normal people work."

"Pfft, since when have I been f**King normal?" Thomas chuckled halfheartedly and conceded the point.

"So, um, it's currently night, Mr Conductor, and I promised my grandpa I would be back by sunset...soooo, how about a ride home? Maybe?"

Mr Conductor looked to Carlin. He shrugged. "Don't look at me, I've got enough gold dust for myself, and that's it. I spent all mine trying to catch up to Junior the Wonder Dog back there. I could send her back on her own, but that would be dangerous."

His cousin glared at him, before trying to think of something as he waxed poetically. "You know, Lily, maybe your grandfather knows where you are already, and can sense it!"

"Oh yes, your grandfather has ESP, apparently."

"He can!" Um...he'll probably think I'm lost. Or in another universe-"

"AMERICA IS NOT IN IT'S OWN UNIVERSE!" shouted Thomas. There was a pause as everyone looked at him oddly, while he calmed down. "Sorry, just...getting real sick of hearing that stuff."

"When have you heard it?"

"Since you got here? You think you're being quiet when you give those long and dramatic monologues about what you're doing every single time? You did about three of them in my cab when I met you alone!"

Carlin nodded. "He does do that. Back at the family reunions, we used to call him Bogart for the same reason. His mind cannot shut up, and that translates to his mouth-"

"I am TRYING to be supportive here! Much more than you are!"

"So, yeah, Lily, I think he can, because I get the feeling that he's been here before a long time ago. I saw a picture of him a while back, on here!"

"What is your grandpa's name, anyway, kid?"

"Burnett."

Carlin stared. "Burnett Stone. You are...Burnett Stone's grand-daughter...I feel old. Does anyone else feel really old? I've got to tell you some stories about him in a better time! God, I'd love to meet him. Actually, no I wouldn't, it would rub in how OLD I am! Because I am, you know. Old!"

"We get it Carlin, no need to go on about it."

"I wish he'd hurry up though." Mr Conductor rubbed his arms to warm himself up. "Haven't told Blabbermouth of Cynicy the Cynic over there, but soon you'll be as weak as I am!"

"Oh trust me, I will never be as weak as you are." Carlin paused. "Wow, even by my standards that was a horrible thing to say. Sorry."

"It's fine, I'm used to it."

"So, um, back on topic, Junior said something about a engine who used to travel on the railroad-"

"Railway." muttered Thomas, rebelliously.

"-And if we could find her, she could fix everything."

"I met her, too!" Carlin sighed. "Yeah, she vanished a whiles back."

"Never to be seen or heard from again."

"She was creepy, mind. Good, but creepy. Like she could snap at any minute."

"Well, I have got something to tell you, Mr C. I've heard train whistles, coming from the mountains."

"On Sodor, a island full of talking trains who have to make their way up the mountains? Never!" Thomas paused. "Oh...oh, you mean where you come from!? Sorry, that was...wow, I am in a salty mood right now, don't know why. Carlin must be rubbing off on me."

"Hey! ...Don't say that like it's a bad thing!" Carlin paused, and looked over to Mr C, who was busy staring off into the distance. "Er, you okay, knucklehead?"

"Mountain..."

"Yes, mountain. That is what we are sitting near." Carlin frowned. "How hard did I hit you?"

"THAT'S IT! That's the second part of the clue!"

"...I don't suppose it's any more helpful than the last part?"

"Stoke up the magic in the mountain, and the Lady will smile!"

Carlin patted Mr C on the back and headed over to join Thomas. "We're doomed." he said, simply.

"Your grandfather could help! But only if he believed that he could!"

"Lady?"

"It's the opposite of a gentle-AAAARGH!" Thomas growled at Lily, who had thrown a stick at him. "Bloody crazy Yank kids!"

...

As Edward arrived at the China Clay Pits, he couldn't help but feel a little disquieted by the silence that fell over the whole area. He didn't even really know why, it just felt wrong to not here the talking and chattering and bickering amongst the workmen.

"And me, of course, I'm not here either."

Edward ignored the product of his imagination as best he could.

"How are you going to tell the twins? Or will you not? I'm curious how you'll do this, mind. I've never been around for a proper death, well, I won't be now, ha! But I've never seen you give them the talk about death. Especially for someone they've worked with all these years."

"Ssssh."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Mavis, nothing." Edward sighed and pulled himself together. "Right then, let's see." He looked at Mavis thoughtfully. "I have a question, Mavis. Do you have any idea where Diesel 10 is at the moment?"

"At the moment? Well, given that he's not at the Smelters, I'd say it's most likely he's headed deeper into Vicarstown."

"Really, why there?"

"There's an old abandoned facility there, among other things, that was responsible for the creation of diesels back in the sixties and seventies. Or so the Fat Director used to say. That's most likely where he'd be resting up, preparing for the big fight."

"Right then." Edward sniffed. "Ah yes, the 'clay' is in fine fettle today!" He moved forward and looked to Bill and Ben. "All right then, lads. Now, while after this we are going to have a serious talk about it...I'm going to need you to set something on fire for me."

For the first time in ages, the twins were stunned into silence.

"What?!" Mavis shouted. "Are you shitting me?!"

"No, I'm deadly serious. God forgive me, we might have to get a little rough fighting these monsters. The Clay, when set on fire, can act as something that can disorient whoever inhales it!"

"Oh great, so our current plan to defeat the hordes of darkness is to get them all HIGH!?"

"Yes, that about sums it up. It is the Sudrian way!" Edward frowned in thought. "So, if we head on out to the...Dieselworks, was it? We can perhaps end this fight before it begins proper!"

"Edward, listen to me! Are you hearing yourself right now?"

"Yes, and I sound like I'm making a lot of sense, thank you!"

"LISTEN TO ME!" Mavis surprised even herself with the volume of her voice. Edward stopped dead in his tracks, and even the twins looked nervous. She swallowed, and in a normal tone of voice, continued. "What is this all about?"

Edward took a deep breath. "All right. ...All right. We can...I suppose I should..." He wet his lips as best as he could.

"Bill? Ben? There's something that you need to know..."

He told them. He managed to do so without using the word 'dead', which was good. BoCo was giving him a massive bit of side-eye throughout it, which was very, very awkward. Mavis made vaguely sympathetic noises, but she was firm.

"We're not going to the dieselworks. You want revenge? Fine, we'll leave the trucks in places where he can find them. But not this. You will die. If he took out those two secret agents, then, no offence, you will stand not a single chance."

Edward sighed. He had to admit that she was right.

But he was going to get him.

One way or another.

...

Stacy Jones was clearing up the desk. Schemer and Billy were arguing about whose fault it was that there were so many papers and candy wrappers scattered around the table (Hint, it wasn't Billy) and so did not notice what was going on outside before Stacy did.

"What in the world?!"

Boomer stormed in. "Ah, Miss Jones, Mr Twofeathers...and whatever the hell you are. Glad to see you're still here. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll assume full control for the time being."

"On who's authority?" Billy snapped.

"My own, naturally."

"I see!" Stacy kept her normal air-hostess smile on her face all the time, even as she reached for the desk. "Well then..."

"If you are thinking of using some kind of panic button or other such claptrap, Miss Jones, I would highly advise against it if you wish to keep both of your hands and your head where they should be."

Stacy smiled, and swung the bat with such fury that for a moment, everyone present thought that she was going to take Boomer's block off completely. As it was, it might have done so, had not Boomer raised his hand up and caught it seconds before hitting him. "Oh, very clever, Miss Jones! Very clever indeed!" He squeezed down hard, and shattered it. "Unfortunately, I think it's time that I showed you just how powerful I am-"

"Pete!"

Boomer paused. "You know what? Hold that thought. Men, take these three into the office. Mr J.B King isn't in tonight, so it should be fine if we leave them in there for the time being. None of you lose sight, mind." He turned, and walked out to the platform.

Burnett and Pete looked at each other for a moment.

"You bastard."

"Oh shut up, Burnett, you bore me so much." Boomer grinned, somewhat wearily and began impersonating the man standing in front of me. "Look at me, I'm Burnett! Butter wouldn't melt in mouth, well gosh darn gee wilikers Tasha, I sure would like to stick my ding-dong-dang in your-"

"You know why I'm here. Where is she?"

"She? Oh, if you mean your girlfriend, she's in the office, under pain of death. Oooh, as a matter of fact, Marklin?"

 **"Ja?"**

"I think we can handle one more death tonight before you head on over to the Island. Go ahead and kill Schemer for me. The one with the curl."

 **"Oh I was hoping I'd get to kill off that one!"** Marklin vanished. Seconds later, the screams started.

Burnett winced and tried to drown out the sounds of Schemer's death. He had more important things to worry about, not to be so callous. "You know damn well who I mean! Where is Lily?"

"Lily? Lil-ee? Wait...oh, is that the girl who was with you the other day? Oh, that's her name! Funny how much she looks like Tasha, you know. Same eyes. Same hair...even got the same sort of attitude. She knows how to put up with your poor attitude."

"WHERE IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER!?"

"Oh, Burnett. Always so damn righteous. You know, if you had just kept your mouth shut, I'd have nothing to work on. But now? You've just told me that she's your grandkid. That right there? That gives me something that we call 'leverage'. Are you going to fight me? Is that the plan?"

"You cocky little-" There was a flash, and Burnett held in his hand a single fireball. He concentrated hard, and it grew bigger, and bigger, until it was the size of a football. He rushed forward, dodging the first blast of lightning thrown by Boomer before hurtling it forward like a shot putt.

Boomer smirked, and stretched out his hand. Instantly, a coil of lightning seemed to be materialize out of nowhere. He gripped it and sent it lashing out like a whip. Fire clashed with lightning for a second, Burnett's eyes widened and he dodged back as the fire raced back towards him. But that put him right in the path of Boomer's whip, and with a roar, the biker flung his hand forward.

The pain when the lightning made contact was excruiating. Burnett screamed aloud. He couldn't help it. With his guard down, Boomer advanced, throwing punch after punch after punch, all magically enhanced. The first almost cracked a rib, the second made a sickening crunching noise when it hit Stone's knee, and the third knocked the hapless fighter off of the platform and onto the rails.

"Look at you. You used to be something, man. I knew I made the right choice. I think I'll leave you here for now, Mr Stone. I don't want your soul contaminating my own supply of magic, do I?" And with that, Boomer walked away.

Which was a mistake. As soon as he went inside, Patch walked out, helped Burnett to his feet and helped him limp on back to Muffle Mountain.

Burnett reached for his phone. As he waited, he smiled in delight at the sight of Shining Time Station, now under his control. "Sir? We're ready if you want to come over to watch the fireworks."

"Certainly. I just want to make one last little address to the engines. I want them to know how badly they have failed." The Fat Director was clearly smiling as he said this.

Boomer grinned, and conjured up an image of the Island of Sodor as it was now.

It wasn't often you got front row seats to the destruction of an entire Island. He wasn't going to waste this opportunity.

...

"Why?! All right? Mr Stone, with the greatest of respect, you're an idiot."

"You've mentioned it several times now, Patch, I think it's sunk in."

"Like your ribs?!" Patch groaned as he leaned over to throw up in the bucket once again. "Hhhhurgh. Oh, I am not good with blood, you're lucky I know how to make a tourniquet or else we'd be screwed!"

"Language."

"Mr Stone, that was stupid of you! You're old! ...Sorry, didn't mean it like that. But seriously, I don't care if you can throw fireballs like no one's business, Mr Boomer is dangerous!" Patch sighed, and looked at the train. "It's about her, isn't it? Why you fell out."

"That and...a lot more."

"I've heard her whistle sometimes. I always assume it's you having a bit of a mental breakdown, which I might not be far off, actually." Patch wiped his brow, and then furiously rewiped it when he realized he was now covered with Burnett's blood.

"So have I, Patch. So have I. And I'll thank you to note that I am not, in fact, having a mental breakdown! ...No, Lady's whistling is entirely of her own making. When I said that she was magic, I wasn't lying."

"I've seen a lot of weird stuff over the past few days, I'm pretty sure that I've accepted it all now- Say, is that a map of the Magic Railroad that's on my map! But...I rode across the same area. It's fading away."

Burnett tapped his hand against the side of the table. "Patch, those railtracks you see in that wheatfield, they aren't...part of the Magic Railroad." He winced and tried not to scream at the sudden pain in his side. "We were on the run when we managed to escape the...creature, I told you about. One of the problems was that because Lady was so badly injured, we couldn't find anywhere safe to land down. So we crashed. We were dropped in the middle of the air into the field. My wife was still unconscious at the time, so she didn't know anything. I managed to get her up into the forest before I stopped, then Tasha and me took her up into the mountains, once piece at a time." He groaned. "But you are right. The railroad does need Lady. Now, more than ever, really. I don't know the secret to it, she never told me that particular fact."

"Because of Lily?"

"No, because of Mr Magoo! Yeah, because of Lily.." He rubbed his hand through his hair. "You're right though. I am far too old for this. If you could take a look outside, I'd appreciate that."

"Of course. Try not to go on a temper tantrum again!"

"Oh...hush!"

...

The trucks turned and hissed as Douglas drew nearer to the yard. Douglas was in pain, his buffers were hurting like hell and only the mild sedative that the Works Diesel had cooked up under pressure was stopping him from doing a James and giving up.

"Who is it?" came the creaking voice of the Spiteful Brakevan.

"It is Douglas." growled . "Sir, I am not sure-"

"Allow him through, all of you. If there is a problem, then you can easily outnumber him." As the trucks parted like the Red Sea, Douglas inhaled sharply. It seemed silly, but he had never quite had the pleasure of meeting the supposed successor of that brakevan who had, so long ago, nearly ruined his chances of living on the Island of Sodor.

The brakevan shuddered, letting out a slight hiss of pain. Clearly the attack on the yard had managed to injure the so called leader of the trucks. Douglas almost commented about the Brakevan's face, but he stopped. It looked exactly as it did when he had last seen it. There was a large impact mark in the left cheek, one eye was almost permanently shut and the entire thing looked as though it had been stitched back together by a drunk surgeon. It was truly horrible to look at.

"So...here ye are. Before we start...what are ye, exactly?"

"A brakevan."

Ask a stupid question...

"All right then, smartarse. Who are ye? The Spiteful Brakevan who was a real pain in the backside for me and Donal? Or some arse who just wanted to look big among the trucks!"

Rickety almost lunged forward at this, but the Brakevan hushed him. "A fair question. And the truth is, I do not know. I recall waking up one day, and being rebuilt...but aside from that..." The Brakevan seemed to shrug.

Douglas was about to move on, when a thought struck him. "Are ye sure ye weren't built on yon Other Railway?" In the silence that followed, he caught the hint of a smirk beneath the mask, and pressed on. "See, my friend Toby had a friend too, who was rebuilt there in some horrible and confusing way. Funny thing is, he was returned to you Island around about the same time as ye exited from the shadows."

"Oh you are clever. As clever as I remember. Yes, they took me back to the Other Railway. It was hard, you see, because we brakevans are made of wood, and wood is far easier to replicate than metal. But they managed it, eventually, and I agreed to return here to spy on them."

"And then?"

"I broke free. I killed those who tried to keep me in line. You and I have differences, Caledonian, but we both want the same thing. Safety. When I died the first time, the trucks had lost the leaders of the families, the end of a era. I thought I could bring that back, and give us some kind of future. And yet no matter how hard I have worked over the last five years to reverse or change the rapid decline that we have undergone from demons to minor annoyance in the side of the engines, I have failed."

He coughed and banged the buffers. "But you. Why do you come?"

"Because there is a great threat to the Island. And all of us, steam, diesel, truck and coach, are going to have to work together to take down this bastard. I've already heard tell of the old trucks-"

"Led by that S.C. Ruffey." The Brakevan growled. "And why should we help you?"

"Because here's the thing, ye silly old sod. Ye want to give the trucks a future? Fine. I don't care if yer entire purpose in existing is a bloody contradiction! Do what ye will. But if ye do not help us against these forces of darkness, there shall be nothing for ye. Nothing. And when no one remembers the Troublesome Trucks? That'll be on ye head too."

There was silence for a moment. Then the brakevan sighed.

"What do you suggest we do?"

...

The main engines gathered at the Grotto besides Thomas. Percy was the last to arrive bar Edward. He very quickly stammered through an explanation of what was going on. "I think we've got it! The buffers, the way to find this lost engine of ours!"

"Brilliant!"

"Always knew we could count on you!"

"Shut up, Gordon, you never said that!"

"So, Thomas." Percy looked Thomas in the eye. "I think it's probable that we get Lily back to her grandfather sooner rather than later. If Diesel 10 finds out that we know where it is, we're going to be even deeper in it than we are now."

"Which would be great and all." grunted Edward, as he arrived. "Save for one problem."

"Yeah. How can she get back there without gold-dust?!" Thomas rolled his eyes. "I mean, I understand that we're following the bullshit rules of some weird Lilliputian society, but still."

"If only the lost engine was here."

"Well he's not, mate." Carlin walked over and sat on Percy's buffer beam. "Hello old chum. It's been a bloody while, hasn't it?" Percy grinned widely, perhaps not the best thing to do in such a situation, but still.

Mr Conductor suddenly sat upright. "Unless..."

"Unless?" Thomas had a really bad feeling about this.

"Thomas, would you take Lily?"

There was silence for a bit.

"So to clarify, you've just said that only the lost engine can go along this Magic Railway-"

"Railroad-"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID! Only this 'Lady' can go along the magical macguffin tracks to wherever it is that Lily needs to go, and then turn around and say "Oooh! Thomas! Let's send you on there! Just for funsies!". Am I right? Because if you're asking me, it sounds like a shit plan."

"Edward, come on!" Gordon said, beginning to sound a little on edge. "What other choice do we have? Besides, you went on there twice, and you look-"

"Like hell? Because trust me, I feel it! And besides, since I went through the first time, I've been seeing things!" Edward pointedly ignored BoCo giving him a rather quizzical stare. "And you want to risk Thomas's life!"

"Oh come on, the little puffball can handle it!"

"Can he?!" Edward looked angry, incredibly so. "You seem awfully confident about that, but you haven't volunteered, have you?!"

"God, what is with you since you got back?! You've been acting like someone's died!" Gordon was so angry that he didn't notice how Edward stiffened somewhat. Duck did, and he gulped. "God, if BoCo was here-"

"BOCO'S DEAD!"

You could cut the silent atmosphere with a knife. Edward swallowed several times and took deep, huge breathes, before returning to look at the others. "BoCo...is dead." It seemed so...final when he said it. He looked over to the other siding, but the other BoCo was gone. "...So you'll forgive me if I don't want to see someone else I care about die tonight, all right?"

"Do I get a say in this?!" Thomas's snappy retort caused both blue engines to become quieter. "Cause I'd actually like to decide what happens next, because I'll be the one actually doing it!" He looked over to Mr Conductor. "Go through the buffers? What if I can't use my wheels?"

"What if you can?"

"Not helpful, you fat f**k." muttered Carlin.

"What if it's dark?"

"It will be, I think, for a while."

"And cold?"

"Probably."

"And how the hell do I get back?"

"You'll find a way. Because you're a really useful engine."

Thomas looked at Edward. For a moment he was silent. "What do you think I should do?"

Edward grappled for a moment with feelings, dark feelings. On the one hand, he knew that if Thomas went through the buffers, there was a chance that perhaps he might...not come back. But on the other hand...He steeled himself. "What I think and want don't matter. This isn't an order, Thomas. Sir Topham Hatt isn't going to tell you to do this. Gordon's not ordering you. Hell, I'm not even going to order it. This is all your choice now, Thomas. Whatever decision you make, I'll help as best I can."

Thomas went quiet. And then.

"I'll do it. I'll try."

Edward exhaled as Lily smiled wearily. "All right then." He looked thoughtful. "It's best that we take the long way around, I think, Thomas. Over the watermill and through Old Bailey's station. But we'll need someone to distract Splatter and Dodge-"

"Leave that to us!" Percy said, with determination.

"Why us?!" wailed James.

"Why not?!"

Edward nodded. "That's fair." He looked around at the assembled engines. "Apologies for...that. I've not been feeling my best recently, and...well, it all just sort of came out."

Duck coughed. "Loo, it's all been a rough day, how about we-"

Suddenly, something appeared above the sky. Amongst the screams and gasps, Duck tilted his head somewhat. "Is that a time portal?"

Carlin looked intently. "No. No, I think this is more...a viewing screen. They're showing us what the hell is going on at the Other Railway. I imagine it's on every television set there is at the moment!"

...

"Good evening residents of the Island of Sodor. This is the Fat Director speaking to you live.

I believe it is time that we got real with each other. After all, for the last fourteen or fifteen years, I have been sending sleeper agents, expert manipulators, tools, warriors and all sorts onto your Island in an attempt to destroy it. Well, congratulations! You have fought off all of my best efforts to quietly take you down without the outside world noticing! Bravo!

But now the time for subtle has stopped. The time for endless questions about my plans and why I am doing this for has stopped. The time for you to keep on existing has stopped. And news flash, the time for the steam engine as a whole stopped long, LONG ago!

That is what I cannot stand about you Sudrians. Everywhere else gave up. With the exception of a few misguided dreamers with wild hopes and the refusal to embrace the new future created by people of vision, the entire world looked at the steam engine and said it was time to change! It was the same with the horse and carriage, but you'll never hear anyone lament that those days are gone! But no. No, no, no, the Sudrians had to be stubborn and not only keep the steam engines in working order, but they celebrated them! Celebrated them in all their glorious uselessness! Really useful!? You make me laugh, if the Island had really wanted to be useful, you'd be gone now. Permanently. To make way for a better and brighter tomorrow.

I make this promise in deadly seriousness. If we meet again, it will only be so that I can execute, on live teleision, the final pathetic members of that idiotic group known simply as the Fat Controller's Engines. To give you an idea, I give you Ivo Hugh. A background engine, whom no one here has gotten to know. But though he is a stranger to you, what I am about to show will give you all a very good idea of what fate awaits you."

The Fat Director gestured, and with great gusto, the Fakes moved in to surround the hapless engine. What happened next, no one knows...and no one wants to know. It was bloody, that was all you need to know.

"Be seeing you. Very soon."

And the sky returned to it's normal state. And all the television screens returned to black.

But if the Fat Director had stayed just a moment longer before departing to Shining Time, he would have seen Ivo Hugh, still twitching, begin to slowly crawl across the floor.

...

Some of the engines gasped. Some screamed. And some just stared up in horror, Duck amongst them. Edward looked around, his features settling into a grim expression. "So be it. Right then!"

"Edward, now what?"

"Now what?"

"Thomas may have been put in temporary charge by Sir Topham Hatt, but still. He's going to be gone for a bit, which leaves you, as the number two, in charge!" Gordon interrupted Mr Conductor before he had even said anything. "And no, you don't count!"

"Awwww."

Edward looked around at the gathered engines. They all looked terrified and such, but all of them looked to him now. "Do you all trust me to lead you to the best of my abilities?" There was no hesitation, not even from James or Henry. They all nodded briefly. "All right then."

He let out a long sigh.

"Right. Donald, how's Douglas doing?"

"Got word before I came here! The wee son of a gun has managed to convince yon trucks to work with us in any such battle that happens! Do ye want me to go meet with him or something?"

"That would be helpful. After that, I am ordering you and Mavis to head down to the docks. We need to get anyone who is incapable of fighting or who does not wish to onto the Fulton Ferry to begin evacuations. Cranky can help you, I think. Now, James, Percy, I'm going to need you to try and draw Splodge into the center of the Island, towards the China Clay Pits, we've got a surprise there, haven't we, Mave?" Mavis nodded, with grim glee. "Okay, now then. Gordon, Henry, you're our heavy hitters. I'm going to need you to hit hard and hit fast. But on no circumstances, do you attack Diesel 10. I've thought it through, and that's pretty much throwing your life away. Is there any chance we can get the Skarloey engines prepared?"

"Crovan's Gate might be useful as a base of actions, considering it's one of the few areas with both types of engines." Henry suggested. Edward nodded, seeing the sense in that.

"I'll get to Trevor, see if he can rustle up support amongst the non-rail vehicles, with the Horrid Lorries and George on the loose, we'll have to get all the help we can get! Duck, are you able to fight?"

"I suppose-"

"Good. And Oliver?"

"Yon Works Diesel thinks he might be able to, but it's still a bit up in the air. Ollie is willing to try though, nae wanting to back down from a challenge!" Donald sounded very impressed. Edward was too, but didn't show it.

"How do you reckon that they're going to get through, though?" Mr Conductor asked. "Because if they don't have control of the Magic Railroad just yet, the only they'll get in is if they have ships or they use the Vicarstown Bridge. But that'll take ages for all of them to get across."

"First of all, railway! And secondly, I may have the answer to that. Before he died-" Toby remarked "-Bertram told me something of a machine that could assist with the invasion somehow. He didn't specify what, because I don't think he knew and also he had the very good excuse of being dead, but perhaps it has something to do with that?"

"Wait, wait, I've got it!" Carlin sprang up, looking alert. "Now, I've repeated the story time and time again, but before I went back in time, I visited two places. One was an old shop to get some of my duds back and to give me a chance to catch a breath before they sent me off on a magical mystery tour. And the second place, which they said was merely to show me how far they were willing to go, was Castle Duckula in Transylvania."

"I still can't believe that all this happened."

"Oh, believe good sir! Believe! But while we were there, I noticed that someone had stolen the clock that the castle used to teleport from place to place. Now, according to the men in charge, this was because the clock itself could allow the user to send objects to a completely different space in time. You could go from Transylvania to Pennsylvania in an instant! Now, assuming that it can go that far, it doesn't take a genius to work out that they might be using it to send their army all over the Island. The clock is a teleporter from Star Trek, essentially!"

"Oh shit, why did it get so complicated!?" Percy wailed.

"All right then. We'll deal with that when we see them. Now, here's what I think we should do. We get the injured off first, barring those who have been patched up already. Now, if we make Crovan's Gate our main base of operations, that should give us a good spot to fight from."

"But what with!?" Gordon sounded worried. "I'm all for battering and biffing, but that's not going to cut it against magic."

"Which is where dear Montague's unusual features come into play?"

"What?"

"I'm not saying we have time to fully upgrade ourselves, with all the off road capabilities or some such. But what I am suggesting is that Mr Conductor and Carlin assist the Works Diesel in bolting down whatever weapons we can find onto our buffers. If we can gain control of them, that might give us an advantage." Edward turned to Thomas. "And not to put any pressure on you, but the rest really is up to you, Thomas!"

"No pressure at all!" Thomas squeaked.

...

"I saw him! I saw him, Dodge!" Splatter laughed hysterically as they rushed after Percy and a wailing James. Dodge rolled his eyes, but still followed. They might as well have some fun with this.

They failed to notice as Thomas passed through, nervously chuffing his way along the line. "Ohhhhhhhkay, don't panic, don't panic at all, just keep moving just keep moving, I'll get you home safely, Lily!"

"Thomas?"

"Yeah, Edward?"

"...Good luck."

"Thank you." And off he went, quickly, to avoid getting sucked into staying behind. As he travelled along the line, he and Lily stayed silent for a bit. And then-

"WATCH OUT THIS WAY PARTNER!"

"Oh god, why is there a tumbleweed talking to me? No, clearly I'm just so scared that I'm hallucinating that there's an American tumbleweed here that has decided to make contact with me!"

"All the weird stuff, Thomas, and that's what gives you cause for concern!?"

"You'd be surprised what the average day on this Island is like!"

"Right this way to bufferville! It's a walk in the park! You're on your own from here on out little buckaroo!"

"Here we go Lily!" He raced on, shut his eyes and heard Lily take a deep breath. "LittleenginescandobigthingsOHHHHHHSHITWHATAMIDOING-?!"

And...they were through!

...

"Well...that is that." Edward said, grimly. Already the atmosphere had changed, everyone seemed to realize that this was the chance to truly be really useful, for once. He looked around at the assembled engines. "Right. Now, we have to make sure that Thomas and Lily get enough time to find a way out of the mess we're in. If we can win the day, that's great, but at all costs we need to hold the line while they're gone. Understood?"

A chorus of whistles, horns and cheers greeted this. Once they had quietened down, Edward continued. "Right then. So let me lay down a couple of things right here and now. If you see someone from the Other Railway approaching you, be it steam, diesel, non-rail or truck, we're going to have to assume that they want us dead or captured. So, likewise, give them hell. Carlin and the Works Diesel will begin bolting down as many weapons as you can find. Got it? Right. Now, the main base of operations will be at Crovan's Gate. Once that falls, any engine who can should make their way over Vicarstown Bridge and try to get out of here. We'll be focusing our energies on defending the outer rim of the Island. The Little Western, Vicarstown, Crovan's Gate, and any and all harbors. Chances are that they will break through our defenses, though, so you'll be scattered to every station and shed that we can think of."

Everyone watched as Edward transformed into a tight thinking military leader. It was inspiring, if not a bit unnerving.

"On no account do any of you approach Diesel 10 on your own, or try and go head to head with him. You use your long range weapons if you have to, otherwise you only attack when there are two of you. And that goes especially for you, Gordon! One last thing. No matter what we've done to each other, no matter what the past or the future holds, on this day, we are one. We're going to show them what being REALLY BLOODY USEFUL MEANS!"

The cheer that arose would have deafened anyone else around there.

...

One by one, engines, trucks and vehicles of all shapes and sizes lined up for the Works Diesel to help fit them with weapons. Most gained guns from the large stockpile that Duck had found near Davidson's old hideout, guns of varying sizes and quality. Some were old and used muskets, others were more modern and used hard and cold bullets.

The Skarloey engines looked at each other sadly. Peter Sam kept looking back at Duke, who seemed lost in his own world after what had happened to Bertram, or Smudger, or whoever it was.

"Boyos!" Skarloey shouted, and Edward headed on over. "The Gunpowder wagons! We can use them, worst comes to worst!"

"This is why you're in charge, Skar!" Edward said, admiringly. "Stay safe, all of you, okay? Just...fight only if you have to. Don't go out of your way to cause trouble." Here he glared at Duncan and Sir Handel, who tried to look as though they had no idea what they were talking about and failed drastically.

Edward moved on over to Trevor, and without a word, started talking. "Trev, if I had arms, I would hug you. I really want to hug someone right now."

"Edward, they told me about BoCo. I'm so sorry." Trevor looked sad. "And about the Vicar. That was a cruel trick they pulled."

"Yes, but we will avenge them when the time is right, don't you worry. But there is one last thing I must ask of you. Try to stay alive, all right? Just...a selfish request, I know, but I don't want to lose another one of my best friends."

"No worries. I have Bertie and Mr Cheshire Cat to keep me company!"

"We won't let harm come to him." said Terrance, his smile seeming a bit more genuine this time.

"Thank you."

...

 **"Soon, Marklin?"**

 **"Soon, Ten...what's wrong with Dodge?"**

Diesel 10 looked over to Dodge, who appeared to be laughing hysterically at something on the ceiling. A large truck full of china clay was right by him, currently burning up. **"Oh. Um...you know what, I'll get back to you on that one!"**

 **"I'm so glad we can't get high...well, most of the time I am. That American accent really robs you of the intimidation factor."**

 **"I have noticed. I can't wait until all of this...ALL of this, is over."**

 **"Let it begin!"**

 **"No, Marklin. LET it END!"**

And they laughed and laughed and laughed.

...

The last moments of quiet eked away.

If one was looking from a bird eye's view, they would have seen a huge seething swarm of black moving across the Island, as the trucks marched out on their grim errand. The lighthouse was shut down temporarily to make sure that all ships coming in were blinded or hampered somewhat. The anti-aircraft guns were started up, preparing for any aerial attack that there was. The Fulton Ferry was prepped, ready to evacuate any who could not fight as best they could.

The Island itself seemed to take one last huge breath, before it was to be thrust into the most chaotic, confusing and disorderly events that it had ever faced before. And that was saying a lot.

The Fat Director sat back and watched. "This should be fun."

"Hell yeah" Boomer agreed.

The battle was about to commence.

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** The three Conductors are a ton of fun to write. I hope you enjoy the interactions in this chapter as well! The genderbent universe, along with several others, are ones that I might explore at a later date, so I'm glad everyone liked them.

 **Game-Watch:** Yep. Pretty much.

 **Kamen Rider** **Necrom** : Yeah, and there's more I haven't gone into yet!

 **Bronze Shield** : I will be doing things with both characters! Especially with the big battles coming up, I want to involve even the minor characters during that sort of thing.

 **trestonfortson2016:** Fingers crossed it will be! Yeah, Carlin helps make the story advance a lot better, hence my focus on him in the previous series.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** You're right. Essentially my idea for Edward is that out of all the engines (Bar one who I'll keep a surprise for now) if he ever snapped, he'd be shocking capable at being evil. And yeah, the sass is great, if only because a lot of Thomas's scenes between Lily's arrival and the trip through the railroad are just him saying random things that don't add much to the story. So, might as well embrace the madness! And Carlin is just acting out my fantasies at the moment, considering that most of the stupid stuff comes from the Conductors.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Smacking Junior around has turned out to be more fun than I could have imagined.

 **TrainManiac:** Everything is picking up on the craziness side of things! Yeah, Butch's characteristic is being a bit of a ham, felt as though it would make up for not having any real substantial role until Season 15, and even then...Thanks for reminding me of his relationship, I had completely forgot I had put that in there! Oh, silly me. I'm curious to see what you think about the tumbleweed.

 **Reid007:** Thanks! That was something I wanted to go for. Carlin's return was something I felt was very nice, and I enjoyed writing his interactions with Edward too.

 **AaronCottrell97:** That just about sums up last chapter in a few words! Carlin being back on Sodor is great, gives me a chance to get really sarcastic.

 **UGX7:** That is possible, the button does do that sometimes. Will edit as soon as I can! Gordon is being egotistical primarily because it's a stressful situation and he's trying to deal with it in his own way. Edward's sort of hallucinating BoCo being there as a coping mechanism at the moment, that's all. Yeah, that was kind of what I was going for with Lily and Patch! And it'll tie in later.

-Let's start off with the tumbleweed. Which is without doubt the weirdest thing in this movie, and that says a lot. See, other parts i can chalk up to Shining Time's looseness when it comes to magic and reality and such forth. So if it was in the Shining Time portions, I'd understand. But no. It's in the Thomas sections. It gets no explanation. While I have jokingly claimed it to be a hallucination on the parts of the engines, I have come up with a quick idea for it that maybe I'll get into more.

-Douglas and the Spiteful Brakevan confronting each other was something I have always wanted to do since I decided to bring the SB back into the story. So for the record, this SB is the original one, he just got reconstructed like Smudger. The reason that he wasn't sent back immediately after his destruction in Season 2 was because of his nature as being made of wood, compared to the metal of most engines.

-Speaking of which, my reference to the end of an age with regards to the trucks? That is just something that I personally feel happened after Season 5 or so, really. Don't get me wrong, the trucks are still troublesome in later seasons, it's fine. But it's just that a lot of the menace of the earlier seasons was drained away round about that time, it was rarer for them to go completely out of control and wreck stuff. Season 1 gave them that intimidating look, Season 2 had A Close Shave to show the real danger, Seasons 3 and 4 had them at their malicious best...even Season 5 had some nasty stuff where it showed how far they were willing to off themselves just to spite the engines. Afterwards, mind? They just seem like playground bullies. So yeah, that's what the Brakevan is going on about.

-Yes, I told you I wasn't just including a clock for random! Some of you will recall that right before setting off on his journey, Carlin visited Emily's (Bagpuss) shop and Castle Duckula. While the first served a purpose (Giving him back several of his Mr Conductor related items), Duckula's castle was never really brought up again. Until now, that is. The clock in that show was able to transport the castle to any point on the planet that the user wished it to, hence it's inclusion as part of the machine used to teleport the Other Railway people to the Island. That's one Chekhov's Gun fired!

-And speaking of guns, you'll recall subtle hints dropped throughout the series of Hatt purchasing things like anti-aircraft guns and preventive measures in case of the Cold War and Communism and all that junk? All of that was to set up the fact that the Island is ready in case of an attack, hence the references here to how Edward is planning on defending the Island.

-For the record, Ivo Hugh is not yet dead. While he won't be playing a major part in the story any time soon, I can confirm that I do have something planned for him. I might as well reveal that he was originally slated to die in the Battle of Sodor that was coming up, but I felt that with the lack of character work I'd done on him, it wasn't as emotionally effective.

-Originally, it was planned for the kids from the original Shining Time show to be taken hostage, but I decided to cut them as they really didn't add anything to the story. I also had Schemer killed off...not because of any malicious reason or anything, I just figured that I wanted to have Marklin do something.

-Stacy Jones's moment of awesome with the baseball bat? I'm really happy I gave her said moment, Didi Cohn is the best part of the Shining Time scenes that was transferred from the TV show. I also used to have a teeny-tiny crush on her.

-Thomas making the choice for himself is something that I had been wanting to show more. I feel as though this was where the movie missed a trick. Thomas isn't doing this because he's been ordered to by anyone, he's doing this because he wants to help Lily out. That was really something I felt could have made for an awesome scene in the movie. And you'll be seeing more of what happened with Thomas and Lily next time, where you'll also get a quick sneak peak of several other universes that I have planned!

-On that note, next time...WE GO DARKER.


	137. The Magic Railroad: Part 7

**Part 7: The Drums of War  
**

Boomer wasn't going to brag, but his powers were so massive right now that he felt he could do anything he wanted. He decided to test that theory out. He snapped his fingers.

Everyone in Shining Time were carrying on their lives so well that if they did notice that the entire valley was now being ripped from Gaia herself and being lifted up by magic, they didn't react that badly to it. That was just how it went down. They also didn't react when the surrounding countryside taken with them became covered with massive expanses of railroad track.

"HOLY SHIT! I'VE GOT THE POWER"

"Calm down, Boomer." The Fat Director was getting agitated. "Why hasn't the Malevolence reported in yet?"

"Give it a minute, boss." Boomer cackled to himself, and snapped his fingers once more. A time portal opened up besides him. "Let's get a nice look at all that carnage, shall we?"

"...Why?"

"Why what?"

"How can you do that?"

"The story said I can. Nuff said."

"...You're a very odd man, Mr Boomer."

And so everyone in the station turned to watch the massive rip in time like it was a Saturday morning, and there was a new episode of Roobarb on.

It was a weird day.

...

One of the technicians looked over to what remained of the Iron Circle. "Bad news sir. Axel's just informed us that there are a bunch of diesels heading out way. And they don't look happy!"

"Define a bunch?"

There was a pause. "About twenty, sir. All massive, if I'm reading this right." The technician gulped. "It doesn't look good."

"We've got to get out of here. No matter the cost!"

Scotsman rolled his eyes at this. "Thanks, Truro, whatever would we do without you?"

"Scotsman, sir, I'm serious!" Truro looked around, clearly thinking. "Right then, now, all humans should evacuate the building and try and make it to the Bluebell Railway. Stepney may not be answering his calls, but I'm sure that he and the others there will be more than happy to take care of you while we deal with this. Are all defenses readied?"

"Yes sir, but..."

"But what?"

"...The main HQ was supposed to be the most well defended and best kept secret in the UK. They walked through our defenses like they were paper." The technician didn't flinch under the glare from Truro. "So, in this somewhat worse off area...Yeah, I don't see that working."

Truro muttered something under his breath. "Fine. Scotsman, Etienne...I don't feel like living forever. If we die now, we die in a blaze of bloody glory! Who's with me?"

No one was, willingly. But there was very little they could do in such a situation, so they waited for the first breach. As they did so, Scotsman glanced over to the corner, where Derek had passed out after drinking the entire supply of oil that they had been given. His important information had, it turned out, been nothing of the kind. At least, if it was important, it had long since been filtered through the nonsense that was Derek's mind to become completely incomprehensible.

The first breach came soon enough, as Dodge rolled in, his eyes already flickering with delight at getting to play with the Iron Circle. "Kill them all!" He snarled. "But leave Truro to me!"

The two sides charged.

...

Thomas the Tank Engine felt as though he was being torn apart.

It is hard to put into words what exactly happened the second that he hit the buffers. The best way to describe this feeling is that Thomas's entire equilibrium had been turned upside down, back to front, inside out and crumpled, and then rearranged again in an equally as painful manner. Now imagine all of that, WHILE being on every kind of high you can.

His senses failed him. Taste, touch, smell, sound, and even sight, were of no use to him. He saw colours that had no names, shades that he had never even thought of before, he perceived and understood nothing.

And then suddenly, he was on the other side of the buffers. He gasped, and retched, but luckily he had nothing to vomit up. And once he was as recovered as he was likely to be, the first words out of his mouth were "Lily?! You okay?!"

"I guess!" She sounded shaky, on edge. Thomas didn't blame her. He took a deep breath, and looked around.

He was still on rails. Except these rails seemed to be different. They felt wrong. Like they had been burned, or corrupted somehow. Around him, he saw what to him looked like crystalline trees, bushes, plants, reaching over and creating the sensation of a tunnel around him. Then again, as he had just proved, his senses weren't that reliable. Beyond the strange and eerie blue light that shone upon him, he just had a sense that there was unending darkness stretching away. And through the gaps in the trees, he saw things that could be, or could have been, or might be.

There was a universe where he was painted in the teal colors of the old railway he had used to work on, in Brighton. He saw another where three great mechanical...things that resembled Gordon, Henry and James strode across the Island, towering over the humans. In another, there were two strange creatures talking to him and four other engines in what appeared to be Japanese. _My word_ , he thought, _what was I smoking there?_

More disturbing were a series of images of the seven main engines of the fleet smirking coldly at a group of humans who appeared to be chained up. All of them looked as though they were very much enjoying this new found power, especially with the Nineteen Eighty Four-esque posters behind them.

And then there was a universe where James and Edward appeared to be tongue kissing. Thomas vowed to remove the image from his brain post-haste.

The worst part was the sound. It sounded like the entire railway was whispering, hissing, murmuring. And nothing they were saying sounded good.

"Right, well then…." Thomas looked back longingly towards where he had come from. "I suppose we must move forwards."

"Yes."

Nothing happened for a moment.

"You first, Thomas."

"Oh…right." And laughing it off as best he could, Thomas started forwards. "Oh, so what if it's dark, and cold, and bumpy, and it feels like I've just stepped into hell! I am not afraid!"

"Then why are you shaking?!"

"I just said it was cold, didn't I!? That's why!" Thomas did a double take as he reached a set of points. "Hang on, isn't that the missing coal truck!? I wonder if I'll get into trouble for that."

"Coal truck? Sure you don't mean coal car?"

"Bloody yanks."

"But seriously….something Mr Conductor said. Stoke up the magic in the mountain! It's a clue to his gold dust!"

"Well that is the purpose of coal, to help us stoke up and make steam. So, you think we should go back and get it?"

"Put it this way, it can't hurt."

Thomas growled and continued onwards despite this. "I've had it right up to here with Mr Bloody Conductor and his bloody gold dust! I hope the others are having less trouble than we are."

…

The first that any of the engines heard of the actual first line was when U.L.P, the truck, noticed several large ships in the distance. These were no ordinary ships; these were proper military ones. A small amount of them were heading over towards the burned out wreck of Knapford Harbor, but the vast majority were making, much to the horror of every truck there, towards Bluff's Cove.

Quickly, the news was passed up the line as best they could, til at last it reached Edward at Crovan's Gate. The engine was firm, and quickly ordered that the turrets were to begin firing on the boats the second that they beached.

And then came even worse news.

"They've got through Vicarstown!" shouted out a horrified Rusty. "They're going to be held up by the trucks there for the moment, but that'll never last!"

"Right, listen, we've got to hold this section or else that's it! Henry, Douglas, quickly now, head on over and see what you can-"

Which was when the first bomb dropped.

...

KNAPFORD HARBOR.

"What the hell is that?!"

Donald turned around rather quickly on the turntable. His face suddenly seemed to drain of all color as he saw the massive fireball arising from the general direction of Crovan's Gate. "My god!" he half-whispered, half-shouted. "They've got bombers!"

The flashing lights of the Other Railway's own personal air force briefly illuminated the docks in the brightest light possible. Using the old harbor had been a trick by Edward to try and get the injured out somewhat safely. No one would have checked the old burnt out remains of the harbor, and that was for sure. Donald would laugh in his face the next time he saw him.

"Activate the anti-air turrets!" snapped Mavis. The trucks did so, and as the tell-tale sound of bombers began to drift down from overhead, the turrets turned as one towards the sound and began to fire again and again.

"Ach, ye cannae hold them off forever! It'd be easier if we had some humans to help with the loading up!"

"Well we don't!" snapped Cranky. "That's the last lot of coaches!"

And then one of the bombers got lucky, as it dropped its cargo. A red saddle tank was rushing through, pushing a line of trucks to try and hold the line. He had no chance. Within seconds his body was merely a charred scattering of metal. This seemed to galvanize the others to action, as they began to move out. Cranky swung his hook deliberately towards the lucky bomber, bringing it down into the Sodor Shipping Co building.

The light was so blinding that for a moment no one was able to really see anything properly. But then it cleared, and with a roar, the bombers fell back for a moment.

A sigh of relief had only halfway escaped Donald's lips when he suddenly realized that there were far more diesels than there should be. And oh my, these diesels looked wrong. Black paint, black wheels, black side rods, and some sort of mask over their faces, leaving only hard, cold eyes behind a visor. With a grimace, Donald felt the attached gun twitch a little. He took a deep breath-

-and fired.

...

"Come on, come on, why are you so sure that this is the fastest way there?!"

"Ach, dinnae argue, man!"

"I work with James and Gordon for a living, I'm afraid that we have a problem there!" Henry spotted a signal box. "Listen, you head over there, I need to make sure that they're okay up at the quarry! Good hunting, jock!"

"Aye! And the same to ye, sassanach!" Douglas took off in the general direction of the Vicarstown area, while Henry quickly had the points divert him through the valley towards Anopha. As he rushed across, he became aware that the rails were beginning to get rather hard to rely on. The branch-lines weren't meant for main-line engines usually, but in this case, he feared it would be the only way. As he rushed on, he watched as the planes began to circle around the old harbor. Thank God Brendam was still in one piece, he thought.

He had just crossed the tiered bridge when he heard a very odd sound. Ahead there were a set of points, and as he rushed towards the section that would take him across the watermill and into the quarry, he saw three diesels, the same size as BoCo, rush towards him. Frantically, he made sure to swerve to the left, just as the first diesel narrowly clipped his tender. As he listened to their curses, he raced on, past the watermill, until at last, he spotted the level crossing.

"NOW, BERTIE!"

Bertie the Bus had been waiting there, having had the same idea as Henry. With a roar of his engine, he rushed across the road just as Henry cleared the crossing. Gritting his teeth, Bertie slammed through the crossing gate, slamming directly into the first diesel. With a grunt of pain, the diesel collapsed, blocking the track even as Bertie hurried backwards from the incoming henchmen.

All he could think was to get back to the rest of the main non-railers, then maybe, just maybe, they stood a chance!

...

When the light had finally died down, Edward was able to open his eyes again. The bomb had landed remarkably close to them. The bridge above them was almost completely vaporized, just a few hanging bits of masonry left now. The Skarloey gang looked at each other in terror, and Edward suddenly realized that they didn't have long before the entire area was covered in Other Railway staff.

"TAKE COVER! TRUCKS! FORWARD!"

Trucks rushed from the yard. All sorts. Open top, cattle wagons, box wagons, vans, salt wagons, break vans, narrow and standard gauge alike, all roaring towards the oncoming diesel army. Now completely with the permission of the other engines, they lunged at the diesels, snapping their teeth and throwing themselves into their gears, hoping to do some damage at least, or to slow them down. The enemy wasn't expecting this, clearly, and the first wave were quickly dealt with. Edward didn't let that get to him though, but he did let out a whoop briefly.

"That's it! Good lads! Give em hell!" Edward backed up. "All right, Bill, Ben, anyone you find, unleash all manner of hells upon them!"

"You're telling us to ACTUALLY be naughty?"

"You're bloody right I am! NOW!"

"SIR!" Bill would have snapped a salute, had he arms. Instead, he and Ben immediately rushed from the remains of the bridge and towards the open line. "Ben! The Clay Pits!"

Edward looked around for the number four engine. He needed him now more than ever, and it was a sign of how bad things were that he wasn't joking in the slightest. "Now, Gordon, I-"

But Gordon was gone.

...

The main line had never known something like it. As Gordon rushed through Knapford, he was aware of the fact that there were more and more diesels heading towards the big station. Not on his bloody watch. He picked up speed, so much speed that it looked like it was physically hurting him.

The first diesel turned somersaults in the air, the second was bowled into a wall, the third was knocked into the sticky wagons of tar that had been left behind. The others seemed to scarper, or some of them did, the remainder headed for the station itself. But they too were soon surrounded, by the Spiteful Breakvan's lot, who promptly battered them to pieces.

And all the while, Gordon thundered on, his anger building up in him like a storm. Some unlucky trucks were smashed to pieces as the express engine rolled on by. He wasn't sure if they were on his side or theirs, but he didn't care. All he could think was that he was going to end this one way or another. Diesel 10 was his! He was the fastest, and the best, and the express engine, and he didn't back away from petty tin pot tyrants! He'd shown Hitler, he'd sure as hell show Ten!

For a moment, he almost stopped as he raced through the Ballahoo tunnel, at the sight of several unfortunate engines who had been unable to get out of the way, completely gutted and spilled open. But he carried on, gritting his teeth as he moved along the open line.

...

Back on the mainland, the battle was actually going well.

The Duchess of Hamilton smacked aside the diesels, and even as they got back up, she grimly focused on keeping moving, let them wear themselves out before attacking again. Mallard and Green Arrow darted about the place, using sudden attacks to slam diesels into the wall again and again, taking more and more of them out. Etienne let loose electric charge after electric charge, frying their engines and giving Iron Duke a chance to give them what for.

Scotsman and Truro were now locked in battle against Dodge. Somehow, the little diesel shunter was a hell of a fighter. Scotsman's wall-mounted machine guns would fire upon the diesel, only for them to be destroyed with a cocky little laugh. Truro, for all his talk about a 'bloody blaze of glory' was being far more careful with his attacks.

"HA! IS THIS IT?!" Dodge suddenly seemed a lot less calm, and Truro couldn't help but wonder which of the two was worse, Splatter or the one right in front of him. "When they told me I had to take out you lot, I was almost...almost scared! But this?! Pah!" And with strength greater than anyone would have given him credit for, he slammed into Scotsman with such force that the great engine was forced off his wheels and onto the hard ground besides the rails.

The entire building shook, it hadn't been made for fighting.

And then Dodge did something that took everyone by surprise. One of the guns was sort of...stuck, the bullets were trying to make their way through the barrel, but for whatever reason they weren't. With a grin, Dodge nudged it. Just a little bit.

The bullets shot out with such force that they raced towards Truro. The great engine had no time to move, as they thudded into the spot where his face should have been with such force that had there actually been a face there, it would have been all over.

Dodge laughed triumphantly.

And then he stopped.

...

Donald had taken out the first line with his gun in seconds, and then he had returned his attention to Cranky, who was now desperately swinging his hook at something else. The edge of the ferry.

"What are you doing!?" snapped Mavis.

"Getting out of her, you crazy bint, what else?!" hissed Cranky. "I'm not dying here, not for the likes of you! Sod your war, I'm out!" And once more he swung, this time scraping the side of the ship.

"Yer're not going anywhere! We need to get as many of the auxiliary engines out as possible! It's them we should be worried about!" Donald was passionate and angry, a terrible combination in a Caledonian.

"Screw you, you ruddy hooligan!" snarled Cranky, and made a last desperate swing at the boat. He missed.

The plane, however, did not. With a heartrending scream, Cranky toppled backwards, part of his stand splitting apart. It was only because Donald and Maviswere there to catch him that he didn't fall apart completely.

"Ye get the others on-board, we get ye on-board! Kapische, ye bloody prat!?"

"FINEFINEJUSTGETMEUP!" roared Cranky in a blind panic. Suddenly, there was an almost deafening blaring sound of horns in the distance, and Mavis turned around to see the second line. These were tougher, far stronger, just from the look of the armor alone there was a clear difference. The Juggernaut had clearly been an inspiration in their design. Donald turned the gun on them, but it was less use this time, and they were in for the fight of their lives.

Whilst this was going on, the Work's Diesel quickly slipped out of Knapford Harbour and towards the general direction of Crovan's Gate.

"AYE! YON WORKS DIESEL! GET BACK!"

...

Thomas was so terrified by all the stuff that was going on that he was beginning to think he was going legitimately insane. "Are you still there, Lily?" He asked for the tenth time.

"Yes, I'm here."

"Got to be responsible. Reliable. Really Useful." Thomas paused. "Oh sod this for a game of soldiers! We're going back to get that coal truck, because SCREW IT, I don't know! And don't say a word, Lily, I know, all right?"

"Not a word."

"I'd say that I understand that buffers, coal trucks and everything are helping us solve the mystery, but no, I have no frigging clue what it is I'm doing right now." He groaned. "Why am I here?"

"Because you're a really useful engine, Thomas."

Thomas paused, and smiled, genuinely. "Thanks kid. Appreciate it." And as he puffed off, coupled up to the coal truck, he began to move faster. "Come on! Let's get you home!" As he gathered speed, he spotted a second set of buffers at the end. Time to be really useful, at last. God he wanted a drink. "Hold on to me, Lilly! This is going to be a bit-"

...

"Come on lads!" Butch was leading Terrance, Trevor and Caroline along the road. He was determined to make sure that they helped out as best they could. For the most part, they had encountered very little in the way of resistance. What they had found was bodies. Innumerable amount of trucks was shattered across the road, making it very hard for those with delicate tires to cross, and once or twice they saw the scattered remains of a few engines unlucky enough to be caught in the blast or having been cut down by the Juggernaut, who was wiping out any Auxiliary engines unfortunate enough to be in his way.

At last, they reached the crossroads near Crosby. The station itself was not heavily guarded. It was in no way a main priority for the engines or the diesels. A few scattered trucks, led by Rickety the bright orange one, were passing through, but nothing more. "GET EM, HAHAHAHAHAHA!" Well, at the very least, he was having a great time.

Well, nothing more wasn't _quite_ true.

With a rather nasty crushing sound, George rolled onto the tracks, squashing the rails and the crossing gate beneath his roller. Behind him, the three horrid lorries gathered, growling. "Well, well, look what we have here!"

"Let us pass, George." said Butch, grimly. "And I will speak at your trial. I will tell them that you came back and helped us when you could have just left us alone! I shall show mercy!"

"I think it's rather late in the day for reprieves, even if I was feeling sorry for myself. Which I'm not this. This is the best bloody time we've had of it, isn't that right boys!?"

"Yeah!"

"Right on!"

"You said it, bruv!"

"So, you betray your own kind, and for what? A roller rink? You disgust me!" Butch's eyes flashed. "These engines are arrogant and foolish, but they are good at heart! How DARE YOU!?"

"Oh come on, Butch. You don't really believe in all that pesky hippy dippy love stuff, do you? No one cares about you. You don't get to speak, you don't get remembered, you're just a side character." George's grin dropped. "So come on then. Let's finish this!" And so saying, he lurched forwards towards Butch, who began to swing his hook like crazy. The second round began.

Behind him, Trevor and Terrance braced themselves for the fight. Trevor was well aware that he was old and past it, and didn't see how he'd be able to last, but determined he was. Terrance's smile never faded. Not even for an instant. And Caroline didn't even prepare, she just let out an ear-piercing shriek of rage and drove straight at the Horrid Lorries with all of her fury and passion directed at them. They were somewhat unprepared for the flighty car to be so... passionate, and so were slow to fight. She swung and revved her tires right in their faces and hit them again and again.

It was slightly terrifying.

Butch's hook scrammed against George's face. The steamroller snarled, and rolled forward with greater speed than anyone would have suspected. Butch backed up, spun around and sprayed dirt all over Caroline.

"AH DO DECLARE, THAT IS TREASON!" she screeched, racing forward and smashing her radiator directly into Lorry 3's jaw...well sort of, lorry anatomy is hard to describe in detail.

"Sorry!"

...

Along the River Eis, several of the diesel tugs were chugging along, with several members of Zero's company making sure that nothing could get in their way. With a roar of the engine, they suddenly lurched forward as they spotted two engines crossing the bridge up ahead.

"Come on James! Hurry up! I think we've lost them! Damn it!"

"I'm coming as fast as I can!"

"We're almost-Oh shit!" Percy increased speed. "Faster James! There's boats coming up the river!"

"Maybe they're here to fish!"

"Does it look like the one with a ROCKET LAUNCHER is here to fish!? IT DOESN'T TO ME!" Percy had just cleared the bridge when the missile launched. The latter part of the bridge collapsed, and the columns that were left remaining couldn't hold the weight no matter what. James shoved off onto the branch-line a mere second before the last section of the bridge collapsed completely.

"Follow them! They can't have gone far!" shouted the main driver.

James caught up with Percy at Elsbridge. "Listen! I've been thinking! The boats can't follow us up here, so maybe we should split up!"

"A good idea! Right, I'll go this way, you go that way!"

"But that way's blocked by diesels!"

"I'm disappointed you noticed! See you later!" And so saying, Percy rushed off in the general direction of the old abandoned quarry, where Boulder had used to be. James stammered and hemmed and hawed for a moment, before letting loose a powerful whistle that attracted most of their attention and driving off in the direction of one of the more out of the way stations.

If he died here being bloody heroic he was going to let the engines have it in the next life.

...

Bulstrode opened his eye lazily. He had been asleep for a very long time, as he didn't enjoy it when children played on him, and felt it was best served if he went to sleep and groused to himself.

Upon seeing the tanks roll off the boats, he closed his eyes once more.

Then he opened both fully in shock and horror as he promptly registered what it was he was actually seeing. The tanks themselves were small, squat, but very, very dangerous looking. As the soldiers advanced up the beach, each carrying very powerful looking guns, the tank rolled forward and looked around.

"I say! You there! How dare you!? GET OFF MY BEACH!"

As last words go, they are not, perhaps, the best ones. With a single blast, the tank obliterated Bulstrode without a second thought. And then they advanced onwards, blasting the Little Western to pieces, leaving only the ruins of Duck's home for the last few years of his life. Bang went Tidmouth Hault. Bang went the engine sheds there. And bang, with great severity, went the tunnel to the beach.

...

"-dicey!" Thomas gasped and opened his eyes. He looked around frantically, as he dug his wheels in tightly to the mountain soil. "Lily, where are we?!"

The girl pulled herself to her feet and looked around. "Muffle Mountain! We made it!"

Thomas glanced towards the valley. Or rather, what remained of it. A massive crater in the ground that looked bottomless had formed. Up above, he could see the massive chunk of land where Shining Time now was. The countryside there was marred with railway lines, on which rested many, many diesels, all looking very happy with themselves. "Bloody hell, they've got an entire armada here!" He closed his eyes and tried not to throw up. "Feel a little dizzy, not going to lie- WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?"

"To get grandpa!"

"Love, we've got a problem here, I can't go back and I sure as hell can't go forward! My wheels aren't going to let me! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

"I'll be back!"

"It's getting windy!" Thomas wailed, as Lily turned the corner, out of sight. "Ah, well. How could things get-"

As the cliff crumbled, Thomas the Tank Engine decided that he really needed to gag himself on these occasions. "BUST MY BOILER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Patch heard the yell and rode up on his horse, as quickly as possible. Somehow, he didn't hear Thomas's next scream, but then again, Thomas's voice was reaching pitches that only dogs could hear. So Mutt would have actually been useful for once. Every dog, apparently, had it's day.

"I'VE LEFT THE BLOODY COAL TRUCK BEHIND OH WHY DID I BOTHER COMING I WANT TO GO HOME."

Lily ran as fast as she could, wincing as she limped on her twisted ankle. The horse let out a whinny as he came to a stop, Patch gawping at the girl. She grinned, and made a gesture to let her slide on up. "Where's grandpa! I need him!"

"Jump up, where have you-"

"It's complicated, let's just get moving!" As she swung up, Lily paused and hugged Patch.

Patch froze for a moment. He tentatively hugged her back, trying hard not to blush. Girls rarely hugged him. This was a new feeling. He wondered...was this the start of a whole new world? Shining, shimmering, splendid? He wondered if he should ask Lily, when did she last let her heart decide-?

"STOP WHEELS! STOP! I COMMAND YOU WHEELS!"

That rather stopped his lyrical thinking for the moment. He pulled the reins and the horse galloped off.

As Patch and Lily rode off, Boomer revved his bike and roared after them. The horse whinnied again, this time in fear, and Patch looked back in horror to see Boomer rushing towards them. His face was aglow with the triumph of victory, but even so it was twisted into a horrible leering snarl, the type that Freddy Kruger could pull off without much difficulty. He reached forward for Lily. She lashed out with her foot, and he caught it right in the face. He growled, but was undeterred. Patch watched as his hands crackled with the lightning, this time growing blacker and more malicious looking.

It was then that something very, very lucky happened. Boomer let out a horrified yelp as Thomas rushed down the mountain, screaming blue murder, and smashed into his bike. Boomer had just managed to leap from it in time, but had grabbed hold of Thomas's cab in the process.

"THOMAS!" Lily was aghast as the blue engine, unable to stop himself on such difficult terrain, veered towards a large dip.

"WOAH! OH GOD, GUYS, IF I DON'T MAKE IT BACK, YOU WERE THE BEST FRIENDS I COULD HAVE EVER-" And with a strange whistling sound, Thomas plowed down through the dip, and through yet another portal.

"What?!" shouted Patch.

"Come on! I'll explain all when we get to grandpa! He'll know what to do...I hope!"

...

"So, where did Boomer go?" Gotch remarked at large. The Fat Director and he had been sitting awkwardly for some time now, and it occurred to Gotch that being in an organization such of this did not give on much to talk about when it came to filling the long gaps between evil plans.

"Oh...he said something about wanting to 'take care of business'. Whatever that means. He's missing a good show, though." The Fat Director looked around, his gaze stopping for a moment on Sir Topham Hatt. The latter strained, because he could have sworn that the Fat Director looked vaguely familiar-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Thomas promptly crashed through another portal, Boomer clinging onto the engine for dear life and looking as though he had just seen hell with his two eyes. Thomas rolled along the rails, control having been completely lost, before swerving sharply and smacking Boomer against the platform. This, finally, sent the motorcyclist flying off.

"OHHHHH THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER!" shouted Thomas the Tank Engine as he plowed into yet another portal.

There was a pause.

"What...what just happened?" asked the Fat Director, for once totally lost for words.

"I have no idea!" shouted Boomer, as he tried to pull himself together and look intimidating. This did not work out as Sir Topham Hatt finally gave into the madness and started laughing hysterically at all the silly shit that was going on.

...

What had shut Dodge up was the fact that Truro had not keeled over as he had thought he would. Everyone stopped, even the other diesels, to stare at the horrible sight that lay before them.

For the first time they saw City of Truro's face. And they very much hoped it would be the last.

You know the typical steam engine face, don't you? Imagine then, one that has been very heavily burned, to the point where only the skull/framework of the engine was left.

"You just destroyed my mask." Truro said, matter of factly. "You shouldn't have done that."

And he charged Dodge once again.

...

Crovan's Gate was where the brunt of the fighting was now. Diesels were pouring in from every section of the Island for one reason, and for one reason only.

Because here was Edward. Old Iron, Old Reliable, the hero of the hour, fighting on brave as ever with so much grit and determination that one could be mistaken for becoming awestruck. Other engines helped too, the auxiliary engines fought bravely, as did the trucks. But even so, there was now a sense of sluggishness for the defenders.

Edward recovered from shooting at a rather vicious diesel in time to see the Works Diesel roll up, looking around in horror. "What are you doing?!" he shouted above the action. "I told you to help load up the ferry!"

The Works Diesel nodded, and quickly yanked out Toad, Oliver and Duck, who was still insisting that he was fine. Edward understood. "Of course! Get them out of here before-" He was interrupted by a rather horrible sound, as one of the bombers had dropped a type of cargo that had sent the diesel oil and petrol from the Works flying everywhere. "That's all we need! The Works is no longer safe! Duck, Oliver, you need to get out of here and find this Iron Circle of yours! We need backup, and fast!"

"I'm not leaving you lads here!"

"Duck, DON'T ARGUE!" Edward whirled forward and had his Pincher plant a rather nasty fist through the visor of one diesel, who crumpled backwards. "We're holding them off, but barely! Trucks are telling me that we've already lost Maron, Maithwaite, Thomas's branch-line and we're on the verge of losing Tidmouth all together, we can't do this alone!"

"Go, Duck!" snapped Oliver, and Duck, after a forlorn look back, puffed away, limping in great pain. "But I shall stay! I shall be good gracious to the last!" He laughed somewhat hysterically. "I've survived worse than this, eh?!"

"Mr Oliver, I insist that you get yourself to safety! Or at the very least-" Toad was interrupted by Oliver shoving him in the direction of the Work's Diesel. "MR OLIVER!" He wailed, as the diesel gently dragged him off.

"How can I help, sah!?" asked Oliver, exaggerated accent and all. Edward's grin was maniacal to say the least, but it was almost reassuring.

"Good man! Listen, the Little Western's fallen according to my sources, we can't get through to Tidmouth Hault and Crosby's not doing well either. But if you can get to Tidmouth, gather up as many trucks as you can and deal with anything over there, I'd be grateful- HAVE AT ME BEAST!" And so saying, Edward charged in the fray once more.

"Right-ho!"

As Oliver scarpered, the Narrow Gauge continued their rather poor attempts at offence, as Rusty and Peter Sam hurried back with various armaments that would hopefully cause a great deal of pain. Then Duncan hit upon a rather novel idea. He returned five minutes later with a whole line of De'Fusit's Gunpowder.

And then, well, sparks flew.

Literally, as within seconds of the first wagon being detonated, the works exploded with a great amount of show, toppling and swaying for a great deal before at last collapsing with a tremendous crash upon the fighters. Edward was lucky enough to roll out of the way, but the diesels and steamies alike weren't so lucky. Duncan looked a little sheepish, but more and more tankers were sent hurtling around the bend.

...

Douglas screeched like a bat out of hell into Vicarstown. The scene there was absolute pandemonium! The sheds had been completely detonated and wiped up, there was barely any sign that they'd ever been there. The station wasn't looking much better either, with shattered windows and the roof having completely caved in. And every engine there had been slaughtered by-

Class 40 rolled forward, a devilish smirk in his (their?) eyes. "Come on then. Let's fight, shall we?"

Douglas snarled, bared his teeth and then rushed at Bowler, the latter still smirking that damn smile. Douglas's buffers were aching for a fight-

-which they didn't get, as the Juggernaut proceeded to smash him off the rails and into unconsciousness.

 **"Put him with the others. I imagine that Boomer will want to take his time with this one**. **"** Marklin grinned as he retook his most common body and began to move inwards. **"But leave Edward to me. That Old Iron's MINE."**

...

Things weren't going much better for the other Scottish twin. Donald and Mavis had been fighting a great deal, scoring shot after shot that either killed the diesel attacking, or wounded them to the point where they were unable to fight anymore. But this didn't mean anything when the numbers were so overwhelming. Cranky helped out as best he could, even as he was in the midst of taking up more and more engines to be shipped out, but even so they were in a bad way.

Which meant it was awfully good luck when in rode the Works Diesel, rather roughly, alongside a contingency of trucks to sort them out. As the diesels were distracting by the snapping, biting, chanting, pulling and pushing trucks, Toad was hurried up by the crane, as the Works Diesel offered his rather laconic smile.

Which froze on his face as he spotted a tell-tale glow in the distance. A glow that Donald was obscuring, which meant that Donald was straight in the path of a-

With a yelp, Donald was thrown forwards, as the Works Diesel flung himself forward. "ACH! WHAT ARE YE DOING YE-"

The explosion took him completely by surprise, as did the scream of agony from the poor Works Diesel. It was the first sound that anyone could remember him making in his years of working there. The rocket launcher had sent half of him spinning, while the other half just...crumpled away. He wavered an instant, on the brink of the harbor's edge. He looked at Donald, in great pain, and gave a slight smile as if to say "It's okay."

And then he slipped under the water and he was no more.

The death of his valiant savior drove Donald into a complete frenzy the like of which has never been seen, even by Scottish standards. He would have made Mel Gibson tremble at the sight of him. But even as more and more of the diesels fell to shrieks of terror from the Caledonian's mighty guns and ramming, the Fulton Ferry began to drift away under the strange power of the Island. Cranky yelped, and swung his hook to latch onto the side of it. With a horrible wrenching sound, his head left the support beams and he barely managed to swing aboard as he moaned in pain.

"DONALD!" Mavis bellowed. "We have to go! NOW!"

Donald realized that she was right. Not only were the bombers coming back around for yet another go, but the diesels also seemed to be regrouping with surprising speed. "Ye go yer way, lassie, and I'll go mine!" So saying, he vanished into the throng of diesels, heading in the general direction towards Tidmouth, while Mavis headed towards the quarry.

...

And what a mess she would find. Bill and Ben had already been here, throwing home-made Molotov cocktails at the poor sods inside the diesel armor, (How they made said cocktails is a mystery for another time), and remains of trucks lay here in thick abundance. Mostly the enemy's, however, were dead. Some were still moving, and were being tended to by Toby.

"Come on lads!" Toby hissed under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Toby the Tram Engine."

Toby didn't stiffen, in a manner of speaking. He just became very, very still. "Ah. Do I have the dishonor of addressing Mr Splatter?"

"You're damn right you do. What the hell do you mean, dishonor?" Splatter began laughing once more.

"My guess is that Ten's put me on high priority. No one humiliates him and gets away with it, eh?" Toby turned around on the turntable to see the maroon diesel glaring at him, a half-crazed smile on his face. "You're not an idiot, are you? You give off that appearance, even to my friends, but I can see genuine intelligence hidden in there. Where's your accomplice, Mr Dodge?"

"Elsewhere. He said it was my turn to play with you."

"I bet he did. Run in the family, does it? Are all Class 8 shunters this nutty, or did you two and the Grim Reapers at the Smelters just fall from the family tree together?"

"Hehehe. You're funny. It's a pity you're going to die." Splatter advanced, but Toby remained firm. "You're not going to run, are you? I like that. You're not going to cower, like that fool BoCo did, are you? No. You're like me."

"No. You're a mass murdering psychopath trying to use a weird alien-spirit thing to bring about the end of the world. I'm a tram engine with far too much time on his buffers, anxiety attacks and a fondness for sponge cake. Nothing in common. For the record, if you insult BoCo again, I will hurt you. Badly."

"You are calm, aren't you?"

"Have to be, to work at a quarry. Or on this Island in general" Toby moved very deliberately forward, his eyes fixated upon Splatter's buffers. "I take it you've got some doodad in there to take care of me. Well, I have a weapon of my own. Let's settle this, eh? Engine to engine. Square face to square face. Let's see how like each other we really are."

Grinning, Splatter nodded. "Oh yes. That sounds-" He was cut off in the middle of his prime by Henry ramming him hard, launching him high into the air and into the distant horizon.

"You took your bloody time. Just when I was going to use my secret weapon!"

"Sorry, ran into a wee bit of trouble at the crossing. And there are so many bloody quarry's here! Are you all right?"

"Mostly. Are we safe?"

"Nowhere is safe" rasped Mavis as she entered. The fumes from the smoke had gotten to her a little. Toby rushed over and began to inspect the damage, before she waved, in a manner of speaking, him off. "No, listen, the quarry's not safe. They've got bombers out there. Bombers, Toby! I don't think that staying in this place is going to do much good."

"We get Henrietta first, and then we leave." Toby said firmly. "Everyone who can, try to get to the old tramway. That's the last place they'll look, cross your buffers!"

...

"Weak! That's what you are! Enabling these petty little tin pot prats to take our jobs!" George lashed out, almost rearing up to drop his full weight onto Butch. "God, I wish Bulgy could be here now! He'd knock some sense into you! Ah well, I'll just have to settle for sending him the pictures!" Another ram, Butch was looking pained. "He knew what had to be done! He knew that we couldn't allow the parasites of steam and diesel to take everything that we hold dear!" Butch had now been forced back against the barber shop. He hoped the Italian Barber didn't mind that his livelihood was going down the proverbial. "You will die, Butch, a slave. No one shall mourn you. Or your traitorous friends."

Terrance had vanished, with one of the Lorries in pursuit. Caroline was still fighting her darndest, but Lorry 1 had her cornered, and was now bearing down on her with vicious attacks of his own. And poor Trevor, poor, old Trevor, was still fighting as best he could, with a makeshift catapult that used his own wheel to swing bits and pieces at the eyes of Lorry 3. But the Lorry was far stronger than him.

"Parasites, are they?" Butch smirked. "And yet you have allied yourself with a diesel. An army. You are not a visionary, George. You are not a hero. You are not the savior. You are a bully. A hypocrite. And worst of all, you are a failure to your own principles."

It was very easy to piss steamrollers off. George screamed, a pure primal scream of rage, and charged. Butch dodged, and watched with a great deal of satisfaction, as George plowed into the barbershop, flipping over onto his side painfully. This time, there was no way to self-right himself.

"GET ME OUT!"

"No thanks, think I'll leave you to it." Butch glanced back towards the fighting. And then, in the form of a miracle, a familiar horn rang out.

Lorry 3, the one menacing Trevor, had just enough time to say "Oh shit!" before Bertie the Bus cleared the road and flew straight into his side. Lorry 3 spun out and tried to regain control, but to no avail.

Then he struck a downed power line. That stopped him permanently.

Have you ever smelt electrocuted lorry carcass?

It is an unpleasant smell, to say the least.

Lorry 1 was apoplectic with rage over the death of his 'bruv' and roared away from Caroline. "YOU LITTLE SOD! YOU MURDERED HIM!"

"By accident! Give up now, and-" Bertie never finished his ultimatum, as the Lorry rammed into him with full speed. Butch moved quickly, rushing up even as the Lorry forced back Trevor and Bertie. Whirling his hook, the mighty breakdown truck swung it directly into the Lorry's window.

"Give up, mate!"

"You KILLED THEM!"

"You were killing our friends!"

"They are the past!" Lorry 1 was baffled, and that bafflement led to more rage. "WHY WOULD YOU DIE FOR THEM!?"

"Because they would die for us. Come on. We won't kill you."

Lorry 1 laughed bitterly. "There is nothing left for me now." And so saying, he revved his engine, and rushed at Butch. Butch automatically tugged at the chain, which pulled straight through Lorry 1's head. The Lorry shuddered for a moment, then stopped forever more.

"I...I didn't mean to-"

"We know ya'll didn't mean to, Butch." Caroline said, quietly. "No one blames ya. Ya did what ya could."

Bertie and Trevor agreed. "But we need to move, now!" Bertie insisted.

"I can't." Caroline said sadly. "Mah engine's cut out again. Overheated. What are the odds?" She laughed, somewhat bitter, somewhat mirthful. "Fellas, ya'll best be moving on out. Ah'm not going anywhere."

"No." Butch pulled himself together. "Trevor, Bertie, find Terrance, and get back to a safe place. That way, you can meet up with the others as soon as possible. I am a rescue vehicle. I shall not abandon Caroline in this hour of need." Butch moved forward, and joined her. "Please. As a favor." He grinned and tried to sound his hammy self. "We shall fight to the END, eh, Caroline?"

Trevor hesitated a moment. So did Bertie.

"You are a very brave truck, my friend." Trevor said, seriously.

"The bravest." agreed Bertie, no hint of sarcasm.

Butch shrugged, or did the truck equivalent of one. "Someone has to try." And as they left, he waited for the diesels to find him. Which they did. Both were taken back to Shining Time, for sport, so they said.

No one minded George for the moment.

...

Lorry 2 swore until the air was blue. There was no sign of that pesky tractor on the road anymore. And yet he was sure that he had seen Terrance head that way. He glanced back. Perhaps he should head on back-

And that was when he saw the caterpillar track marks. Mud smeared across the road, and leading towards one of the open fields. And there, sitting with his face away from the road he had just turned off from, was Terrance the Tractor. Lorry 2 grinned to himself. "Nice try mate! But if you want, I'll make this quick!" And so saying, he disembarked from the road, through the open gate and began to wade across the field.

Instantly, he seemed to realize that he had a problem. The field was a muddy one, in the process of being ploughed, and his wheels dug into the earth, spinning and groaning in great pain as they sent mud flying. But at last, he reached the tractor.

"Gotcha now, mate! You're…..You're-"

His mocking one liner died quickly in his throat, as Terrance turned around. And then he realized just how damned he was, because he had the exact same reaction as any single person or vehicle who had known Terrance the Tractor in all the long years he had been on the Island, would have had.

 **Because Terrance wasn't smiling.**

…..

Diesel 10 rolled through Maron. The station had somehow and miraculously managed to avoid a great deal of damage, despite the fact that another bomber had launched its cargo not too far from there. C. Junior was lightly, but firmly, tucked away in the cavity where his claw would have normally resided. Though he struggled and tossed, the diminutive conductor was unable to free himself.

But Ten had more pressing matters. From here he could see Gordon's Hill. He could see it silhouetted against the rapidly reddening sky. And atop it, he spotted Gordon himself.

Without a word, he moved on towards the hill.

It was interesting, he mused, how much of a fight Lady's children were putting up. He wondered if they had found her yet. There was no actual way that they could be doing this on their own, could they? After all, even before gaining a physical form, he had given them as much help as he had been willing to give. That Boomer boy, he had a great deal of raw and untapped magic. And yes, he hadn't told the boy everything, but he had certainly given Boomer enough power.

No, it was Lady. It had to be. Unless of course, his lack of faith had been rewarded, and the humans had failed to heed his warning.

Now he was at the foot of the hill. And there, atop it, watching with cold and unrestrained fury, was the NWR's number four. Besides him, the remains of D2 (Daisy's Fake) lay strewn about.

" **I must admit, this is new. You steam engines are tough. And ruthless, too. That was a cruel trick we played with the doubles, wasn't it?"** He spoke with no admiration or shock, just a matter of fact observation. **"Of course, I don't doubt that you'll lose. Would you like to know how many have died so far?"**

"You don't care, do you!?" Gordon shouted in anger.

" **Care? Oh I care very much. I care about every single death, and how violent it was. See, it feeds me. All that pain, all those negative emotions, the destruction of life? It's making me more and more powerful. Soon I will no longer need this body, and I can take my ultimate form with no problem. Me and Marklin. And oh, what fun we shall have then!"**

Gordon's teeth clenched. His wheels gripped the rails. Ten noticed.

" **Come on then, Gordon. Let's see what the fastest and best can do."**

Nothing happened for a single moment.

And then Gordon lunged forward.

Furiously whistling, his wheels moved faster than they ever had before. He thundered down the hill, face contorted in a roar of hatred. Ten moved not one inch. He waited for a moment, his claw clenched somewhat, until the very moment that Gordon rounded the corner, and then-

Gordon's roar turned to a shriek of agony as the claw scratched at his boiler. Wincing, he braked hard, and swung back onto one of the points. Ten's claw snapped and swung, seemingly wide off the mark, but always landing a blow. Gordon rammed forward, his buffers connecting with Ten's. But even this little buffering back came at a price, as the claw reached out and scratched deep into Gordon's skin.

 **"You know, I always imagined that Gresley's son was a better fighter than this."**

Gordon growled, half in pain and half in boiling rage, as he tugged himself back. He freed himself, the slight coppery taste in his mouth telling him that Ten had clearly spilt blood. "You will not hurt anyone else!" he snarled.

 **"Won't I?"** Ten smiled. It was a singularly unpleasant sight **. "I'll go after Scotsman next-"**

Ten had to give Gordon this. For an engine who was so easy to predict 98% of the time, that two percent could take you right off your guard. Gordon had lashed out with a rather nasty right hook from one of his buffers. It had somehow slipped past Ten's own buffers and landed a direct blow on his eye. Blinkering furiously, Ten's grin turned somewhat manic. **"Oh you really, really shouldn't have done that."**

And then he smashed into Gordon with his full weight, shoving him back up the hill.

...

Percy had made his way to an area not far from the old abandoned quarry, the one that had nearly caused him and several of the Narrow Gauge engines to lose their lives thanks to a weird episode in everyone's life where...

Ah yes, there he was.

Proud and silent, Boulder stood, gazing up at where he had used to be.

"Boulder?" Percy felt daft, but he had one hell of a plan in mind. Truth be told, had anyone else done it, it would have been stupid. But Percy's standards, it was bloody brilliant. "They say you protect the mountains, right? That you have something that needs to be guarded? Well then, I'd say that that's under threat, isn't it?"

Boulder was silent.

"They're coming. All of them, the monsters that want to take away everything that we love and hold dear. Now I don't know about you, because I'm not a boulder...obviously, but I want to stop them before they take away the important things. So, if you care at all...I think it's time that you used those weird powers of yours to our advantage."

There was a pause. And then Boulder slowly rolled forward, off the mountain. He landed with such a clang that Percy almost tried to shush the sentient boulder. Almost being the key word, as he realized that it was really not worth it.

"All right...now...this is where it gets silly!"

...

Meanwhile, at the grotto, Carlin and Mr Conductor looked at each other a bit awkwardly.

"So...what are you doing over the holiday, then?"

"I was thinking maybe a f**king yacht. You know, go sailing around the Caribbean for a bit. Or maybe go back to driving trains. If there are any trains left at this point, which is becoming less and less likely. You?"

"Water the flowers a bit."

"...You have a very boring life, don't you?"

"God yes."

At which point, a tumbleweed popped up. There was a sharp whistle, and it transformed into a rather bedraggled looking man dressed in similar garb to the other two Conductors. He pulled out a pair of battered looking glasses and wiped them down. He placed them on his nose and gave a jaunty little wave.

"Son of a-STARR?!" Carlin stared, agape. "WHAT THE F**K ARE YOU DOING WEARING THOSE?!"

"Oh, do you like it? Figured I'd try out this new American accent for dodging all the babes!" Starr smirked and waved over to Mr Conductor, who was sitting down and questioning many of his life choices. "Scared the crap out of Thomas and Percy though! Ha! So...I miss anything?"

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **Duckfan13** : For the record, while your opinions and critiques are appreciated and understandable, I am not forcing you to read this. If you want to leave, then leave. This is not going to be everyone's cup of tea. I just wanted to write something entertaining, that's all.

 **MattPrice01:** Thanks! It's hopefully not too dark, as that was not my intention at all.

 **Game-Watch:** Just a bit, yeah.

 **Kamen Rider** **Necrom** : Darker was a bit of a exaggeration, I admit. Hope this is up to your standards.

 **Bronze Shield** : Hopefully it was good!

 **trestonfortson2016:** Somewhat. Ideas like there being a big battle at the end, and Marklin being part of the thing that makes Diesel 10 Diesel 10 were planned out, but the bigger role for Carlin and his relationship with the whole affair did develop. The story isn't how I envisioned it when I started the plot, if I'm honest.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** Hey, Patch has had a weird day. Besides, engines can leave any time they want. And yeah, Lily having something of a personality is good to write.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Glad you enjoyed, and again, I went a little bit overboard when describing the darkness aspect of it. It's not THAT bad...I hope.

 **TrainManiac** : Thanks! Wood is easier to break than metal, however, and thus it's harder to keep the Spiteful Brakevan's face from falling off. True story. And as for the Fat Director...well...

 **Reid007:** Yeah, that's pretty much how it was in my head too.

 **AaronCottrell97:** I've essentially decided to embrace the madness! LOGIC, what is that?!

 **UGX7:** Yeah, the tumbleweed has no purpose in the movie. I've given it one here, but it's pretty random. Thanks for the error! Duck was essentially here just for the meeting, he was still being healed until the attack started.

-So, first off, let me apologize right away. For the record, when I meant that this part was going to be a bit dark, I did not mean that it was going to be completely devoid of any humor at all. It was just that I was trying to make it seem a bit more epic, primarily because the actual climax of the movie is somewhat boring in comparison. The only engine that was introduced in the TV series proper that we see after Thomas enters the Magic Railroad is James, and he's there for no real reason other than to make it a bit more action packed. What I'm basically going to explain, aside from my decisions, is why I've decided to have this battle.

-But first, alternate reality check! So, Brighton Thomas is the Adventure Begins universe. Essentially, if it comes to a point where I can take a look at abridging it, it's going to be it's own separate universe. But wait, I hear you cry! What about Glynn? I know I say this a lot, but I do actually have a plan regarding that. There's also a universe where it's Thomas meets I, Robot or Astroboy or whatever, where the engines are completely mechanical and living alongside humanity. There's the Mirror Universe, where Thomas and Friends are evil. Oh, and the last universe, which isn't going to play any part or be explored, it was there for a joke, really. On the last trip through the Magic Railroad, we'll also see one or two more that I'll bring up in due course.

-There were a lot of plans for the reason as to why Truro doesn't have a face. Originally I was just going to sidestep the whole issue, then I considered having it be because of a disease that certain engines/vehicles suffered from (A reason why, say, Butch and Henrietta don't have faces for quite a while), before coming up with the idea of it hiding the scars from the same attack that gave St Eustace his name.

-The Works Diesel's death is mainly to set up the status quo for most of the seasons Post-Railroad up until Hero of the Rails, where the Works isn't really defined as one major place like it used to be. With his death I was able to start setting up for the construction of the Sodor Steamworks. That and I figured that having Donald's life being saved by a diesel and giving him pause for thought was nice character development.

-I swear to all that is holy...all right, you know how sometimes you get an idea that is just...so good that you can't help but be gleeful when you finally get to put it into action? This. This right here. That one line about Terrance that's all in bold has been something that has been planned from the VERY first time I wrote for him. Because that's how serious the situation is. I really hope you guys enjoy that, cause it was amazing to write.

-It was great fun giving many of the characters little moments of triumph throughout the battle. Probably my favorite has to be Toby's, really liked giving him something to do, especially considering that I haven't done that much with him up until now.

-Bulstrode is dead. There was no reason, just that I thought it would be funny to do, to be honest.

-Oh, and with regards to the Horrid Lorries, I also wanted to get rid of them primarily because I wanted to give some of the characters who perhaps didn't get as much spotlight in the series a chance to shine (Butch, Caroline, Trevor and Terrance), and considering that the Lorries never return in the series proper, they made good cannon-fodder to show how serious the battle was.

-Ringo was the Tumbleweed! Yeah, this one was just because I wanted to have a bit of levity, plus an explanation for the Tumbleweed that wasn't yet another that was already stretching the realm of plausibility. Much.


	138. The Magic Railroad: Part 8

**Part 8: Going Belly Up.  
**

"Ah, there you are!" Percy grinned as he pulled Thumper out. "This next part is going to be pretty wild, so just...try and follow, okay?"

Thumper, of course, said and did nothing.

...

"Donald!"

"Oliver! I thought ye were on yon ship!"

"What, and miss out on getting some revenge for all those GWR chaps?! Not half! Come on mate, we've got to handle some stuff up at Tidmouth."

As the two engines rushed through, they passed Tidmouth Harbor. Both shuddered at the sight of the once proud dock now mutilated beyond recognition. Part of it had been completely atomized, part of it was hanging limply over the side like a swaying criminal caught in a noose.

But still they hurried on, until at last, they reached the station, and not too far ahead of them, the sheds. It was pandemonium. Trucks were flying left and right, both theirs and the opposition, and some unlucky coaches were in the middle. Some had managed to take down one or two diesels via lashing their couplings and braking hard, but they had been smashed to smithereens by more powerful ones almost as quickly.

Metal, it turned out, beat wood every time.

"Thundering hell!" Donald looked from left to right. "What do we do now?!"

"RETREAT!" bellowed Oliver at the top of his lungs. "RETREAT! RETREAT! BACK TO CROVAN'S GATE!"

The trucks needed no telling twice. U.L.P and Fred were there as well, and they soon had their lot running back to Crovan's Gate and elsewhere. The two engines went at it, smashing through the trucks that stood against them. Shunting diesels raced forward, and even as their buffers clashed, Oliver could tell that these were the weaker ones, sent off as a diversion.

When they had been disposed of, knocked to the side where they could hurt no one any longer, Oliver looked around. The damage had been done to the station. One false move, and it would be brought down-

"Oliver, look out!"

The Scottish engine moved forward in a blur, rushing onto the points to protect Oliver from a truck's kamikaze attack. But this was no ordinary truck.

"KILL YOU! KILL YOU!" screamed S.C. Ruffey, who was so enraged that speech had failed him. His frames were shaking and wracked with roar filled screams, as he lashed out. He seemed to be a lot tougher than most of the trucks, Donald's blows usually brought one down in two, and when lucky, occasionally one. At last, Donald managed to get enough momentum to force the private wagon backwards.

He bounced and skidded several times, before at last, ending up on his back, staring up at the smoke filled sky. He laughed a rather croaky, desperate laugh. "Should have known you'd be the ones to take us true trucks down. You lot are all the same."

"You attacked us."

"You ruined my life!"

"And now, I'm going to make it worse, if you can believe it." Oliver rolled forward. S.C Ruffey had landed at an angle, the section of truck containing his landing right on the edge of the turntable.

"Oliver?!"

"What are you doing?"

"Trucks are dying all around, blood is flowing freely  
Here's a fool who though himself wise, and demeanor steely.  
But now he's really figured out, that's he's no bloody toughie.  
His friends are gone, and he is too-"

There was a rather horrific crunching noise as Oliver crushed S.C Ruffey 's face beneath his wheels. He took a deep breath as the truck shuddered and went still, and then finished his song.

"-Pop goes S.C Ruffey!"

...

Dodge had, for the moment, been stricken dumb at the sight of Truro's face. His...real face. The shattered remains of the mask that Truro had worn for so long (Though mask was a bit of a understatement, more an entire life support system really) lay scattered on the floor.

Truro, meanwhile, was giving Dodge the biggest beatdown of his life. One would not think such a massive engine would be as nimble as the smaller diesel. But he was. He seemed almost to be enjoying himself, cutting away the veneer of calm and cool and just enjoying beating the hell out of the snot nosed little diesel. "DO YOU REALIZE-" He roared "-WHAT A SHIT WEEK THIS HAS BEEN!?"

"Urk." said Dodge.

"YEAH! DAMN RIGHT!" Truro seemed to have the most creative way of using his buffers like Muhammad Ali used his fists. With every whallop, Dodge was forced back, until with one ferocious roar, the steam engine rammed Dodge through the wall and out of the building all together.

It will not surprise you to learn that the words "RETREAT!" were bellowed quite a bit following that. The Iron Circle cheered, but not too much. They had to move out now, or risk another attack.

"So...want to tell me what happened to your face?"

"Oh Scotsman, me and Eustace had trouble during the war. He got his nickname because he was once set on fire and kept going. I got set on fire too, just in a more sensitive area. The mask was intimidating, practical and kept me living. Enough for you?"

"How many more secrets are you hiding from us?"

Truro laughed uncomfortably at the joke. At least, he hoped it was a joke.

Through the silence came the sound of a garbled translation. "Can...hear me? ...Scotsman...Sodor...attack! Shining Time...is key...losing sig-" And like that, Duck's message cut out as soon as it had begun.

"Shining Time? Oh shit. How do we get over there?"

Scotsman paused. "Well, I have one idea. It's incredibly dangerous mind."

"BRING IT ON!" slurred Derek.

"Why is he here?"

"I don't know, some rambling nonsense about something or other." Truro frowned. "Something about how those seven idiots from the Sudrian show are going to be the key to killing the Malevolence...accidentally, apparently."

"Ha! As if that would ever happen!

...

James rushed through Lower Suddery and into the junction. He looked left and right, and hesitated. On the one hand, the China Clay Pits were easy to get lost in, which meant that if he did have anyone on his tail, he could easily lose them-

As he debated this, he noticed that a large amount of laughter was coming from the quarry. And also a lot of smoke.

Clearly, someone was burning the 'clay' and getting all the invaders really, really, really high. It was an impressive tactic and one that reeked of Bill and Ben's involvement.

Okay, not the quarry then. He wanted to stay as sober as he could, for once in his life. And at that moment, James saw something that made his blood run cold. Gordon and Diesel 10, fighting. Well, fighting was a rather generous description. It was a beat down, and Gordon was on the wrong side of it. Chunks of flesh appeared to have been snapped from his face, his boiler was dented, at several parts his entire body seemed to be slightly compacted together, his whistle had been torn apart and worst of all, he was barely doing any real fighting back.

James rushed towards Gordon's Hill at full speed. There was still time to save his friend!

...

"Bloody hell, where are they coming from!?"

Toby and his group were moving through as fast as possible. It was hard, too, but for the most part, the diesels and trucks had bigger things to worry about, like dodging the bombs. Henrietta was surprisingly safe, for the moment, though she still let out a little gasp of shock every so often. Henry was looking badly dented. Mavis was weary from the battle, and had to stop every few minutes so that she didn't pass out from all the pain.

"We need to get to somewhere safe for her sake!" Henrietta urged.

"I know, m'dear, but where? There's nowhere-" Toby paused, and thought for a second. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off over his head. "By gum, that's it!"

"What's it?"

"Listen, if we get to Toryreck, there's a few sheds there on a siding out of the way! They'll never look for us there!" Toby turned to Mavis. "Mavis? Mavis, listen to me. Take Henrietta there, and Henry too, I've got to get Edward to see if there's anyone else I need to get-"

"But Toby!"

"Henrietta, I love you. All right. I said it." Toby drew in a deep breath. "Oh balls, here we go!" And off he trundled, going as fast he could. Henry hesitated for a moment, then gave a brief little incline to indicate that the two of them should move to the sheds and hurried after him.

"Bloody sexist!" laughed Mavis through her pain. Henrietta laughed more to be comforting than anything else.

The diesel and coach vanished just in time, as the Juggernaut roared past them. He stopped, sniffed the air, and then followed the leaking patch of fluid that lead onto the siding where Henry and Toby had headed off to.

The two engines were aware, horribly aware, that this was the long way around, and took them through Boulder's old quarry, but it was a risk worth taking in their opinion. No diesels would even think to come along this path. At least, so they thought.

They were wrong. Percy was standing there, in the middle of the track, surrounded on every single piece of rail by diesels. He looked calm, despite this, and even seemed to be smiling.

"What's he doing?!"

Percy looked up, and saw Toby. He smiled, trying and failing to give off the impression that he knew what it was that he was doing.

And in that terrible moment, Toby realized what it was Percy was doing, for now he saw in the corner the machine known as Thumper attacking the mountainside with great force and anger. And then he saw Boulder mysteriously missing from his perch.

The quarry began to shake. Rocks from the nearby mountain began to tumble and bounce. The diesels seemed to recognize that they had made a mistake, and some were trying to back away, but they were tripping and bashing into their own sides. And Percy stayed calm during all of this, even as the slabs and the chunks of rock fell from the mountain and smashed into his body.

And then Boulder, it's face furious and filled with righteous fury at the thought of intruders in the- HIS - quarry, rolled down and seemed to explode outwards-

That was all they could see for some time. The dust was thick and bilious. And Toby saw only that last image of the green caterpillar with red stripes standing firm as best he could.

At last, the dust cleared.

Toby looked frantically. Henry, pale and horrified, was tugging at his couplings but Toby had to look-

"HE'S ALIVE! HE'S ALIVE!"

Rushing forward, Toby frantically smashed as much of the rock away as possible, as much of the remains of Boulder as could be removed via cowcatches. Both that and the sideplates were being buckled and twisted something fierce. And at last, with a great effort, Toby latched the coupling onto the prone, inert form of Percy. He was badly injured, very badly, but from what he could see, Toby could tell the little engine was still breathing.

"Come on! Back to the station!"

The Juggernaut hesitated for a moment. Then he turned and headed off in another direction.

It was time to end this farce.

…

Burnett ran his finger along the blueprints once again. He looked, wearily, for anything he might have missed. Because he had done this so many times over the years, he was sure that he could recite the entire thing off by heart with his eyes closed.

Perhaps it was time to-

"Grandpa!"

Burnett whirled around, gasping. For a brief moment, Lily had sounded so much like…

"You're okay!" he croaked out. "Where the hell were you!? I- We were-" Words failed him for a moment. He took a deep breath and started again. "You're safe, I'm so glad to see you!" He was on the verge of choking up all together.

"Grandpa, I've been to the Island of Sodor!"

Burnett's mind briefly refused to work, as a result of which he stared blankly at his grand-daughter for a full minute before remembering his tongue worked. "Urgha- WHAT?!"

"Island of talking trains!? Really loud and foul mouthed ones! They say you might have been there!" Lily barely paused for breath, as Patch began to wonder if he hadn't aggravated an unknown concussion of Lily's while riding on the horse. "The Conductors are in danger, and I had to leave Thomas behind!"

Burnett stared. He swallowed. He tried to speak.

"Please help me, they're all in danger! They need-!" Lily turned, and jumped in the air. "How did you get a TRAIN UP THE MOUNTAIN!?"

"I'd like to help, Lily. Matter of fact, I'd love to. But…. I don't know how. I've tried everything. Everything that I can think of."

"But this is her! The lost engine from long ago that everyone won't shut up about!" Lily grinned. "Come on! Now we can go back to the Island, bring Mr Conductor and Junior home, save everyone! What's….what's wrong?"

"I can't make her steam, Lily. Me and Tasha went all over the world trying to get every variety of coal we could. And when she…. when it was just me, I tried every coal in this valley. Nothing's worked for Lady."

"Is…that her name?"

"Yeah." Burnett looked unsteadily at Lady. "That's her."

"Coal? Special coal from the Island of Sodor!? You haven't tried that! Patch, up the mountain, where you found me, there's a coal truck filled to the brim! Could you get it for me?"

Patch hesitated. On the one hand, this was insane. He was clearly insane, and was therefore talking to figments of his imagination. There had been nothing wrong with cleaning the sign, nothing wrong whatsoever. Because talking trains, end of the world situations, this wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his life! This was nuts!

On the other hand, if that was the case, Lily was just about the nicest figment of his imagination he'd met.

"Course I will!"

...

Is this what dying feels like?

Gordon was pretty sure that his safety valve was going to burst. He was pretty sure that his heart, or what passed for it, was beating far harder and far faster than it had any earthly right to. He was pretty sure that he was nearly choking on his own blood.

He was pretty sure that this had been a mistake.

 **"Gordon Gresley."** Diesel 10 laughed, cruelly **. "How pathetic. How very, very pathetic. i wonder, when I find the others, will they be as easy to take down?"** His claw wrapped around Gordon's buffers **. "What were their names? Oh yes. Bittern'll be the first to go."** He began to squeeze. **"And then Nigel, rather painfully, I reckon."** Tighter now, so tight that Gordon was beginning to lose feeling in his buffers **"Eisenhower'll go out with a bang, he'll be something approaching a challenge."** Was it Gordon's imagination or was Ten beginning to pull at the buffers?

 **"Course, then there'll be Union and Dominion, as I used to call them, and they'll die like the bugs they are. Screaming."**

He tugged harder. Gordon could hear the sound of every single piece of metal linking his buffer beam to the rest of him straining.

 **"Mallard's speed is impressive, especially considering how little I got chance to see her do it. But that too will be rather easy to take down. I took you, didn't I? And it'll only be marginally harder. And then... ah, Scotsman. He'll be the last to die, and after I have dumped the carcass of every last Gresley locomotive in front of him, then I'll be merciful."**

His voice rose to a fever pitch.

 **"AND END IT!"**

Gordon roared in agony as his buffers, twisted and broken, snapped free of the buffer beam and smashed to the ground.

 **"You've just given me a rather nice power boost. Thank you for that. Now, for the finishing blow-"** Ten lurched forward, as if banged. Which he had been.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Ten smiled **. "The errant James. What a bad time to grow a spine."** He looked back, and dealt a final, crippling blow to the section where Gordon's buffers had used to be, shaking his chassis to the core, before rushing back down towards the red engine.

Gordon wheezed. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

All he could do was wait and hope...for something.

Before passing out, he could think only one thing.

 _I am... sorry._

James backed up, rushing through along the line as best he could. Trying to drive backwards was far harder without a driver and fireman giving him assistance, but the only thing he could think of was to get Diesel 10 away from anywhere with more people to get hurt. So he headed towards Killdane, one of the areas that had been very easily abandoned in the first round of bombs.

Ten laughed. The hunt was on! And as they entered the area, James was somewhat horrified to realize that he was heading towards the Sodor Ironworks. The points had been set to where Vicarstown and Killdane intersected. "OH BLOODY HELL! THIS IS THE WORST POSSIBLE THING."

"Sorry cuz!" Junior forced his way up. "I'll be whatever, responsible, reliable, really useful! I WILL BE! I WILL BE! OH THIS IS NOT HOW I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE!"

James let out a scream as he came to a sudden stop. Ten also stopped sharply, knocking Junior off of him and onto James's boiler.

"James!"

"Oh god, it's you! The bloody scot!" James growled. "Of all the people to die with, it had to be BLOODY you, didn't it?!"

"Oh what did I do ta you!?"

"Writing Wide Load on my tender was NOT a clever move, mate!"

"Ah, how about we let bygones be bygones, eh?" Junior reached into his pocket and pulled out his whistle, and blew on it.

Nothing.

"Oh. Terrific!"

" **So, you've lost your sparkle too, have you?" Diesel** 10 laughed. **"You and Twinkletoes are more alike than I'd have ever thought. Stupid to the core, with faces that only mothers could tolerate and with those stupid, kid-like attitudes that you think are endearing, bu really not!"**

"It's empty!"

"OH, NO SHIT!"

" **Bye bye. Here we go!"** Ten advanced forwards. James backed up slowly, until he hit the buffers. Glancing back, he tried not to gag as he saw the very long, sheer drop behind him into a smelting vat.

"WHATAREWEGOINGTODO?"

"Might be something I can do!" Junior reached into his pocket. "Sorry, Lily, I'll find ye some more! I promise! If I'm going to be any help at all, it's not or never! Here goes nothing!" And as he sprinkled the gold dust he had kept for Lily on his whistle, he took a deep breath.

The buffers buckled and snapped. James looked around in a blind panic.

" **Ready?!"**

"NO! WE'RE NOT! NOW JUNIOR!" _Please let this work_ , he prayed.

And Junior let out a blast on his whistle the likes of which has never been heard before.

"NOW WE ARE!" crowed James as he vanished from sight.

" **What?!"** Ten growled, but then chuckled. **"Oh, well played good engine! I'll enjoy killing you!"**

...

"Edward!"

Edward shot the attacking diesel in the head before turning to Skarloey. The little engine looked like he had been through hell, which he probably had been. They had run out of gunpowder wagons long ago, and as such, the Narrow Gauge engines had little to do now, but try and fight as best they could.

Crovan's Gate was in flames. The petrol had somehow not been ignited during all the fighting, much to everyone's shock and immense relief. But even so, it was only a matter of time before the entire place was lit up like a rowdy Fourth of July party!

"BOYO! We've got to get out of here!" Skarloey panted. "We need...we need-"

"We can't give up!"

"Edward!"

"I won't let them take the Island!"

"EDWARD!"

"This is NOT OVER!"

"WE'VE LOST!"

Edward paused, and looked at Old Faithful. He looked pale, and was shaking quite violently. Then he looked at the remains of the platform, and then where the Works had once stood, and then to the terrified looking engines in the sheds. He closed his eyes…and nodded but once.

"Get them out of here, Skarloey. Run. Get as far as you can. I don't care what you do, as long as you are not here."

"You're coming too?!"

"I have to stay and get as many out as I can, mate."

"Boyo, that's crazy!"

"You're talking to a Sudrian, remember? Sanity isn't our strong point."

"Edward-"

"Ah, get off with you." Edward smiled, somewhat sadly but with just enough grim determination mixed in for Skarloey not to lose any more hope than was needed. "I'll see you soon, Drunkloey. Try and get as much word as you can to other railways! Maybe they can send reinforcements, or something. That would be really neat, wouldn't it?"

"Crumbs! Good luck!" Skarloey hurried back, the lull in the fighting wasn't going to last forever. "Lads! Come on! We need to get out of here!"

"What about Edward?!"

"He's….coming." Of all the engines, only Rusty caught Skarloey's hesitation. The little diesel looked firmly at Skarloey, who shook his head slightly. "Now come on! All of you! No back chat!"

"Do we take anything?!"

"No, we just GO!" Skarloey snapped.

"But brother, Vicarstown is under siege, there's no way we can all get of out of here un-noticed!" Rheneas argued, having slipped into pious mode. Rusty cleared their throat.

"There is another way that I know out of here. It's an old way, and I hope that the tracks are still workable, but…it leads to the Bluebell Line, we'll be safe there. And there'll be people, so-"

"So we can get help!" Duncan grinned. "Not bad, Rusty!"

"Was that a compliment? Oh god, we're really in shit now!"

"Ach, shut yer weeshing, ye smelly old diesel!"

"That's more like it! Insults are good, keep on doing that! Knew there was a reason we kept you, Duncan!" As the plane circled overhead for another attack, the little engines began to move out. Skarloey paused, and looked at the sheds one last time. He tried to memorize every single detail that he could. The sheds, the yards, the lines, the water tower…all of it. He stared and committed it to memory, to be remembered on cold days that offered little but the chance to revisit the olden days in his mind.

"All right, lads!" he sniffed, choking back the tears. "Onwards!"

If you were to ask any of the engines what Skarloey's bravest moment was, it would be this. Turning his back on his home for so long, aware that it was about to be completely destroyed, and soldiering on despite this.

Rusty, Duncan and Rheneas started off after Skarloey. But they hadn't gone far when the former stopped dead in their tracks and looked back.

Duke wasn't moving from his shed, and his two former Mid-Sodor Engine friends were trying in vain to get him to move. Rusty muttered that the other three should really go on ahead, and rushed back.

"Please! Come on Granpuff, we need you to get moving!"

"Move?! When I was your age, youngster, I never moved an inch unless his grace came to me personally and told me-"

"Old man, move!" snarled Sir Handel, who was in an understandably foul mood. "We don't have time for this!"

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, Falcon!"

"That's it!" Sir Handel turned to Peter Sam. "You can waste your time with him if you want, but I want to live!"

"Sir Handel, wait!"

"No! Sod it all, Stuart, we need to get going! Now! Duke wants to stay, he can stay!" Sir Handel looked around for support. He got none. Peter Sam was staring at him, wide eyed, as if for the first time seeing Sir Handel in all his...nastiness. Rusty's heart went out to the poor little engine.

"You can't. Please...please don't." Peter Sam sounded so scared, and for a moment Sir Handel wavered.

The next bomb landed in the yard. Unfortunate trucks screeched out a dying scream as they were atomized or shattered upon impact. As the others tried to regain their hearing, Peter Sam looked around. Sir Handel had vanished.

"Sir Handel! Sir Han- FALCON! FALCON!"

But Falcon had lost it completely. Without even looking back, he had taken off after the others, and not even the pleading cries of Peter Sam could bring him back. Fear had got the best of him. Peter Sam turned back, completely at a loss.

Rusty looked from left to right before looking at Duke and tried to sound relaxed. "Listen to me! Duke? Your grace wants to see you, right away! It's urgent!"

Duke stared at Rusty for a moment, trying to comprehend...anything. Then, with a massive start, he shook his head. "Stuart? What's….what's going on?"

He was having a rare lucid moment. Peter Sam laughed, almost hysterically. "Duke, we're under attack! We've got to get out of here, all three of us, together, or else-"

"Stuart, I'm stuck." Peter Sam looked behind Duke, and noticed that his wheels were still suspended above the track. One last gunpowder wagon was left besides him. "Stuart, listen to me-"

"No! I won't lose you again! We'll figure something out, granpuff, don't worry!"

"You have to leave me here!"

"No!"

"Listen to me, please. My time should have come a long time ago. I got lucky, Stuart, and got to spend five more years with you and Falcon. I...can't remember some of it, but I'm sure that whatever it was, we had the best of times." Duke grimaced as the sound of the plane flying over echoed. "But I'll not last long on the run, and I won't last long even if we find a safe place."

"But...But you're the only one I've got left! I can't lose you!"

"You won't." Duke smiled, a cheerful smile that seemed at odds with the surroundings. "I'll always be with you, Stuart. This isn't the end, all right, this isn't the end. Rusty, I want you to promise that you'll take care of this one! He's special!"

"You have my word." Rusty coupled up to the distraught Peter Sam, who could hardly see through his tears.

"Granpuff, please! Please, we'll find another way!"

"Goodbye, old friend. Until the next time."

And as Rusty oiled away, pulling a howling and shaking Peter Sam towards the general direction of the Bluebell line, Duke closed his eyes for the final time. The diesels surrounded him, and laughed. "How valiant of you! Now, surrender, you old coot!"

"Surrender?" Duke chuckled one last time. "Oh no."

His fire sparked suddenly, and one of the embers fell upon the leaking gunpowder wagon.

"That would never suit his grace."

"ABORT! ABO-"

And that was that.

A second later, the final bomb dropped, and the two explosions alike made sure that the sheds were buried under rubble and debris and fire. You wouldn't have known a shed was there, let alone a little engine lying there, peaceful and fully intact even in the muck and dirt.

Edward looked around him. It was almost over now. The petrol was catching fire, and he knew it was time to go. Wearily, he began to move forward with great slowness. The adrenaline was beginning to get to his head a little. As he left the station, he let out an all mighty groan at the sight of destruction all around him. There it went. All of it, all that beautiful history, all those good memories...

All gone up in smoke.

...

The remainder of the Narrow Gauge engines were halfway along the track that ran around the cliff when it happened.

The explosion could be heard all the way on the Mainland, where the Flying Scotsman and the City of Truro stared at each other, open mouthed, and then scrambled into action. Duck's message had finally gotten through. A full alert was echoed across every line in the country, in every shed, at every preserved museum. The last safe place had fallen. And at last, it was time for action.

But to the engines trying their damnedest to get away, all that concerned them was the incredible heat from the fireball that had come from behind them. No one looked back. No one wanted to. More importantly, they couldn't afford to. The explosion had shaken the mountains something fierce, and slowly, pieces of rock began to fall down. Small at first, but every engine knew that it was more than likely that this was just a precursor of the far bigger problems they would be experiencing soon.

Skarloey lead the way, pushing through as fast as he could. Behind him came Duncan, who was itching for a fight even now. Then Rheneas, who was remaining remarkably silent for once in his life. Finally, bringing up the rear, were a few trucks that had been abandoned by the rest.

They were about three quarters of the way there when the trucks saw something that made even their cold hearts tremble in terror.

"TANKS!"

"You're welcome!"

"NO, I MEAN! ACTUAL. REAL. LIFE. TANKS. BEHIND US."

There was a second where the three engines in front slowed down, glanced back, stared in horror and then sped up substantially. The tank itself was moving at an almost glacial pace. But if any of them had felt cocky, that was soon changed in one, brutal second.

Sure enough, the rocky face of the mountain was beginning to shake apart from the constant attacks. Even as they moved, larger and larger pieces of stone plummeted down, bouncing off the boilers and into the ravine below.

"Ye gotta give Fatty a talking too once this is over!"

"You, er, think this will end with us winning." Rheneas remarked. "That's a rather large error in your plan, right there."

And then it happened. The tank raised it's gun, and fired.

For a moment, no one was able to hear anything save for the fact that their 'ears' were ringing like a mad chorus of Jingle Bells. It wasn't until a few minutes later that they worked out that the trucks had been completely and utterly smashed to bits in the chaos as a massive section of the mountain was blasted up and then back down again with great force.

It wasn't until later that they could fully put together the terrified scream of the last truck as the tank rolled closer to him, now completely trapped between fire and frying pan.

But when the second shot rang out, and what remained of the truck tumbled into the craggy ravine below, they knew that things were the grimmest that they had ever been on the Island of Sodor.

No one made a smart quip. They just moved on as fast as they could.

...

Peter Sam was inconsolable. He was sobbing softer now, but it was still no better than his wails that echoed across the entire length and breadth of the Island. Rusty wanted desperately to be able to comfort him, but they needed to get out of here.

At last, they reached the line connecting to the Bluebell Railway. Peter Sam sniffled and-

 _"Hello, little one."_

Rusty looked around. The voice didn't seem to belong to anyone.

 _"You will not see me, little one. Do not fear though. I am on your side. You just have to give me a moment-"_

There was a split second where Rusty thought that they were going insane, and then with a strange sound like a deep whistle, something appeared in front of him. A portal, swirling with bluish light.

 _"Forward, friend. Forward. They need help."_

Rusty hesitated, and then figured out that wherever this portal was going to take the two of them, it couldn't be worse than where they were now. The little diesel started forward, but suddenly, Stuart howled in agony, a bullet piercing through his cab and smacking his safety valve. The steam hissed horribly, Peter Sam's face twisting and contorting in great pain.

And the portal was pulling Rusty through, not giving the little diesel a chance to reach out and take hold of Peter Sam, save him, anything.

"PETER SA-"

And then Rusty was gone.

Peter Sam offered little resistance when the diesels captured him and pulled him away to join the other prisoners.

...

As they ran, Donald and Oliver were aware of the complete chaos all around them. The Suddery Junction had been ravaged, parts of the track actually ripped out of the ground, along with massive chunks of the Earth. Crock's Scrap Yard looked as though a tornado had rampaged through it, sending scrap flying all over the place like some sort of bizarre sacrificial ritual.

Impressively, Suddery Castle appeared to be better off now than it had been before. A new hillock had raised it above the fighting somewhat, and looters from the Other Railway were already running from the ruins carrying what they could. Donald grit his teeth, and ignored them, leading Oliver over the viaduct.

Miraculously, this too was still in working order. There were a few lumps knocked out of it, but for the most part, it remained intact. There, the two engines stopped temporarily to catch their breath.

"I'm….sorry I did that now. I just…. just wanted to show that I was done with the trucks and their bloody odd morality."

"Ach, ye are asking the wrong engine for forgiveness. I wouldnae have done any different in yer place. Yon Scruffy had it coming." Donald looked out across the river. "My god. Look at what they've done."

"I'm sure Douglas is fine. He's a tough one, your brother." Oliver said, trying to sound encouraging. It didn't quite work, but Donald shot him a grateful look nonetheless.

"Can ye hear that?"

"You'll have to be a little more specific than that, I'm afraid."

"Thundering sound. Sounds like Gordon, if Gordon was-"Donald looked back. "Oh criminy, RUN!"

Oliver didn't ask questions; he just did as Donald said. "What is it?!" he panted as they crossed the viaduct.

"It's a TANK!"

"OH BLOODY HELL! OF COURSE IT BLOODY IS!" wailed Oliver. The tank fired a shot that made the entire area shudder (Or possibly that was Oliver trying not to throw up) and for one horrible moment, Oliver thought he had been hit. For suddenly he was lying on the ground, face buried in the earth.

He hadn't. What had happened was that the hapless engine had entered Crosby at the worst possible time. George had crushed the line beneath his feet during the battle, and thus Oliver had come a cropper off the rails.

Donald looked at his friend with great distress. Behind him, advancing at an admittedly slow rate but advancing nonetheless, a tank. And in front of him... The Juggernaut. The great mastodon stood there, immobile, but very clearly raring to go.

Donald would give him a fight if he wanted one. He lunged at the armored engine, sense once again being outweighed by the desire to fight. The Juggernaut shot like it had been fired out of a cannon at great speed and smashed Donald straight away with raw strength and power.

For a moment, the Caledonian thought that he had become a bird temporarily, so quickly did he fly off the rails. He whizzed around and around like a demented tilt-a-whirl, until at last he smashed through Crosby.

The station crumpled on top of him. Donald was out of it. He looked up, wearily, and had just enough peace of mind to spit in the Juggernaut's face before he collapsed.

Juggernaut looked for a moment, and then moved on.

Bloody Scottish, the engine inside thought. He had never liked them.

…

"AAARGH YE FILTHY BASTARDS! COME AND HAVE A GO IF YE THINK YE'RE HARD ENOUGH!"

Duncan was the next to be taken. The Scot was dragged, cursing and screaming out obscenities that would make a sailor blush, by narrow gauge diesels, all of whom bore blank and horrifying faces that were unreadable. As he was dragged back towards where the rest of the prisoners were being held, they advanced upon the two old engines.

"Rheneas, what now!?"

"I don't know, boyo! Looks like this is it! Sorry for everything."

Skarloey was about to respond, when he paused, and noticed another of the portals behind him. Nothing was coming through it. Which meant that...perhaps, just perhaps, salvation was at hand.

"Rheneas. I want you to know something. And if you ever try and make me repeat it, boyo, I will shove you in that bloody lake!"

"Yeah?"

"You're a good brother."

"What-"

With a single hard shove, Skarloey rammed his brother through the portal. He had just enough time to see Rheneas's shocked expression, just about to protest, and then he was gone.

Old Faithful sighed, and nodded to his captors. "Come on then. I surrender." He grinned. "Or are you scared of Old Drunkloey?" He laughed somewhat bitterly as they dragged him off. He wondered if they had beer where they were taking him.

…

Edward was barely aware of anything anymore. He just had one idea in his mind, to keep moving, because if he kept moving, then that meant that he was still alive, despite the fact that everything else told him that quite logically, he shouldn't be.

Things like the fact that he had taken several shots to the side that would have killed a lesser engine.

Like the fact that many of this friends were either captured, dead…. or worse.

Like the fact that his home was burning around him.

Almost by accident (Screw it, no almost about it) he found himself in the China Clay Pits. He looked around, dully aware that there should be some activity, any activity. He had told Bill and Ben to take care of this position. Where were the manically laughing diesels? The smug grins on the twin's faces? Where the hell, in fact, were the twins?

"Edward!"

"Bill?" He was aware that his voice was beginning to crack from all the pressure put on it. "Where are you!?"

"Down here!" The voice came from deeper into the pits, down one of the sidings. There was Bill, and Ben, and...

Edward looked to his side, unwilling...unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes. But the ghostly BoCo who had been with him through Shining Time had vanished. Perhaps it was because he had accepted that BoCo was gone, perhaps it was because he was now so distressed that the death of his friend seemed rather minor, but there was no denying that...

That there, in front of him, was BoCo.

He looked...good. Well, even. True, there was a smattering of dust, but there would have been more suspicion on Edward's part if there hadn't been. He was smiling, wearily, in the same way that he often did after a rough day at the claypits.

They locked eyes.

"Hello, old chum!"

Edward looked at BoCo, and said not a word.

"You look surprised to see me! ...Didn't think you'd see me again, did you?"

Again, silence.

"I'm sorry about the lack of postcards and letters, but there was an issue with the mail- Well, you know how it is! Percy and Thomas probably cocked it up in someway, as they often did!"

Edward looked to Bill. And then to Ben. Both seemed excited, gloriously happy, to find that their supposedly dead guardian was here and alive. And under normal circumstances, Edward would have actually been crying at seeing his friend here.

But no.

"When did you arrive on the Island?"

"...What?"

"When. Did you. Get here."

"...Nineteen eighty-six. Look is this-"

"What year was it when you left?"

"Nineteen ninety eight, listen to me-"

"What secret did I tell you in ninety four that you promised to keep until I was ready to tell it?"

"...That you watched your friends dies during the war."

Edward was on the verge of laughing hysterically. It was so good! It sounded like BoCo! The inflections, the slight hint of annoyance in his tone, the slight sparkle in his smile, but then, always then, he returned his gaze to BoCo's eyes.

There was something not right about them."

"What did you say to me, on your last night here?"

BoCo blinked. "Now, mate, this is getting a little silly, isn't it? I mean, the boys have done a resourceful job taking care of the diesels over here, shouldn't we move out?"

"Listen to me, you bastard, WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?! Our last bloody conversation! If you were BoCo, really BoCo, and you were gone for so long and had no way to contact me, like I did, you will be replaying that conversation over and over again until it is burned into your mind like ME!" Edward shook, the gun trembled.

"...I said that I was going to miss you a lot, and that I would come back as soon as I could-"

"No. No you did not say that. You didn't say anything, because you knew that it would have sounded insincere. Bill, Ben, get away from him." Edward's eyes suddenly seemed a great deal more damp than they had been a moment ago. "Get back from him, that's not the real BoCo!"

"But it is!"

"No, it is not! All right then, one final question...what did I say to YOU?"

"...This is ridiculous-" But 'BoCo' was aware of how the gun seemed to be aiming directly for his forehead. "You called me old chum, and said that when we met again, we'd have a good clear out of the Sidings-"

Edward relaxed. BoCo smiled.

The shot rang out, somehow managing to be even louder and more defeaning of all the bombs and screams and roars of the battle behind them. D3 slumped forward, already his body beginning to rust from the inside. The twins shouted, and moved towards Edward.

"...I actually said "May your rails never rust, and may your paintwork keep it's luster' but of course, you wouldn't know that." Edward's throat felt tight. Incredibly tight. He swallowed. "Twins, run."

"What?!"

"Where?"

"I don't care, just get to...to...to anywhere! Hide! PLEASE!" Edward pointed the gun at them. "GO! GO BEFORE I-"

But they were already gone, without a word.

Without another word, Edward backed away, keeping his eyes steadily away from the rotting corpse of the Fake BoCo, his anger already beginning to boil and blister underneath the somewhat calm exterior that he tried to keep up.

...

"BOO-YAH!" James shouted, as they materialized in the grotto. He paused. "Never let me do that again." Carlin and Starr nodded, it was rather awkward to be watching James try to be like a teenager.

"Bye James!"

"Bye Junior!" James hurried off. There was still time to get Gordon to 'relatively' safety. As Junior headed over to join the rest of his family, sneezing all the way, he looked over each of them.

"Well, ye all look like a bunch of shits."

"...Hello to you too, brat." Starr affectionately ruffled the young one's hair. "How is your mam? Still got the hots for...what's his face, the one who looks like O'Toole? Yeah, did not care for that guy at all."

"You know, I'd appreciate it if you didn't put images of what my sister was getting up to in my f**king head, Starr!" snapped Carlin. He paused and began to walk around, trying to get feeling back into his legs. "Damn it, we should be out there fighting!"

"With what? Sticks and stones? No chance, matey." Starr lay back and sighed, peacefully. "No, we just wait for the opportunity, and we take it. No prob."

"Prob." Mr Conductor looked at Junior, who kept his eyes focused on the ground and began to scuff his shoes.

"Sorry I took so long, cuz...better late than never?"

"So, how out of gold-dust are we?" Carlin interrupted. The three of them looked at Junior, who laughed nervously. "...Very, then. Well that's just terrific."

"Hey, it's a beautiful day-"

"Junior, get down from there before you hurt yourself, or worse, you start singing."

"I mean-" Junior continued as he jumped down from the ledge, nearly twisting his ankle as he did so. "-We're down, but we're not out!"

"No, we're out." Mr Conductor muttered, before trying to brighten up and inspire everyone with a bit of hope. "But we're not down!" He paused, and waited for the adulation for his great speech to pour in.

"This is why we don't let you f**king talk, idiot."

"Ah, leave him, he's daft. Reason why we keep him around!"

"You guys are BEING assholes for no reason!" Mr Conductor shouted. The other two ignored him and Junior as they compared how much gold-dust Starr had. He had just enough to teleport them a short distance. If they tried to get out using his supply, that would effectively put them in the water, or worse, result in some horrible accident involving teleportation.

No one was that willing to die.

...

It took him a good minute to realize that Duck was calling to him. The Great Western engine had taken damage, but not nearly as much as others. He looked battered and weary, but there was still a light in his eyes. Unlike Edward's own, he feared.

"Edward! Can you-"

"Did you get through?" Edward felt like throwing up, for some strange reason. "Please, tell me you got through, that all of this has been worth it, somehow!"

"I did! One of the old radios my driver had, got enough signal through to the Iron Circle. That was twenty minutes ago, even with our tech, it's going to take them time to get here-"

"HOW LONG?!"

Duck flinched at the…anger? Upset? Terror? Whatever it was in Edward's voice, it wasn't pretty. "Another ten minutes."

"We can't hold out for ten minutes! We've lost!"

"Well, that isn't my fault, is it?!" Duck paused. "No, you know what? It probably is. But you can't give up. Not now."

"I- "Edward's eyes widened. "-don't move."

"You don't move?"

"Duck, I'm serious. Don't move."

" **The all mighty Edward. I believe it was Old Iron, that you were once called?"** The mocking voice of Marklin, through Class 40's droning tones, sent chills down Duck's boiler. **"Fitting name, now that I think about it. Old Iron. Something that should have been melted down into something useful a long time ago."**

"Ah, Marklin. You know, you'll think me a silly old fool for this, but I never quite imagined you'd go this far. Outright invasion didn't suit you, I thought."

" **Why? Because I'm a tank engine? Because I'm German?"**

"No. Because you're a steam engine. I assumed you understood that we had to be better than those who wished us harm. No matter what happened."

" **I am better. I have always been better, Edward. Than James. Than Gordon. Than Henry. Than Thomas. And yes, even more than you."**

"That's not hard." Edward knew how weary he sounded. "You're definitely very good at this. War. Far better than I could ever hope to be. In fact, dare I say it, you're a master at it."

" **Well-"**

"But you're wrong, you know. I don't like myself. I don't like the engine I see in the mirror anymore. And yet, I will say this. I am far better than you will ever be. It doesn't matter how many you kill, how many you take…you won't remove their memory, you won't make them not exist, people will remember them far more than they ever will you. They're all better engines than you'll ever be. Even those loudmouth tender engines that we always used to gripe about…good engines. Engines you count on when the chips were really down. No one counts on you, Marklin. You could have done so much good."

" **It would have been boring! Like you! Silly little mixed traffic wannabe! Look at you, ground down by the years and by the stupidity of your fellow engines. It'll be different when I'm in charge!"**

"You want to know why I'm better than you, Marklin? It's not because I've only killed today because I had to, because it was either me or him, it's not because I hold no illusions that what I'm doing is in anyway great or wonderful of fun, it's not because I'm a tender engine and you're a tank engine, and it's not even the fact that I'm fighting for my friends and the innocent, and you're just fighting for…you. Though those are all very good reasons in and of themselves. I'm better than you because at least I tried to fix things! I tried to fight this bloody classist system, I tried to make life easier for everyone! What did you do? You took the easy way out!"

" **Shut up!"** Marklin sounded on edge.

"What's that matter, I strike a nerve?!" Edward very gingerly tilted the gun around Duck's tanks. The latter had remained still as a statue during this rant "So, come on out! Let's end this!"

Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity, but was in reality seven seconds.

And then slowly, very slowly, Bowler's buffers rounded the corner of the track. The second that the grey of the diesel's face appeared, Edward fired. He fired bullet after bullet after bullet, a whole hailstorm of bullets, right at Bowler. The diesel screamed and tried to back away, but Edward kept puffing forward, firing again and again, frying the circuitry and trapping the diesel.

Bowler managed to get off a single shot. Duck screamed in agony as the bullet pierced his side. Edward growled and shoved Duck onto a siding out of the way, before marching forward towards Bowler, who lay on his side, leaking blood and black smoke all over the place.

"Why?" whispered the diesel. "You…..said….we'd rule together."

Marklin grinned, and looked up. **"Well, better go and follow the money. Or in this case, the magic. My new form is almost complete! Ta ta, Class 40! You were a shit host, and I'm glad to be rid of you!"** And he took off, flying through the air.

Bowler's scream of rage turned into a shriek of agony as Edward finished him off permanently with a final few shots to the face.

Edward looked up in fury at the departing ghost, who was following the stream of magic and life-force being released from the many, many, MANY dead back towards a portal. "Damn, damn, DAMN!" He looked back. "Duck, how are you?"

"I'm pretty sure that I'm not supposed to be bleeding this badly. It hurts a lot."

"Yes, well, getting shot will do that to you."

Duck was about to respond, when he heard a familiar deep toned whistle. He froze. "Oh god. The Juggernaut! He's coming this way! Edward, you have to-"

"I'll hold him off. You get going, meet up with the others, and get them the hell away from the Island!"

"But, you're-"

"Old? Done for? Probably. But this way, there's a chance that we can win this back, if we can even call it a win after all the chaos today. This way, I get to catch up with Marklin. I'm going to finish this one way or another." Edward grinned. "Good luck, Monta-" He paused, and gave a genuinely soft smile "Good luck, Duck. Now go! They need you!"

And as Duck backed away, regretfully, Edward took a deep breath and charged at the armored train.

The Juggernaut snarled, though to Edward it came out as a loud wheeshing of ventilated steam, and increased speed. Edward shut his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

It didn't disappoint. The great titan practically flung the blue engine up into the air. For a moment, Edward's entire world went higgeldy piggedly, back to front, inside out and every other inversion that he could think of, before he managed to tilt himself downwards at an angle.

And he did what no other engine had ever done in the entire history of engine-kind.

When he landed, he cracked the Juggernaut's armor. He saw inside, at the startled and furious face of his former working colleague from all those years ago during the war.

He had enough time to gain a momentary bit of glee at the thought before the Juggernaut pounded the consciousness out of him.

…

Captain Zero sauntered into Knapford. He grinned and looked around, casually picking the remains of an inert Pincher onto the track, before heading into the office. He slapped away the VHS's of Scooby Doo, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and some Biblical movie that he'd never heard of. He sat down, puffed on a cigar and let out a deep, deep sigh.

It was over.

The battle was won.

Swinging his feet upon Hatt's desk, he looked around and began to picture it now. A whole fleet of Z-Stacks, not just on the water, but in the air, on the ground, beneath the ground even! The world would soon be his oyster, and he'd leave the Fat DIrector and Boomer to argue about how to rule it. Just give him all of the money, and he would quite happily take the backseat.

Speaking of Boomer...

He pulled out his cell phone and quickly phoned up P.T himself. "Ach, we've done it man! We've got them! We've got them!"

"Terrific! About time! The scavenger crews are coming back with prisoners now, and any others are probably preparing for a counter attack."

"Should I order my men ta stay behind and deal with yon fools?"

"No. You and your men need to return to Shining Time. I rather think that killing their heroes in front of everyone will be sufficiently demoralizing enough. Besides, we're having a cocktail party! All of us! It'll be a blast!"

"Ye've got TV there, have ye?"

"All eyes are on us."

"Then I willnae miss it!"

...

On Gordon's Hill, the engine himself was being dragged down by a very weary James towards Wellsworth. In a quarry somewhere, Mavis helped Henry, Toby and a badly injured Percy onto the old tramway. And not too far from where the Little Western was, a very tired Duck came to a rough stop in front of Stepney, who gently made sure to take him into the remains of an old shed.

No one noticed then, as the Spiteful Brake-van, U.L.P, Rickety, Fred Pelhay and the last of the trucks made one final dash for one of the portals left unguarded by the Fat Director's lot. There was one last thing they needed to do.

Everyone else was gone.

Sodor had fallen. The day belonged to the Other Railway.

Or did it?

For far away (Not to another universe, mind), an old man and his grand daughter sat besides an old engine, wiping her down one last time and checking her over. Lily looked to Burnett for a moment, and decided to ask a potentially awkward question.

"Did grandma love Lady as much as you do? ...Did she ever get to ride on her?"

Burnett was silent for a moment, a very long moment so it seemed, before he spoke with weariness. "Grandma loved her, yeah. I think maybe that's because I loved her so much. She wanted to move on, but I...wanted to stay and keep her safe. So she stayed with me. She never got to ride on her, properly anyway. She was unconscious when we brought her here...I couldn't fix her in time." He paused and wiped away a tear from his eye.

Lily reached forward and squeezed his hand. Startled, he paused...and then squeezed back, looking down fondly at the matching friendship bracelets. "You're so much like her." He muttered.

"Um, am I interrupting?"

"...No Patch. Come on. Let's give it a shot."

They shoveled the coal in, making sure to arrange it as best they could. They left the coal in her bunker, before with a deep breath, Burnett began to fiddle with the controls. There was a moment of silence...and then from her funnel came the unmistakable sight and sound of steam. Her lights flickered on, and Burnett stared open-mouthed, as without warning, her whistle rang out proud and true.

Patch and Lily jumped on, and Mutt too (He had gotten the hell out of dodge) and together they gripped the sides of the cab.

Then Lady's wheels began to move, slowly at first, with great difficulty, they picked up speed. At first they worried that they would hit the wall, but with a bright flash of light and the sound of distant whistling...they found that there were a new set of tracks to follow. Burnett pulled the whistle and roared with delighted laughter for the first time in years.

At long last, Lady started on the long trek home.

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** Aww, thanks! Really glad you enjoy.

 **Kamen Rider** **Necrom** : I am glad!

 **Bronze Shield** : Thank you!

 **bigyihsuan:** SOON.

 **Reality Rejection Service:** That is kind of what I'm rolling with as well, the idea that if Gordon or Henry was in charge, the Island would have fallen completely. Edward knows that they can't win, bar a moment of madness in this chapter, but he knows that it's important to buy time so that those who can win can get ready. The reason that they start losing here is because the Other Railway is smart, it's not sending in engines like the Juggernaut or Diesel 10 to areas where they can be taken out easily, rather holding back on them for the big moments. The only reason the Other Railway won this battle was because the engines ultimately aren't equipped for a battle like this. But for what it's worth, they gave a hell of a fight. Yeah, you just have to roll with the madness at this point.

 **Radical sandwiches** : Ha! Yeah, that was the scariest thing I could write at that point!

 **TrainManiac** : Glad you thought it was epic! Hopefully the conclusion leaves you relatively satisfied.

 **Phillip Clark:** Has been fixed! Thanks for pointing that out.

 **Reid007:** Was a mistake, has been corrected, hope you enjoyed nonetheless!

 **AaronCottrell97:** I'm so glad everyone loved that line, it was a joy to write!

 **UGX7:** Had Caroline not popped in up in the background a lot during the HIT seasons, she would have definitely been one of the characters on the chopping block because she really didn't do anything after Season 5. The Bulstrode stuff is funny, but I figured that since he doesn't appear again in the series, and his model was already being taken apart to use as background dressing, killing him would fit.

 **The Guest** : Those are good ideas with regards to the new characters! I'll definitely consider them if nothing else. Truro's face getting burned does get a little explanation here, but it might be expanded upon later.

-So, let's talk a bit about the battle. Why did it happen? Why didn't I save it for, say, the end of the actual story as opposed to it being a two part event? Well, the first reason is that I did want the story to feel pretty big and having a battle on this scale helped with that. But secondly, and more importantly, I wanted to create a reason for all the areas that we don't see again after Season 5 (Even if they have returned at present, they went missing for a long period of time following said season) and why they're gone. The destruction of Crovan's Gate in particular was meant to explain why the Skarloey engines seem to move to the mountains in later seasons (At least, more so than usual). Crosby, the old quarry, the china clay pits, Maron, Suddery...this is my way of temporarily writing them out. Until such time as they return in the series proper.

-A third reason is because I feel that the James scene in the movie proper has a very awkward feel to it. As if it was part of something bigger originally, but it ended up being another remnant of the old drafts. Here, at least, it makes more sense given the wider battle going on. And especially since we don't see James again after this point (Or any other engine not named Thomas, Lady or Diesel 10), I wanted there to be something going on for the other engines.

-Sir Handel running away is meant to explain HIS absence in all seasons up to Season 10. Originally the plan was to just have him gone in Season 5, but I figured that having him give into his jerk side and leaving Duke and Peter Sam would make for a more interesting dynamic for when he ultimately returns. And why he almost seems like a different character all together.

-What about Duke himself? Well, again, I've a plan, but...that's a story for another time. I'm deliberately leaving it open for interpretation whether or not he died or not, primarily because...well, he's a character that we've had rumblings about returning to the series proper for ages, so I don't want to kill him for good. But yeah, he's not coming back for a long time.

-Where have Rusty and Rheneas gone to? All will be revealed! But not how you might have expected it to be.

-Class 40 had no point to the story any more. Bye bye, Class 40. You were quite pointless. It did give me a chance to write more scenes with Marklin though, who is going to be quite important in the next two parts.

-So for the record, the ones taken by the Other Railway (Back to Shining Time as it happens) are Edward, Oliver, Donald, Douglas, Bill, Ben, Butch, Caroline, Skarloey Duncan and Peter Sam. Unless I'm forgetting anyone, that leaves Henry, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby, Duck, Mavis, Harold, Bertie, Terrance and Trevor still active on the Island, with Thomas on his way back. But wait, I hear you cry, why haven't you done anything with Harold? ...Just give it time. We're almost there.

-Another few references here to the original VHS Magic Railroad. On that was advertisements for videos of How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders and The Miraclemaker, a stop motion retelling of Jesus's life. Just a little shout out there.

-A lot of the ending of the battle came about because of one of my favorite musical albums, Jeff Wayne' War of the Worlds. Just a little trivia for you there. Hell, back when I was thinking about having this be a musical, I was originally going to take a few tracks from that CD and adapt them.

-Quick little note regarding next time. A lot of the Magic Railroad stuff is going to get wrapped up somewhat. Part of that is because I want to get rid of the somewhat small climax of the movie so that I can get to Part 10, which is essentially the climax I'D give if I were in charge. Big, epic and wrapping up a good few plot points. Hope you enjoy.


	139. The Magic Railroad: Part 9

**Part 9: Take A Breath.  
**

Patch gripped the back of the cab as hard as he could. At the moment, his mind as currently rebuking him for all the stupid choices he had made in the last hour or so. It was a very long list, mostly because he kept wondering why he had even bothered to climb aboard the train with the potentially crazy man.

Burnett looked all around the Magic Railroad, his eyes adjusting to the somewhat darker appearance it had had when last he had seen it. It had looked so alive then, so majestic. And now he felt as though he was trespassing in the land of the dead. But there was still a few sparkles of life. Through the gaps, he could see...more universes.

There was one where a group of actors argued on stage regarding what appeared to be a very shoddy rendition of Peter Pan. Odd, but not the oddest Burnett had seen. And sure enough, the next one was odd as well, as five brightly colored engines wearing what appeared to be spandex and helmets faced off against a massive monster that reached out with many tentacles.

"I...don't think I've seen that Power Rangers show before." Lily muttered behind him.

Burnett smiled for a moment, before focusing once again on the other universes. There was one where the engines were all aliens from outer space, being beamed down from a massive mothership. And then, besides that, there was an image of Thomas the Tank Engine, blood dripping from his mouth and his face rotting away...over the bodies of humans, while the other engines fled away from this zombie.

The next one was different though, a bit lighter. Thomas appeared to have become Superman in this one. It was weird. So was the next one, images of the engines appearing at random around the world, the Sahara, Australia, Japan, the Amazon and, most curious of all, the Amazon of all things. Burnett scratched his head. These were...different, he gave them that.

But there was one universe that he saw that really shook him.

There was nothing there. The image was entirely still, just a dark screen if you would, without any sounds or sight. But before Burnett turned away to take care of Lady, he could have sworn he saw a pair of eyes flicker in the darkness. Whatever that was, it wasn't the Malevolence. It was someone else.

Something else.

"Lily, look!" Patch shouted. Lily hurried back, and Burnett glanced over his shoulder. He shook his head, and then looked again, not quite believing what it was he was seeing. Behind him, from Lady's wheels, was...something. Were her wheels sparking? He checked her over. No, no problem there.

And then he looked at the stretch of railroad behind him.

The second that the sparks, or the magic, or whatever they were, hit the ground, it seemed that the very ground itself pulsed with energy again. After so long, the lost engine was back, and her magic was beginning to revitalize the Magic Railroad once more!

"The Railroad's getting it's energy back!"

"Thanks Patch, for stating the obvious!" Burnett glanced upwards. The ceiling, the walls, even the rails themselves seemed to shine like they had never done so before. The murky dark was dispelled away by a warm glow from the roof, as if the sun had finally risen after a long lie in. From behind, plants grew and grew to taller heights, bursting from the old cracked and dull bark. New shoots shot out, leaves expanded outwards from the old stems once more, branches grew thick and mighty once more.

Lily picked up the bag, and almost out of curiosity than anything else, waved the bag through the magic. As she did so, several of the sparks, or swirls, or whatever they were called, landed there.

And now Lady's wheels were going faster and faster, almost faster than they had ever gone before. As she gained steam, more and more of her magic began to flow outwards, transforming the barren tunnel and restoring it back to it's former mysterious and wonderful glory. The greenery was almost getting overwhelming, to the point where any attempt to see the alternate universes was rapidly becoming impossible.

Burnett didn't care. He leaned forward, and patted the side of Lady's cab with great affection. "Well M'Lady...lights are all green for you now. Green for glory. Let's go home."

"That was cheesy." Patch muttered, but he still patted the baffled Mutt's head and felt far more excited than he had been a few minutes ago. Burnett backed into the cab, and looked at Lily. She was beaming, and in that moment Burnett realized more than ever that he was damn lucky to have such a grand-daughter.

"Tasha would have loved this journey."

At any other time, the statement would have filled Burnett with a painful stab of regret. But now, with all this beauty around him, he couldn't help but grin. "She would have. But she would be even happier that you were here to share this with me." He reached out, hugged her and kissed her.

"Wait, we're coming out!"

"But this wasn't here when we last crossed the Railroad!"

They were now in an open field, open as far as the eyes could see. In the distance, Burnett could have sworn that he saw figures from his past. His mother and father, and...Tasha?

She, if it was her, smiled and waved. And he smiled and waved back.

And then, something else even more majestic happened. As they left the forest behind them, the engine shook for a moment, as if inhaling a large breath of fresh air after nearly forty years of being asleep...and spoke.

"So Burnett, you did remember the magic! It's still inside you!"

Burnett beamed happily at the sound of Lady's voice. Lily pulled out the stuffed bluebird, and more because she felt like it than anything, waved it around the air, absorbing all the magic she could.

"Oh, of course this engine talks too. Naturally. Why are we here?" Patch asked, more to break the silence than anything. He patted Mutt's head. The dog was somewhat out of his element here. As if he had ever been in said element throughout this caper.

And then a whistle rang out.

"To pick up a friend, of course."

"THOMAS!"

Thomas the Tank Engine hit the rails with a bump, and tried his best to ignore the various bruises, cuts and potential concussions that had been visited upon his face during his very random trip through several different universes. He had seen things he wanted to unsee as soon as possible. Then he looked at Lady, and more out of madness, laughed. "You found her! Took you long enough! Cor, what a bird!"

"Get your eyes off my arse, you."

Burnett blew the whistle, and Thomas responded in kind. And then Lady began to speed up even more so, taking a deep breath-

...

-and with a loud whistle, they were on the other side of the buffers!

"We're back! Slow down here, stop Grandpa!"

Lady looked all around her. The Grotto had clearly not changed much since her departure from the Island. Well, save for the very random inclusion of a well there that four rather bored looking Conductors sat around.

"Okay...i spy with my little eye, something beginning with C."

"Conductors." said Starr, Carlin and Junior as one. A very bored one, to be sure. Carlin got up and headed to look and see how Kirk Ronan was doing. He therefore missed the awestruck reactions of both Mr Conductor and Junior (And the apathetic one of Starr) as they saw Lady come to a stop. Lily jumped up and ran over to hug them both. "Hello Junior! Hello Mr C! Hello...you."

"I was in a band when I was younger. Dad over there probably recognizes me. He looks old enough."

"A wee bit bitter, aren't ye, Starr?"

"So would you be, kid, if you were my age."

"Mr Conductor, this is my grandpa!" Lily gestured towards Burnett, who warily stepped off Lady's footplate and headed towards the strange men with trepidation.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr Stone. I'm so glad you found your way back."

Carlin greeted him somewhat differently. But the sentiment was still there. "Burnett?! Is that you? F**k me sideways with a rusty tentpole, you look like shit! What happened to you?"

"Hello Carlin." Burnett smiled genuinely, and lightly placed a hand on Carlin's shoulder. After a moment's pause, the two of them went in for an embrace...and then figured that a simple handshake would do just as well. Meanwhile, Mr Conductor was having a bit of a fanboy moment, pointing at Lady eagerly.

"Junior! Do you realize who this is?!"

"One beautiful engine!" Junior paused at the somewhat annoyed looking faces of the other Conductors, before advancing towards said engine. As he got closer, he frowned, the gears began to turn in his head. "You mean-"

"Yep." Starr grunted.

"-that this is-"

"Keep using your words." Carlin muttered.

"-THE LOST ENGINE!?"

"That took longer than expected, you slowcoach." Mr Conductor looked at his watch. "God, is that the time? We need to get a move on, I reckon."

"Yeah, are we glad to see ye, now we can head back to Shining Time and put this whole sorry situation behind us!" Junior's enthusiasm died down at the sight of Mr Conductor's stoic expression. "Right, cuz?"

"Junior, we won't make it back to Shining Time without the gold-dust. Without it, the magic, and us, can't exist!" Mr Conductor and Junior shared an Oscar-worthy moment of silent dialogue, while the other two Conductors watched on in bafflement.

"Mate, the hell are you on about?"

"Yeah, you ham. We're not going to die or disappear if we don't get the gold dust back, it just means that at worst we'll lose our magic for a bit and we'll, heaven forbid, have to learn how to walk using our legs!"

"And for that matter-!" shouted Thomas, who had just popped out of the buffers and hurried up to the line besides Lady for the time being "-if you can't get to Shining Time, then how the hell did you know I was going to get back there in one piece!?"

"Ummmm-"

"You were pulling that out of your ass, weren't you?" Thomas sounded peeved. "Bloody nora on a stick! I mean, things are already dire as they are now. I just went through seven different places and got turned into a tumbleweed for a scene or two! It was weird!" As Starr nodded in agreement, Thomas looked at Lady. "Hello...God? Do you answer to God? Should I call you Goddess or-"

"Lady is fine."

"Hello Lady is fine! I'm Thomas! I'm the one who nearly died trying to get you coal!"

"Oh, that actually reminds me, how is it that using coal from where Lady originally came from didn't occur to you?" Lily said, brightly. Burnett frowned, and went beet red.

"If your excuse is that we're in another universe, I will rip my own buffers off and use them to beat you to death. And laugh while doing so!" Thomas's violent attitude was not needed however. Burnett nodded and sheepishly grinned. "Hell. All right, how badly have things gone here?"

"Oh, ye know, there have been some bomb runs going on, but we've actually been out of the action! I think everything's going grand!" Junior beamed. Everyone stared at him and cursed quietly under their breath.

As if on cue, Henry clattered through the gap in the trees where the grotto met the rest of the railway. His entire frame was covered from head to toe in soot, he looked as black as...something not offensive. "Great bloody heavens!" He raged. "THERE YOU ARE!" He pulled Percy in.

Thomas gasped. Percy's head was bleeding badly, and he wasn't awake. Carlin ran over and looked at him. "Come on, mate, stop f**king around! Wake up, come on, don't make me use the four letter words some more!" He looked around desperately. "The hell happened to him!?"

"Silly ass tried to hold off some of the diesels at the old quarry." grunted Toby as he entered with Mavis and Henrietta. "Managed to cause a landslide that took out a good number of them, but he got caught in the accident. No canvas barrier to save him this time." Toby was clearly concerned, but masking it well. He turned, and spotted Lady. "Is this-"

"I am Lady. Hello there...tram?"

Toby didn't react to the slur, intended or otherwise "Toby. And I must say, after all I've heard about you... I thought you'd be taller."

...

Edward woke up to the sound of gloating laughter. That wasn't actually all that different from waking up on a normal morning at Tidmouth, so it took him a moment to note the large chains that were wrapped around him. And the smell of diesel oil.

He reluctantly opened his eyes to see a truly remarkable sight. On the platform, not too far away from him, sat people he recognized from Duck's description. P.T Boomer, Captain Zero and the Fat Director. Mr Gotch was also there, along with several different groups of sailors, bikers and Other Railway workmen, all of whom looked as though all of their Christmas's had come early.

Tied up in similar fashion were the others, all of whom looked as though their journey here had not been the best. Edward shuddered to think what he looked like, he was aware of part of his head having been soaked with blood. And all across the massive section of criss-cross track, lay diesels. They all looked as though they were ready to enjoy themselves.

And there was Marklin, hovering over the station with a grin on his face. Edward wasn't surprised, the ghostly engine appeared to be getting more and more solid with every passing minute. Soon he'd be back to his 'normal' self, bar a few extra ghost powers that he'd be keeping.

The Fat Director stepped forward to gaze upon Edward. "You...you were at the rally in nineteen-ninety-one...you have not changed much, I must admit. Despite everything that we have thrown at you, you are still alive. Were you not a steam engine, I'd be impressed."

"And you've done a very good job at overwhelming us and staying one step ahead at all time. Even Duck, who had access to all the gadgets and toys he could have wanted, had all his cunning plans and clever tricks come to naught. If it wasn't for the fact that you are an obese, foul, disgusting, self-serving, manipulate, over-complicating little shit stain of a human being, I'd be moderately respectful of you."

"Ye want me to kill him, boss?" Zero pulled out a gun and pointed it at Edward's head. The blue engine laughed.

"Well, I mean, he's not wrong though, is he?" Boomer remarked, out of nowhere. Edward rolled his eyes. Here he was trying to die a noble death, and this tit came swanning in and ruining his big moment!

"...Excuse you, Boomer?"

P..T Boomer looked around, and took a deep breath. This was it. D-Day had arrived. "Well, sir, let me be blunt. From the moment that I started working with you, under orders from the Malevolence, your schemes have been, to be frank, utter shite. They are over-complicated, baffling, relying on too many variables that you can't possibly hope to control and also pointless. You were spinning plates for so long that you kept forgetting about them all, one by one, and then acted surprised when they fell to the ground and broke."

"...You're very chatty all of a sudden. It's interesting, but a tad annoying." There was a definite edge to the Fat Director's words now.

"Of course, it wouldn't be quite so bad if it wasn't for...well...what you've actually done. Which when you think about it, isn't that much. You sent a ghost into the Island, twice. You've built yourself up to be a cultish leader via the destruction of several steam engines, but really, any idiot can do that. You attempted to gain control of the Island via the mayoral campaign, and then to blow up the Island, when all that happened was that we ended up killing our own candidate and then destroying the entire railway and all those loyal to you."

"...Gotch, shoot him."

Gotch did not move.

"Gotch!"

"He heard you, he just isn't going to do it. Isn't that right, Gotch?"

"Indeed." Gotch raised the gun and pointed it at the Fat Director. The latter's stoic expression didn't break, but it was possible to just about see an expression in his eyes of surprise. "Sorry...well, not really. I'd rather be on a side that actually remembers to use me and broke me out of jail that one that just tossed me aside after a year or so."

Captain Zero stepped forward. "Men, let's show these bastards how ta deal with traitors!" He raised his gun, as did a few others...but the remainder of the troops, sailors, Other Railway employees and bikers alike, did absolutely nothing. "Ye heard me, ye crazy-"

"Ah ah ah, be careful there, Zero boy, you don't want to do something that you'll regret."

Zero spun about, and watched in horror as large, shadowy tendrils reached forward and seemed to snap the few loyal men's bodies in two. Marklin gave a ghoulsih grin as he made his way to join the remainder of the mutineers. By now, not even the Fat Director could hide just how unprepared he had been for this eventuality. "Marklin, you...Have you forgotten who saved you? Who gave you that body?"

 **"I have not. And let me tell you, being in this body, on that Island for nearly twenty years!? Horrible, utterly, utterly horrible! It didn't even go anywhere! You just recalled me and made me go through one hell of a nasty body change! Even if it weren't for the whole 'being dead' angle, I'd be incredibly angry about the final result! True, you have helped me get my other half back, but really, it's not worth having to put up with you yapping away forever."**

"And just in case you are wondering-" Boomer cut in, clearly enjoying himself "-the diesels aren't coming to your aid either. Right lads?!" The laughter he got in return emboldened him even further. "You see, again, thanks to your shortsightedness, Davidson's destruction of the Other Railway ended up completely wiping out most of the loyal diesels that you had so carefully cultivvated over the years. So, when we started production at the Smelters, it was incredibly easy to make sure that these cookie-cutter diesels were loyal to me. And you preformed your jobs admirably, boys!"

The combined blast of their horns almost deafened Edward completely.

"Same with the workers. They're beginning to get rather tired of that Isonationlist policy you keep pushing, locking them away in a massive complex for their entire lives and having to ignore the screams every day as they try and shop. So, as it turns out, fear isn't better than love." Boomer grinned, and raised his hands up. "Now, shall I take your souls...or should I just kill you?"

"Insane...all of ye, insane!"

"Ah, Captain. Now, this would be the part where I'd offer you a job with us, but at this point, the Scottish accent has gotten boring. So, off you-"

There was a loud whistling sound, and from a suddenly appearing portal rolled the trucks.

"-pop."

In the confusion, both Director and Captain scarpered for the outskirts.

The Spiteful Brakevan held no illusions about what was about to happen. He knew that there was no chance that the trucks, as powerful as they could be, would overpower the diesels. But he was damn well going to try anyway. "FORWARD!" he roared, and the last great trucks charged at the Other Railway.

It lasted, in total, five minutes. The trucks may have been fierce and proud and troublesome and all that, but they were still made of wood. And one by one, they were snuffed out.

Fred was the first to go, crushed underneath the wheels of the Juggernaut. Then Rickety, still laughing, was smashed to pieces by two enthusiastic diesels. U.L.P took shot after shot, growling and battering all the time, until one lucky one finally hit him square on in the face. Finally, the Brakevan spat out curses and screams of righteous fury as one after another, the diesels and trucks surrounded him and torn him to pieces once more.

"All right, you've had your fun."

The army turned to see Edward, having used the distraction to break free of his chains, standing there.

"Now, come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough."

...

Toby's sarcasm quickly gave way to terror as he desperately kept begging Percy to hold on. While the other engines spitballed desperately ideas about how to fix the injuries, Thomas was filled in on how the battle had gone in his absence.

Lady said nothing. She just stared at Toby with the strangest expression on her face, as if she had seen him before. She looked over to Carlin, who was sitting down and staring at the ground in absolute misery. No one had said anything to him for a bit. No one really wanted to mock him or try and jolt him out of his sorrow for the moment. They all needed to take a breath.

Everyone tensed as they heard the sound of twigs crackling. Mr Conductor stood in front of all of them, trying his best to protect them just in case. The bushes shook for a moment...and then cleared to reveal James, dragging a very badly wounded Gordon behind him.

"James!"

"Thomas! You're back! Thank god! Now, listen, this stupid great prat tried to take on Diesel 10 single-handedly, and...well, you can see the result of that attack, can't you? So...does anyone have a insta-fix for this?"

Toby glared at Gordon, who was staring off into the distance, a clear sign of guilt on his face. "You great dozy shit, I know you make it a career habit of ignoring Edward's speeches and good sense, but of all the bloody times to do so-"

"Yes or no, can we heal him!?" James asked, urgently.

"He has to get in line!" snapped Henry. He paused, and then said in a softer voice. "Percy's badly injured. Luckily, the injuries are mostly treatable. Unluckily, the one that I have no idea how to fix is the most severe one." He nodded towards Percy's face, where large bruises and cuts covered the top half of said face. "He's concussed at the best, possible brain damage at worse."

James paused, and apologized. He looked around...and did a double take at Lady. "OO-ER! Is that-?"

"Lady? Yeah."

"Huh. Thought she'd be taller." James looked at Lady critically for a moment. "This will sound rude, and I apologize for putting you on the spot...no, actually, I don't. You're magical, right?"

"Yes, in theory, but-"

"But nothing. You have magic. You can stop this from happening! Toby, I'm not just talking out of my tender here, am I?"

"No, you're right!" Toby coughed, and tried to sound a bit more reasonable. "Listen, Miss Lady, what my friend is trying to say and making making a pig's ear of it, is this. Please can you use your magic to heal our friends?"

Lady looked at the faces of the engines. Henry looked nervously between the two engines. James stared off into the distance. Toby looked at Mavis, who gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile. And Thomas...Thomas just looked weary. "I...Listen, I can gather up my magic and try, all right? But there's a problem. I've been dormant for so long, so the full extent of my powers are not yet back. And I've spent a lot of magic in restoring the Railroad-"

"RAILWAY!" said the others, as one.

"...Railway, then, to it's former glory. If I can heal them...I can only do so to one engine at this moment."

"Better give it to Gordon then." Percy muttered under his breath.

There was a pause as this sunk in.

"What?" Toby's voice sounded rather small, before he pulled himself together. For the time being, at any rate. "Percy, no, that's crazy! Listen, Lady can just...give half of her healing to each of you! That way, the major injuries will be dealt with, and then we can work on fixing you up-"

"It doesn't work like that." Lady looked pained. "My magic can be very literal. It can cover superficial wounds like cuts and bruises...but skull fractures, broken buffers,...even brain damage? That requires a lot of energy."

"Then...Then...I don't know!"

"Toby, please. Heal Gordon up." Percy groaned. "Everything hurts."

"...Are you sure?"

"No. But it's the right thing to do."

Toby looked at Percy for a moment, and then sadly chuckled. "You idiot." He said, with such genuine sentiment and affection that it was almost startling that it was coming from someone on the Island of Sodor. "See what happens when I'm not around to take care of you...you hang in there, no matter what, you got it?"

"Yeah...really want to sleep though."

"Don't." Toby turned to Lady, and gave a short nod. He didn't trust himself to speak. She took a deep breath, and closed her eyes. Under her breath she muttered words that sounded like they belonged to no language in existence.

The engines closed their eyes slightly as her entire body began to glow a shining white. From her buffers, tendrils of light made their way quickly to Gordon's body. The express engine let out a noise of bafflement as they grabbed hold of where his buffers should have been. He let out another as the light suddenly began to grow and grow, covering his entire body, face and all.

After two minutes of weird noises and even stranger sights, the white returned to tendrils, which in turn detached themselves from Gordon, and they in turn made tehir way back to Lady. She sagged the second that they returned.

Gordon, meanwhile, was looking rather decent. Sure, he was still cracked and bruised a bit, but for the most part he in was in one piece again. He looked around in bafflement. "Well...that was a thing that happened."

At that moment, something came through the trees. The engines tensed up, and the four Conductors raised their fists...before lowering them at the sight of Duck being pushed along by Stepney. The former looked all around him and groaned. Stepney cheerfully whistled.

"Stepney."

"Good to see you again, miss. Surprised you recognize me after all this time. Duck, say hello to Lady."

"She's a lot shorter than I reckoned she was going to be." Duck shook himself. "Good to see you, at last. You'll forgive me if I don't start fainting and fawning up a storm, but I'm a little bit...out of it, at the moment." He looked at Percy, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, old chum. I rather dragged you all into this, didn't I?" He looked downcast. "And now they've got Edward."

"Shit." muttered James, clearly shaken. "...So what do we do now?"

"Well, I don't know what you'll do, but I for one am going to face our enemies down. Even if it kills me. Hell, let's face it, especially if it kills me." Toby looked around, and winced. "When I headed over to the tramway, I was able to find this in all the chaos." Carlin took the hint, and hauled out a rather battered, but reasonably well maintained...thing.

"Hang about, is that Davidson's electric skirt?" Duck shook his head. "I could have sworn we had taken all the evidence that was necessary to the case with us! How'd you get your hands on it?"

"My driver had figured that by taking it, he'd save his money troubles. As it was, it didn't pan out that way, but he made sure that it was well maintained and hidden in the old shed. This should serve as both a makeshift cowcatcher...and a weapon."

"But how are we going to get ready in time?"

"Simple! A simple scene break of three dots should be enough time to make sure that we're prepared! Observe!"

...

"Wow, that was amazing, Toby!"

"Rest in peace, poor fourth wall...it's all Duck's fault for questioning things." Duck disagreed with this statement heartily, but conceded that with all the things he had managed to screw up, one more wouldn't really hurt that badly.

"All right...so we're ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be." Gordon grunted as he rolled forward a few times. His new wheels were taking a bit of getting used to. If he was looking for sympathy, he got very little, save from a brief concerned glance from James. "Vicarstown?"

"Vicarstown." agreed Toby. "You coming Stepney?"

"I'll go with you to the bridge, but then I'm using the portal to get me back to the Bluebell Railway. I'm going to see if I can't get my friends there to lend us a buffer in the fight!" Stepney nodded to the eight of them. "Good luck, all of you. We're going to need it."

Then things went from bad to worse. James shrieked and whistled loudly at the sight of a horribly familiar figure making his approach through the gap in the cliffs of the grotto. Flanking him stood the very battered Splatter and Dodge, both of whom were staring at the steam engines with undisguised hatred and rage.

 **"Ah ha! Like a bad penny, you lot just keep on turning up! The Blue Puffball himself! Pity you missed the fight, I would have so liked to have shaken claws with you!"** Diesel 10 grinned that horrible grin of his. **"Oh, and you've brought the lost engine right to me! Thank you for that!"**

"You're still around then." growled Lady, trying not to let the slight pricks of fear that she felt in her boiler get to her. "I'd assumed you'd gotten bored and decided to take up gardening or some such."

 **"Ha! Oh, Lady, all that time sleeping away has not improved your sense of humor."** Diesel 10's smile dropped. "Splodge. Get over there. Obliterate her."

"No."

"We don't want to!"

"You're so tough, you do it!"

 **"...You know, Splodge, I don't care if you are on my side. My first act when I rule everything will be to gut your corpses and wear your bodies like gloves. But you are right. This is something I've got to do on my own."**

Henry frowned. "What are the two shunters up to? I mean, they are on his side, right?"

Duck growled. "They're trying to trick us into thinking that they've reformed! Lads...before we head over there and layeth the smackdown for the, oh I don't know, ten minutes of defiance we have before the screaming starts, how about we take a little test run and obliterate the shit out of those two annoyances!?"

"Sounds like a plan to me!" Mavis grinned, somewhat off kilter.

Toby sighed. "Truly I am the only sane one here." He looked to Thomas. "You coming?"

"I can't get turned around quick enough! Besides someone has to protect Lady! I don't know why the hell that's me, but if we run, we can hopefully keep him occupied for the time being!" Thomas gulped. "Oh god, why did I pick today of all days to be brave?!"

"It suits you."

"Oh hush. Come on Lady, I'll help you."

Burnett jumped onboard Lady's cab. "So am I, m'Lady. I'm not letting you down again!" He paused. "Well, it'll be nice if I actually do something competent for once." The other Conductors nodded. "Carlin, you want a ride?"

"Er..." Carlin looked at the massive and malevolent diesel, who was moving towards the engines snapping his claw like a crocodile's jaw, and then back at the somewhat smaller engines. "You know what, this is all your f**king thing, Burnett, don't mind me. I'll just...sit here and look at this well."

"Grandpa, if you die, mom's going to be really angry!"

"I'm not going to die!"

"Yeah? Doesn't look that way to me, mate."

"You stay out of this, Paul McCartney!"

"...You better be joking mate, or I'll come over there and give you such a pasting-" Starr was held back by Mr Conductor, who decided to be useful for once and shout out an actual warning.

"Watch out for the Big Dipper viaduct! It's dangerous!"

He was promptly ignored again, as the two sets of the engines set off towards their destinies. Duck led Toby, Mavis, James, Gordon, Henry and a slightly out of it Percy towards Splodge, both of whom looked very surprised. They hadn't expected the engines to be in such an unforgiving mood! ...Which just goes to show just how stupid some engines can be. The two of them backed up and begun to race away as fast as they could.

Meanwhile, a cackling Diesel 10 roared after Lady and Thomas, both of whom were going like the clappers through the Kirk Ronan area.

The second that they were out of sight, Mr Conductor screamed, startling several birds and sending Carlin diving straight for the well. "WHAT?!" He shouted, trying to calm his heart down. "Where's the fire?!"

"That ENGINE! LADY! NAME! LADY! PART OF THE CLUE! MISSING SOURCE! OF THE GOLD DUST!" This last part he said in tandem with Junior, and after a moment of looking back and forth, they both began screaming again.

The others merely sat, bemused by the whole affair.

"So...is he an acquired taste or-?"

"No, Henrietta, he is not." Carlin sighed. "Come on, Starr, we might as well get her on the ferry. What else are we going to do while those two tits are screaming blue murder?"

"We could always get really, really high."

"Now there's an idea..." said Carlin thoughtfully.

...

The chase was on!

Thomas and Lady had a good headstart. "Keep moving! This is my branch-line, we should be exiting Kirk Ronan in a minute and heading towards Elsbridge!" Thomas looked back. There was no sign of Diesel 10. "Do you have a plan?"

"Not die!"

"That's a good one! SERIOUSLY!"

"My magic's still taking it's time to recharge, I'm afraid! So, all we need to do is outrun-"

At that very moment, there was a loud roar, and behind them, Ten rushed around the corner with a snarl that didn't seem to belong on any earthly creature's face. He grit his teeth and plunged through, smashing any bridges or trees that got in his way. "Now I've got you all!"

"No you don't, because the magic you refuse to believe in will get the better of you!"

"The bloody hell does that mean!? If he doesn't bloody believe in magic, then does he not believe in himself!? Are all Americans this bloody stupid, or was there something in the water at this Shining Time?!" Thomas continued to rant as they pulled ahead into Elsbridge. Much to his horror, the bombs and attacks had almost completely wiped the station that he had spent so much time at off the face of the Earth. He closed his eyes. Time to mourn later.

"You can run! But you can't hide!" The American accent was back again, much to Ten's annoyance. They drew up to Title Screen Bridge, looking much the worse for wear. "Right Pinchy? He's hungry! **Here, take a BITE!"** The claw snapped dangerously close to Thomas's cab, nearly taking the roof off completely. Thomas let out a string of words that wasn't quite English and shot ahead.

Lady looked back and stared at Diesel 10, who appeared to be having an argument with himself, if that made any sense. She had no idea what was going on, or why there seemed to be one British and one American in the same head, arguing over nothing. But it did give her an idea. She concentrated hard on reaching Thomas's mind.

 _Thomas?_

 _HOLY SHIT WHAT'S THAT?_

 _Be a little quieter, why don't you? I'm speaking to you telepathically._

 _You can do that?!_

 _Apparently. Listen, I've worked out a plan, a proper one. If we provoke him, we could cause those two personalities inside of him to fight. That'll distract him, and then...well, hopefully he can be taken out. Somehow._

 _You want us to actually mock the massive thing with a claw and immortality? Sure, it's not the stupidest thing I've done. Ask me about the mine incident another time._

As they reached the watermill, Diesel 10 took another swing. This time, he connected, and Thomas thought for a moment that he was going to be completely knocked into the water. But then, somehow, he managed to right himself. Ten's American voice would not shut up, mockingly shouting out "Look out!" and "Heeeeere I come!" as he continued onwards.

"You know, this really reduces the intimidation factor when you get right down to it." Lady remarked. "I mean, the Malevolence used to be big and powerful and angry all the time, and it used to be actually threatening. And now he's just a yank with a silly claw."

 **"Oh trust me, when I get my claw on you, you're going to WISH I was just a yank with a silly claw!"** They swerved into the Ballahoo Tunnel, the sound of Ten's claw slamming into the walls over and over again in an attempt to bring down the whole thing echoing all around them. It was disturbing, to say the least.

They shot out the other side into the daylight.

 _It's working, Thomas! Now, how do we take him out?_

 _The viaduct! It's collapsing, if we're lucky we can trap him there! How's Burnett doing!?_

Burnett Stone groaned and tried not to throw up his lunch. He gripped the cab tightly and chanced a look back. The Malevolence was so enraged by this point that common sense and logic had vanished from his mind. All he wanted to do was to wring their necks as painfully as he possibly could. He reached out and grabbed at Thomas's cab. The tank engine pulled and tugged, but Ten gripped him so hard it was impossible to escape.

As they crossed the bridge, they spotted the other engines racing towards Vicarstown. They all tried to whistle their encouragement, but it did not help that Thomas could distinctly hear Henry muttering to James. "I'm staying clear of that one!"

"OH THANKS HEN-AAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Ten had ripped the claw back, taking out part of his back buffer beam and leaving him leaking the blood-like substance that all engines had. Thomas felt pain like he had never felt it before. He wished he had a cigarette or something to take away the pain, but all he could think of doing was moving forwards so that the claw never caught hold of him again.

"For a puffball, you're pretty fast!"

"And for a demonic overlord, you really are stupid!" Thomas laughed. "Good job, brain! Finally, a decent insult!"

...

 _Huh. So they thought they were hard enough._

 _Ah, so this is what dying feels like._

 _Have to say, I'm not going to make a habit out of this._

Edward's wounds were freshly opened again, most of the blood now spilling onto his face and giving him a crimson mask. This would have normally been very painful, but Edward had completely lost feeling with regards to any nerves in his face, so it was really just like having a shower. Just a bit more sticky.

"You know, 98642, I always knew you were an arsehole, but even I thought you couldn't this bad."

"What can I say? It's just so good to be bad." The Juggernaut advanced forwards, Sir Topham Hatt turned away to try and avoid watching the end of Edward, Boomer rubbed his hands with glee...and then there was a bright flash, and the Juggernuat roared as something rammed against him and tipped him fully over, leaving only his wheels spinning.

"WHAT!?" Boomer shouted.

"Ha! Oh wow! Hey, you that arse who's ruining our Island? I ask because I'm getting tea for everyone, now do you want one lump or two?!" Henry paused. "Sounded a lot more badass in my head, I must admit."

"Hey buddy. How's it going?" asked Edward, casually.

"Oh you know. So so."

Arry moved forward, but then with another white flash, he was shoved backwards into Bert. The two shunters stared in surprise at the engine in front of them, who was currently beating the tar out of Splatter and Dodge.

"Hold still, you two, and the express will deal with you presently!" Gordon bragged, his confidence having surprisingly returned to it's usual unsinkable state during the journey.

Gotch moved forward and grabbed his gun. Sure enough, another white flash briefly blinded him. He opened his eyes...and then immediately closed them again as the sunlight was reflected back towards his face by the many, many jewels adorning the red engine's coat of paint. "You've all been very bad, haven't you? It's time for ACTION!"

"Yeah, so we were partly late because of him. He insisted that he get himself done up before arriving." Mavis paused, and honked her horn. "Also, I'm here."

"Oh right...you."

"Do...Do you not know who I am?" Mavis looked around. "Okay, honk your horns if you've heard of me before. Or you remember me doing anything. Hell, if you've got my name in your head, give me a honk."

There was a pause. Then one voice from the back asked. "Wait, are you the chick with the make-up?"

"I CRY SEXISM!"

"How about we wait a bit, Mave, we're kind of...you know, fighting for our lives." Duck had also appeared from yet another portal, grinning to himself as he did so. Percy was coupled behind him, still a bit out of it. "Now then, Mr Boomer. We meet at last. Where's the Fat Director, I want the honor of killing that fat calf myself!"

"Too late, he's already been sent running from the absolute might of the Boomer Empire!" Boomer smirked, and folded his arms. "As you can see, I have your friends ready to be executed live on television as the first act of my new and glorious-" He paused, as all the engines were clearly trying to hold back laughter at this.

Then they stopped holding back and began to become hysterical.

Toby poked his head through the portal. "Oh good! We managed to all get through the portal without being dispersed into the air into individual atoms! And we're not all horrible Fly like monsters! What a relief! What I'd miss?"

"The- hehehehehe- Boomer Empire!"

"Pffffffffffffft-hahahahaha!" Toby snickered for a moment, before calming himself down. "Wow. You know, these baddies they're not exactly...good, are they? At any of this. They've got shit names, their plans are way too complicated for words, and then they come up with whatever verbal discharge that comes out of their mouths!"

Boomer growled. "Are you done making fun of me, or shall I wait a few minutes before I murder you all?"

"Here's the deal, Petey-boy." Duck was suddenly serious once again. "You've got the humans there, right? Now, what you're going to do is let them go. Now."

"Why? What are you going to do to me?"

A series of short and sharp clicks rang out across the lines. The diesels tensed up, and readied themselves for the attack, but the steam engines pointed their guns at Boomer. Those on the platform froze up completely. "Let the humans go, Boomer. Then you and your army can take us out all you like. Or else you die. Right here and right now."

Boomer grinned. "It's not even a good threat! But still...let them go."

The guards stepped back, and off fled the last humans from Sodor. The Fat Controller paused for a moment and looked back, determined to etch the last potential sight of his engines in his brain forever. Then he too was gone.

There was a five second pause where everything grew silent for a moment.

And then both sides lunged at each other. Toby was the first to land blows, making sure that each diesel got a good trace of electricity from his makeshift cowcatcher and laughing maniacally as he did so. With his sudden and newfound strength, he forced his way into the middle of the diesels, rocking and rolling aggressively to knock engine after engine who tried to attack him.

Duck activated his gun, shooting at the armored engines that were moving away from this mad tram engine that had electrical powers. The fact that he was finally using his training seemed to cheer Duck up no end.

Edward grinned at Mavis, and she at him. As one, they rushed forward. As badly injured as they were, they could still biff and bash and fight using their bare buffers. With a loud honk of her horn, Mavis slammed into one diesel with surprising force.

"Traitor!" it hissed."

"Wanker!" she shouted back, before using her own cowcatchers to tip the diesel onto it's side. Edward didn't have such luxuries, so he settled for just bashing the shit out of anyone who came his way.

Gordon looked to Henry and James. "So...do we want to get involved, or-?" He let out an undignified squawk, as suddenly hundreds upon hundreds of the trucks were rushing like a swarm of locusts towards the big three engines. They too readied their guns, and opened fire as best as they could. James was going slightly insane in particular, bellowing aloud things like "GET SOME!" and "YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!" which would have been a lot more intimidating had he the gun pointed the right way, and not at Percy.

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE SHOOTING THAT THING!" snapped Percy, before he passed out once more from his injuries.

...

They reached the viaduct just as yet another keystone toppled from it's perch, hitting the muddy water with a large splash. The three of them rounded the bend, only seconds away from stepping onto the viaduct.

"Well Lady, this is your shining time too!"

"Whatever that means, I hope it is!"

As their wheels whirred faster, Thomas took a massive gulp of air and let out a whoop of mad triumph. "Come on Lady, little engines can do big things!"

Diesel 10 stared at the scene ahead of him. If one could peak inside his head, one could hear the sound of the Malevolence and the Yank arguing furiously about what to do. The latter saw this as their hour of triumph. But the former was smarter than that.

"We're going to win!" crowed the American.

And then, through all the chaos and panic that was happening in the mind of the great metal monstrosity, a voice rang out to the ears of the Malevolence. It sounded the same, but with one difference.

A slight German accent.

 **"It is time, brother. Come. I think we've been apart long enough. Let us return to our...true form."** Marklin's ghostly voice echoed around the head of Diesel 10, as did the mocking laughter, and the Yank turned to ask the Malevolence who the hell was talking.

But he was all alone.

"Wait?! Where are you!?"

To the outside world, it appeared as though Diesel 10's engine had exploded. Thick black smoke billowed out of his side, reaching up into the sky and almost forming a sort of ghostly dragon-like figure in the sky, before it dissapated in the general direction of Shining Time.

Lady crossed the viaduct first, the rails buckling under her weight and the stone crumbling away even faster. Thomas watched this with terror, before closing his eyes and muttering "Let me be brave, let me be brave!" and charging across.

For a moment, he felt as though he was riding on nothing but air.

And then he was across. Behind him, he could hear the telltale sound of the viaduct's middle finally collapsing downwards into the dark water below. He didn't open his eyes until he heard Burnett's triumphant cry of "Well done Thomas! Well done!" and Lady's whistle. Relieved, Thomas the Tank Engine blew his whistle loud and clear in return.

But Diesel 10 was having a horrible time of it. Inside his head, the Malevolence's departure had completely shattered what remained of the stability of the engine. All the personalities contained within, the Fat Director's last gamble, rushed together to try and escape. All they succeeded in doing was merging together, wrapping up with each other like some demented and horrible ratking. One personality, one mind, one terrified voice.

"WHAT'S GOING ON!?" screeched Diesel 10, as he braked hard. But too late! He reached the end of the viaduct and slid off the rails, slowly but surely toppling into a backflip towards the water. One last desperate grab, and he clung to the single rail that was his only hope. This was defying physics in every logical way, but he didn't care. With his last free breath, the Warship shouted final curses towards the departing Thomas, his undoing.

"PUFFBALL! TEAPOT!"

The rail snapped.

"TINNNNNNNNN-KETTLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-"

There was a loud crunch as Diesel 10 hit, by a stroke of major coincidence, a large barge that had been set adrift by the wide-scale destruction of most of the Island. His last words before passing out into what may or may not have been a permanent sleep was a mumbled "Well...nice time of a year for a cruise...I want a hug."

...

"And in summary, I have no idea how the hell we're even alive. And you still haven't figured out how to solve that gold-dust problem of yours?! I'm beginning to wonder if it just got revoked cause you're all terrible at what it is you do!"

"Calm down, Thomas, I think he'll figure it out soon." Lady frowned. "Give him three years or so."

Carlin watched as Mr Conductor continued to slam his head against the well. "Three years might be a bit generous- Oh wait, here he goes again."

"Wait! ...Then watch the swirls that spin so well!"

"What, you mean like those things we saw on the Magic Railroad with Lady?" Patch looked to Lily. "Don't you have some of those in your bag?" He shrugged at the impressed looks on everyone's faces. "Hey, it's a weird day, I'm trying to contribute as best as I can, all right."

"Anything else we need?" asked Lily, holding out the bag.

"Of course there is! A well! Well means water! DUH!" Junior begun to pull up a bucket. He nearly fell in before Starr shoved him aside and pulled it up himself. "Ahem. No need to be rude. We're literally just grabbing at straws here, fingers crossed that this actually works. Now what, cuz?"

"Okay, Lily, mix the shavings in the water. Then spit in it, chant YMCA backwards, grind rabbit droppings into it, and then name the fifty states of America in reverse order of when they were declared to be a state! While standing on your head."

"I'll do the first one of those. Nothing else."

"Smart girl." muttered Starr to Carlin. They watched, and waited for a bit.

"Okay, now what? Because this looks like...well...I'm not sure what it looks like."

"Try throwing it up into the air. What have we go to lose?" Burnett shrank from the glares offered by all four conductors, two of whom looked very baffled as to how this was supposed to restore their lost powers in any way, shape or form.

"Please, please!" prayed Junior.

"What is she waiting for?" Thomas whispered, and then loudly shouted "NOW, LILY!"

Lily shrugged. "You're the boss." She took a deep breath, swung her arms back...and threw it into the air.

Cue gold dust.

What? You want more of an epic response to this? Well tough. I don't know how you visualized this movie ending, but this is quite frankly, a lame duck. If there is a reason for how _water + magic shavings that Lady produces = gold dust_ , then tell me. I'll wait. I can wait a hell of a long time.

.

.

.

.

No? Didn't think so.

"Wow, that was...a thing. Lady, are you sure you weren't just witholding the gold dust to screw with their heads?" Lady didn't respond to that, merely giving Thomas a bland little smile. "Ugh, whatever, Lady, you're a really helpful engine."

"And helping each other brings to life the magic in all of us."

Thomas looked at her for a moment, and shook his head. "So, ugh, do you have any idea what that means or were you just saying that to try and sound somewhat wise? Because let me tell you, it didn't work."

"I don't know, I just found it in a fortune cookie one day. Carlin didn't think much of it either."

Patch watched as the two grown men scampered around holding their whistles up to the sky and getting the gold dust, before patting Mutt's head. "Come on, Mutt. Let's take a quick look round before we head back. If we can head back." He smiled and held up a hand for Lily, who high fived it while wearing a similar smile to his own. The kind of smile that indicated that both knew what a weird day it had been.

As Patch headed off to have a quick chat with Thomas, Junior ambled on over. "Hey, Lily, I think I promised you something." He poured out a small portion of gold dust. "Take it on the house. As an apology for all that I've done."

"Where's my apology!?"

"Ye don't get one, Carlin!"

"BAH!"

The two of them laughed, Lily hugged Junior for a moment and then headed off to check in with her grandpa, who was trying to work out the best way back to Shining Time. Junior looked to Mr Conductor. "Well now, how else can I help?"

"You can leave." Starr said, bluntly.

"You don't want to go back to the beach?"

"Weird as it is, but nah! Maybe for a holiday or two...but I'm ready to work!" Junior almost managed to convince everyone present of his good intentions. Almost being the key word here. "Ye got a job for me?"

"There's a railroad I do know."

"With palm trees?"

"One or two."

"And sunny spells?"

"Sure, I guess."

"I'll take it! Done! Man I am good at negotiation! Which way is it?" Junior was about to blast off his kazoo when Mr Conductor handed him his hat.

"This way."

"NO!" shouted Carlin and Starr as one. "Don't give it to him! He'll burn it down in five days! Tops!"

"Too late I've got it! Junior out!" And off he went, with one last blow of that damn kazoo. Starr and Carlin glared at Mr Conductor, who looked as though he did not care one little bit.

At which point, the phone went. Mr Conductor dived for the flowers, before Carlin handed him the actual phone and gave a pointed stare. Mr C threw his hands up in resignation, and answered it. "Hello? Ah, Sir Topham Hatt, sir! ...Yes, everything's...fine-ish over here. What's that? On your way back at some point? I'll meet you at the sheds...what's that? Oh, you want me to get my arse over here to actually do something about the situation in Shining Time? ...Fair point, sir. Bye sir, see you in a bit!"

He paused. And then slapped himself on the head. "Oh. OH THERE'S A BATTLE GOING ON! Better go and get Junior back before he ends up getting blown up by a mine or something! See you lot in Shining Time!" And off he went, leaving the other two Conductors, Thomas, Lady and the rest of the humans.

"So now what?" asked Starr.

"Buggered if I know..."

"I do." Lady looked weary. "We must ride out, confront whoever it is who is trying to destroy Shining Time and deal with them. Thomas, you ready to go back on the Railroad again?"

"Do I have to?"

"I'm not dignifying that with a response. Carlin?"

"Leave it to us! I've got a plan!" As the two engines set off, Carlin pulled Starr to the side. "Okay, so here's what we're going to do!"

As they talked, Lily and Burnett sat together for a moment, soaking up the last rays of the sun as it slowly sank into the distance. Lily paused, looked at her grandpa, and then pulled out the dust. "Here. I'd like you to have this."

Burnett stared at the gold dust for what felt like forever. At last, he smiled soflty. "Thanks, Lily, that's sweet of you. But...give me that bluebird a second?" He gently sprinkled it over the stuffed toy. "Now...I think that'll be a nice reminder of our shining time. Don't you?"

...

Edward sighed. And they had been so close too!

He looked around. Henry, Gordon and James were still bashing away at the trucks and diesels surrounding them, but it would have been clear even to a blind man that they were going to fall sooner rather than later. As Mavis clung to Bill and Ben for dear life, trying to protect them even now, the Juggernaut rolled towards the. His eyes burned brightly with malice as he forced Mavis towards the edge of the floating Shining Time. Duck was trying to fight his way to them, but the four shunters had coupled up to him in their pairs, and they were stretching him out in both directions. Pretty soon, there would be a very messy occurrence.

Of all the engines, Toby was the only one who looked as though he stood a good chance to surviving. The electric shocks were certainly keeping away any and all fighters. But he was still so far away.

Boomer approached, his hand raised, all ready to take Edward's life and use it for his own gain.

Edward summoned up his last bit of strength...and spat at Boomer. He got a twinge of satisfaction seeing the 'Emperor' lose his shit over this, before shutting his eyes and preparing for the end.

And then he heard a whistle he hadn't thought he'd hear again.

"EDWARD!"

"THOMAS!"

"EDWARD!"

"THOMAS!"

"EDWARD!"

"THOMAS!"

"JAMES!" James frowned. "Sorry, seemed like fun."

Boomer frowned, and raised his hand up towards the sound of Thomas's voice. Big mistake. Suddenly, though he hadn't been touched, he was thrown backwards through the station by a white tendril of energy, coming from...

"Lady, I presume?"

"Hello Edward. Are you going to make a crack about thinking me taller?"

"No, actually. A bit random if you ask me." Edward paused. "Any chance you've come with a massive army or something? No? Huh. No pressure or anything, but I really would appreciate it if you could just...smite all of these people? Right now?"

"Sorry, magic doesn't work like that."

"Of course it doesn't." Edward looked around. Lady had actually made sure that the other engines were dragged back onto the rails proper, all facing the remainder of the Other Railway members. "Still, at least now we get a last stand that's a bit more even."

"Boomer." Lady looked at Pete for a moment. Edward struggled to read her facial expression. Was that sorrow in her face? Pity? Anger? Some strange mixture of all three? Whatever it was, he knew that he did not want to piss her off...just yet. "I'm surprised that you're still trying this scheme."

"Lady. At last. That idiot's brought you right to me!" Boomer growled and pointed to Marklin. "See that?! Thanks to him, I've become more powerful than I ever would have done under your control! I've got the power now! You hear me?!"

"I hear you. But are you hearing yourself? ...It's not too late just yet. Just...surrender peacefully, and I'll make sure you atone somewhere-"

"Pah!" Boomer snorted. "Thanks for the last chance, you bleeding heart! No, I think I'll take my chances with the Malevolence and this army. You know, the one that still outnumbers you...oh, I don't know, sixteen to one? Where's your army, huh? You're all alone."

Lady smiled mysteriously. "Am I?"

The second those words were out of her mouth, portal after portal appeared from out of nowhere. On all sides, behind and in front of the engines, the Magic Railroad reached out and almost spat engines out.

On one side, Rusty the little diesel led Stepney and the rest of the Bluebell Engines. Captain Baxter, Adams, Bluebell, Primose and Cromford were ones Edward recognized from Stepney's description. But there were others there too, others he had only heard about. Camelot, Pioneer II, Stowe, Sir Archibald Sinclair, Greyhound, the Blue Circle, Port Line, Townsend Hook, Earl of Berkley, Fenchurch, Blackmore Vale, Normandy, Sharpthorn...Stepney's gang appeared to be well armed, and ready for a fight.

And to the other side, Rheneas rushed on through, gleefully crowing "THIS IS THE DAY! THIS IS THE DAY!" to all who would listen. Following him were engines who looked like the Skarloey gang, but different somehow. The representatives of the first preserved railway known as the Talyllyn Railway. Talyllyn, Dolgoch, Sir Haydn, Edward Thomas, Douglas (Eyeing up their own Douglas a little suspiciously), Tom Rolt, Midlander and Alf. All of them resembled, to an extent, slightly more well-adjusted members of the Narrow gauge railway.

And all around them were engines they hadn't seen before. Wilbert from the Forest of Dean stood there alongside a disgruntled looking engine with the number 16 upon him. Riding atop of flatbeds were engines of a smaller persuasion from the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway: River Irt, River Esk, River Mite, Northern Rock, Perkins, Cyril and Shelagh of Eskdale, Stephen's brother Boxhill, Alfred and Judy (Green versions of Bill and Ben! Edward shuddered in sympathy for whoever had to deal with them), an engine called Bahamas...even an old engine by the name of Puffing Billy.

it was as if steam kind itself had sensed that it's very life depended on this battle.

And then another, large portal opened, and out steamed the Iron Circle. The Flying Scotsman, a very badly damaged City of Truro, Mallard, Duchess of Hamilton, Iron Duke, Stephenson's Rocket, Green Arrow, Etienne, Derek (He was there for some reason) and Gordon's cousins; Bittern, Union of South Africa. Dominion of Canada, Dwight D Eisenhower and Sir Nigel Gresle _y._ That wasn't to mention all the trucks and diesels coming out of the woodwork.

"To put in verbal tones: Boo-yah!"

"Never do that again, James."

"Sorry, was it...was it a bit much?"

There was a loud beep, and Bertie, Terrance and Trevor rolled up. Atop them stood the citizens of the Island of Sodor, all wielding weapons of every size, shape and variety. The Fat Controller pointed, and several of the drivers and firemen hurried across to release the prisoners. The Scottish twins took their places besides the others, while Oliver beamed brightly at Duck. Caroline and Butch took to the road to join the other three, while the Skarloey engines tried as best as they could to look intimidating.

There was a pause.

And then both sides charged.

And that was how the last battle began.

* * *

REVIEW TIME.

 **MattPrice01:** The black comedy helps to break it up, if I'm honest, I really enjoyed writing them. Oliver's scene especially.

 **Kamen Rider** **Necrom** : Both. Both can work.

 **Game-Watch** : You're not wrong, it's a dying art really.

 **Bronze Shield** : Fingers crossed it will! As you can tell, I've condensed most of said finale into this part, so that I can give a bigger ending in the last part! I hope you enjoy.

 **bigyihsuan:** Thanks, glad you're loving this! And thanks for reminding me about Now Playing, I had almost forgotten to include that! Chase scene has been moved to this part for a bit more of a...personal climax. Hope you enjoy it regardless!

 **Reality Rejection Service:** I love giving Edward moments in the sun, so I'm glad you enjoyed it! Oh yeah, Peter Sam and Sir Handel are going to have a VERY interesting conversation.

 **Radical sandwiches** : I'm glad you found it a nice mixture of grim and funny. I figured it would be a nice way to get rid of Scruffy (Who is dead, by the way). And yeah, Duke's send-off was something that I'm really proud of.

 **Reid007:** Definitely! Hope you liked!

 **AaronCottrell97:** That's an accurate comparison to make, actually. And blowing shit up is always a good way to do things!

 **UGX7:** Eh, I'm still thinking about Willo. I'll get back to you on that. And yeah, for the record, Thumper is dead. I just didn't state it in so many words. He was so pointless that I forgot about him.

-Now then, last lot of universes for the time being! They are: Now Playing, Don't Go universe (Human Thomas, everyone acting in a play, written by me), a Power Rangers inspired one, one where the engines are aliens, another we'll call 'The Chuffing Dead' universe, the superhero universe that was promoting the Mini toys, the Thomas World Tour universe and one which I will not be naming for the moment, as it plays heavily into my plans for next time. Mum's the word, eh?

-Yeah, the Spiteful Brakevan and company are gone. I was originally just going to have them be killed off at the beginning of the story, but I figured that having them go out in a kinda-sorta blaze of glory would be interesting to witness. Plus, it also leaves the trucks without a leader, which may or may not come back into play...who knows?

-Some people might be rather curious as to what I'm doing with both the Fat Director and Captain Zero in this, considering that I've barely touched upon them in the movie thus far, despite being the two most active threats throughout the last two seasons. Boomer essentially forcing them back and sending them off was meant to be an acknowledgement at how damn convoluted their plans got. Plus I need to have something to work off in the sequel, so...yeah. We'll deal with them next time, and I'll give a better explanation there.

-So let's talk about Diesel 10. He presented me with a rather big problem. The show has, to be blunt, ignored Magic Railroad completely. I suppose that's to be expected when the movie clashes tonally with the rest of the series (Something that I think I have avoided by making this as batshit insane as possible), but it does leave us with a massive problem. Why does Diesel 10 reappear in Magic Railroad after having nearly murdered people and engine alike? So here is my solution. Essentially, the Malevolence had scarpered from Ten's body to meet with Marklin and enact the final stage in Boomer's plan. Basically, if you'll recall, the two halves of the Malevolence meeting and merging is baaaaaaad shit. What he's left behind is essentially a damaged pysche, with all the various personalities merged into one strange and central one which we'll be seeing more of in the future. Thus I get the Evil Diesel 10, and then I have room to explain the Good Diesel 10 later on in the series. Complicated? You better bloody believe it.

-Davidson's electric skirt was set up as a plot point a while back following his death. All for this purpose. I wanted to give Toby a RWS accurate look in the final battle, just because I figured it would be a neat little shout out.

-Splodge's Heel-Face Turn in the movie comes right the hell out of nowhere and has no real justification or buildup to it. Even without the changes to the story that I had come up with regards to their characters, I also thought that it would lead to a nice way to get the other engines over to Shining Time.

-You will note that I am very, very sarcastic towards the whole idea presented in the film of how the gold dust crisis gets fixed. It's a well acted scene, but it's also incredibly bizarre and makes no real sense. It would have been easier for Lady to just magic the gold dust back to life, really. All right, easier is the wrong word. But I can suspend my disbelief for that. Here though...not really.

-All those engines at the end? All real. The Bluebell Railway and the Tallylyn speak for themselves, Wilbert and Sixteen are from the book Wilbert the Forest Engine, the Ravenglass and Eskdale Railway engines are essentially the real-life counterparts of the Small Railway engines, as are many of the real life engines, and the others were just engines I was able to find. They are here mostly just to show off how big this battle is, some of them will be mentioned, some of them won't. Don't stress about it.

-As a note, I have already finished the first episode of Season 6! Therefore, in the final part, I'll be telling you when that will be released, as it'll be the start of a new story. So, yeah, look out for the next part! It all ends here!


	140. The Magic Railroad: Part 10

Hey guys. Now, up until now, I'd get straight into the action and leave the author's notes for the bottom of the page. However, given that this is the last chapter of Volume 1, and that Season 6 and onwards will be in a separate piece of work all together, I figured I'd do the reviews here, give out general information and then discuss what I did with this chapter at the bottom.

So, let's crack on!

 **Trainmaniac** : Thank you for the honesty! I think I've PM'd you about it, but just to stress, hopefully the chaos will be to your satisfaction. A lot of loose ends and extraenous characters are getting the boot. Fingers crossed we start on a cleaner slate for Season 6.

 **Radical Sandwiches:** Hope this is worth the wait! Glad you enjoyed!

 **Reality Rejection Service** : He has a VERY selective memory. Thomas strikes out more than your average drunk baseball player. Badass Edward is so much fun to write.

 **Game-Watch:** Indeed.

 **MattPrice01:** Thank you! I am glad you're enjoying this, and not to worry, this chapter will hopefully be relatively good! What'd you think of the Power Rangers reboot? I've yet to see it, but I've heard good things about it!

 **Reid007:** Glad you enjoyed that! It was a blast to write, really!

 **Aaroncottrel97** : Not to fear! The ending is here! And no, I didn't deliberately rhyme that! But basically, just...stick with it in this last chapter, and get it done with! Comedy shall return!

 **Kamen Rider Necrom: I** highly reccomend listening to Come for the Ride throughout the main battle, then Really Useful Engine (You'll know when) and in the aftermath, the Island Song. It might, or might not, make it more interesting.

 **UGX7:** Thanks! Glad you think so!

Now to explanations! The first chapter of Thomas Abridged Two (Working title, may change it) shall, god willing, go up on the nineteenth of April. That's a nice date, so please keep an eye out. Should be there. And by the way, it'll be light frothy comedy all the way! There is going to be a storyline running through it, but that one should be far less complex than this one, and I'll start sowing the seeds for that in this final chapter.

Lastly, I want to apologize if this story hasn't been quite what you expected. But I hope that you have enjoyed it a little, and that you will stick around for a back to basics Season 6!

Also, apologies for the fact that this is a SIXTEEN THOUSAND WORD MONSTROSITY. This is the last chapter of any such length for a long, LONG time.

And now, maestro, we cue the theme!

* * *

 **Part 10: And This Concludes The Program...Finally.**

Pandemonium reigned supreme.

Before, both sides had had the advantage of having the other side's army scattered all along the Island, with more room to move about and to try and escape. But here, there was nowhere.

Thomas hit diesel and truck alike, and felt like a pinball made of rubber. He took a deep breath, and looked around.

Edward, Henry and Gordon charged again and again at the diesels ,forcing them back through sheer brute force. One got a little too overconfident, and tried to attack the smaller engine side on. This was a mistake. Edward shoved on through, and the diesel stumbled right into the path of Gordon. With a pow and a bam and a thank you mam, he proceeded to make the diesel eat his own buffers! Possibly literally. Elsewhere, Toby and Percy had coupled up, and back to back were whacking anyone who came near them.

"SCOTLAND THE BRAVE!"

Thomas rolled onto another track as Donald and Douglas charged into the fray, Donald having managed to grab a set of bagpipes in the fray. He wasn't sure what was causing more damage: Their attack or that really quite awful racket that the pipes were making.

The Iron Circle, meanwhile, were forming a barrier from which diesels were being beaten back left and right. Duck, Truro and Scotsman alike hit their opponents again and again and again. Trucks launched themselves like kamikaze pilots, only to be battered aside in a single bash.

"FINALLY! I GET SOME ACTION!" shouted Duck. "This is what it feels like!"

"That's the spirit, Montague!"

"Sir?!"

"What?"

With each word, Duck pounded a unfortunate diesel right in the face"I! WANT! A! RAISE!"

"Aaargh! My face!" The diesel whimpered, rolled back to get a moment to regroup...and promptly got smashed away by Mallard, who was darting around firing madly at anyone who got in her way.

"We can talk about this later Montague!" shouted Truro, trying to cover his face.

Stepney, the Iron Duke, Duchess of Hamilton and Green Arrow were in the thick of the fighting. The four of them were bunker to bunker, shooting, bashing, biffing, headbutting, anything they could do to keep the diesels at bay was being done. Trucks were cut down like wheat by a scythe as Boxhill lead the rest of the Bluebellers to fight.

Elsewhere, Captain Baxter and Duncan were actually trampling all over the trucks, swearing up a storm and having the time of their lives. Skarloey was launching beer bottle from inside his cab, with the help of his crew of course, at the bikers, while Rheneas was boring several attackers to sleep with his blandness.

...

"I can't believe we're doing this!"

"Then you really need to stick around, kid, you might learn a thing or two. Admittedly, they'll be on what not to do in a situation like this, but hey, you're f**king learning something!" Carlin looked up and sighed. Harold the Helicopter, who had been doing nothing since the battle had started, was now heading off in the general direction of the mainland. Fat lot of good he had turned out to be.

Putting aside the cowardly helicopter, Carlin looked around at the rest of the humans "All right, does anyone have anything they'd like to say?"

"Only that this is lunacy!"

"Thank you, Mr C, this is why we don't listen to you anymore!" Carlin grinned, and then tried not to feel downhearted when the only one who gave him a grin back was Starr. "Oh come on! You act like we're all about to die!"

"WE ARE!" shouted back the humans.

"Too late! Gold dust, AWAY!"

The Fulton Ferry, on which they were all standing on, sparkled for a moment...and then vanished.

...

"Well, that went well, didn't it?" Zero remarked, glibly. The Fat Director ignored him. "Now what do we do? How can things get any worse?!" He immediately went pale and started waving his hands up at the sky.

Karma ignored him, however.

"You know, it got very dark all of a sudden, didn't it?"

There was a split second pause, at which point several diesels looked up at where that large shadow that was blocking the sun had come from, and then the Fulton Ferry dropped like a stone. While it's not entirely possible to ascertain exactly what noise it made upon contact with the Other Railway diesels, but it was probably somewhere along the lines of 'splat' and 'squish'.

Meanwhile, the impact sent shockwaves rippling across the ground. Right towards the Fat Director and Captain Zero. The two of them looked at each other for a moment, then at the large drop to the hole in the earth below...and then dived.

"TIME PORTAL!" shrieked Zero, grabbing hold of the Director's jacket. "TIME PORTAL!"

And then, by sheer luck, one appeared, taking the two of them right out of it. And right into the Atlantic ocean, too!

Meanwhile, back on the ferry, Carlin laughed heartily. "DEATH OR F**KING GLORY!" he bellowed, and he ran to the prow of the ship and jumped into the fray, fighting tooth and claw against the rank and file sods who had dared to threaten his island. Starr...took the stairs.

Burnett, Lily and Patch peeked over the side. It was utter pandemonium, especially with the rolling stock that had been stored on the ferry diving over the side of the boat and joining the battle. "It's chaos!" Lily shouted over the noise, just as a truck was sent flying up into the air by Henry's buffers. "What are you looking for, grandpa?!" Burnett was focused on something on the ground, and then...he rushed for the stairs. Patch and Lily looked back, just in time to see Boomer rushing too, towards the ferry.

"Oh NOT THIS again!" Patch snarled.

"This again!" shouted Burnett as he charged forward.

Splatter and Dodge, meanwhile, had recovered from their somewhat cowardly actions in hiding at the back of the army and praying that the engines would just go away. No, this time they were going to do something!

Splatter, of course, went nuts almost immediately. He raced through the crowd, cutting down engine after engine. Thank god that they were all nameless, or else we'd really be up shit creek, eh? But as the purple diesel hacked and slashed at anyone or anything that got in his way, he saw something that made him freeze in his tracks.

Toby.

"You!" he hissed, remembering all too well the humiliation he had felt when facing down the tram engine. True, he hadn't actually been the one to take him out of the battle, but Splatter hadn't been one for thinking things through. Toby rang his bell in a 'bring it on' kind of fashion, and screeching, Splatter rushed the tram engine. He hit the electric skirt, and for a moment seemed to hesitate somewhat...but then he pushed through! Toby growled, and put as much of his weight into shoving Splatter back as he possibly could. It wasn't much, unfortunately. The electricity continued to crackle, more and more so. Sparks flew and hissed, and a faint whining sound began to echo in both engines's ears.

Toby realized what was about to happen first. "Well, Splatter, I'd say this is all about to blow up in your face!"

"What?" Splatter noticed the skirt. "Oh. Very fun-"

The explosion made everyone jump. For a brief second, they stopped to see Splatter's charred corpse and Toby's undercarriage exposed to all the world (NO, THAT IS NOT AN INNUENDO, GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER YOU PERVERTS!), but then they shrugged and decided to carry on the fight. Percy sidled up to Toby and looked him over, then at Splatter. "So, erm, how exactly are you alive?"

"Don't sound so disappointing. As it turns out, wood's surprisingly decent at not conducting electricity. The skirt took most of the damage, and Splatter took the rest! Bit messy, isn't it?"

"Did you say something witty like "How shocking!" or "I think you'll find this electrifiying!" while you were at it?"

"Percy, an engine is dead in front of us."

"Yep."

"...No, but I wish I had said those things and oh crap here comes Dodge!" Toby prepared himself as best as he could, even though his only weapon was now pretty much useless to him. Dodge oiled forward, face like thunder...when Henrietta slammed into him with full force.

"LEAVE! MY! TOBY! ALONE!"

"Oh, it's one of those days!" snarled Dodge, quite baffled as to how a faceless coach was beating the living hell out of him. Mavis, who was giving Henrietta a light push to give her something to do, winked at Toby.

But Dodge soon had bigger, and more familiar, problems to deal with. "Oh no, NOT AGAIN!" he wailed, as Truro dragged him by the coupling into the middle of a large grouping of engines. With his face still exposed, Truro was trying not to let it get to him that everyone was currently gawping at him instead of actually doing much in the way of fighting. He decided that this would make a good team exercise.

As the big engines set about Dodge, who appeared to be fighting like a rabid wolverine even now, Truro caught sight of the Juggernaut moving silently across the battlefield. He rushed over. "Back off!" he hissed. "What is wrong with you!? Your orders-"

"Are irrelevant!"

Truro suddenly found himself in a tree and nursing a splitting headache. The Juggernaut, satisfied that he was going to be no problem, turned his attention back to the battle. In particular, at the three engines standing amidst a pile of knocked out diesels.

"That's-?"

"Yeah."

"Bloody hell, he's worked out a bit since then, hasn't he?"

"What do we do?"

"Well, I don't know about you lot, but I always hated his guts!" Gordon whistled loudly. "OI! JUGGERNAUT! COME ON THEN! TAKE YOUR BEST SHOT!" Edward closed his eyes, and Henry audibly groaned. The Juggernaut grinned, and with a roar, he moved towards the three railway engines. Gordon wasted no time in going for the attack, hacking away with his buffers at the cracked armor. Had he the ability to laugh, the armored train would have done so. He settled, instead, for ramming Gordon as hard as he liked.

Henry leaned over to Edward. "Got any ideas? Cause I have. No, not running!" This was at Edward's slightly dry expression. "Now, listen, see those cracks? Your doing, I take it. Now, if we can break open a section of that armor, that might give us a better shot."

Edward looked around. "Hmm...Starr!" The Conductor turned to look at him. "Mind hooking me up with one of those guns again?"

"I make love, not war."

"Well you're in the wrong place for that, mate!" As Edward quickly was hooked up with a smaller gun, Henry watched as Gordon reeled back like a boxer after the end of a round.

"Guys!" said Gordon, spitting out a tooth. "I've got him on the ropes!" Yet another punch landed solidly on Gordon's face. "Okay, so I've got to rethink my position a little bit!"

...

Gotch sighed as he tapped his phone. "Come on, come on, I didn't install you with car-phones so that you could just ignore me!" He tried Lorry 1. Nothing. Lorry 3. Nadda. He tried Lorry 2.

He got an answer.

"HELP ME!"

"Where are you?"

"Tractor...nuts...BURIED ME ALIVE...SEND HELP!" All this said through what, from sound alone, appeared to be soil. Gotch decided that now was a bad time for Lorry 2, and rung off. One more try then.

"George?"

"GOTCH! GET! ME! OUT!"

"Oh, you're not buried alive too, are you?"

"NO! I'M ON MY SIDE, ALONE AND VERY, VERY PISSED OFF! Where are you!?" George sounded a bit stressed, and Gotch considered hanging up on him too, and trying his luck with Bulgy. "Don't you dare hang up on me!"

"I'm not, I'm not. Look, I'll get there now, all right? I swear, I don't know it was even worth killing that vicar! Do you realize how hard it is to train bees to be lethal? And for what? Just a really stupid plan that backfired in every way possi-" He stopped. "George, I'll call you back." He stared at Trevor the Traction Engine's enraged face as he hung up, and tried to give an easy-going grin. "So, uh, that bit about the vicar...can't we let bygones be bygones? Please? Maybe? No?"

He moved to run down one of the streets. Bertie was there, blocking the way. The other street then! But no, the 'nuts tractor' as Lorry 2 had put it was also blocking that way too.

Trevor began to move forward. Gotch stumbled over his feet in terror. Too late, he tried to scramble up, but it was no good! The last thought that Adrian Gotch ever had before Trevor crushed him like a grape was that he should have picked his friends much, MUCH better.

The Fat Controller winced. "Damn...remind me never to screw with Trevor." He looked around, most of the henchmen were now fighting the Conductors. But he wasn't interested in them any more.

No. He had a reckoning with Boomer.

...

"Oh shit."

"What is it?"

"Firstly, looks like the git's coming back for more!" Edward nodded towards the now almost-skeletal figure of the Juggernaut, struggling free of his armor. "And secondly, the bombers!"

"THERE WERE BOMBERS?!" shouted Thomas.

"Oh yeah! You missed a treat!"

The whine of the planes cut through the battle, and every engine braced themselves. Boomer grinned. The fools were still under the impression that the Fat Director had ordered them here! This was perfect. He tapped his walkie talkie. "BOMBS AWAY, BUCKOS!"

"BRACE FOR IMPACT!" shouted Henry.

Bomb after bomb fell as the planes circled overhead. One bomb went off right next to Rusty's face, and they were only saved by Douglas taking the blast instead. Another bomb sent the roof of Shining Time shattering outwards. To be honest, the bombs were doing just as much damage to the Other Railway goons as they were to the Sudrians. But they didn't know that.

"They're circling ba-ACK!" Edward gasped for air, as the Juggernaut's forced his driving wheels up, the ash from his body choking Edward's lungs.

"BLUE ENGINE!" it (It really wasn't 98462 anymore, was it?) roared in his face. "YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! I'm going to enjoy-"

It blinked. Or would have, if it still had eyelids. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong indeed. It wasn't quite clear what the problem was yet, but it was certainly there. It took the Juggernaut five seconds to realize what said problem was. Henry had used the distraction that the former Sudrian's gloating had given him to ram what remained of it's cab and midsection. And with the damage done to it by the fire, it hadn't taken much to break apart completely.

Once it realized this, the Juggernaut, the former 98462, let out a low moan, and pitched onto the ground, dead. Seconds later, the body turned to nothing more than ash and rubble.

"Oh...Did I do that?" Henry looked stunned to say the least.

Up in the tree, Truro frowned. He must make sure that the other Juggernaut was Henry-proof, in future.

"Thanks, Henry!" Edward didn't pay attention to his former shedmate's dead body on the ground. He had more important concerns. Like the fact that the bombers were rushing around. The chips were down, and their backs were against the wall. He could see no way out, and their time was running out. They were all heading for a fall.

And then...

"LOOK! UP IN THE SKY!"

"It's a bird!"

"It's a plane!"

"It's-"

"HAROLD!" Percy shouted in joy.

Harold the Helicopter, pride of the sky, was so smug that it made James look like the Buddha. And he had good reason to be. For he was flanked, not only by a very determined looking Tiger Moth, but a majority of the RAF, armed and ready for action. "HELLO CHAPS!" He boomed. "Keep up the good word! We've got these blighters!" And into the fray he whirred. The RAF opened fire. Talented though they may have been, at heart the Other Railway bombers were amateurs. They were cut down pretty quickly. Harold spun around, using his whirly great arms to thwack and slice any planes who decided to be stupid and get too close.

Tiger Moth, however, had bigger fish to fry. Until now, Marklin had been staring disinterestedly at the fight, preferring to look away towards the general direction of Sodor. Tiger Moth didn't know what the hell was up with this weird thing, and quite frankly, he didn't care. It was there, it was ignoring him...and that was a mistake. He charged Marklin. "OI! YOU! PAY ATTENTION TO ME! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! I AM TIGER BLOODY-"

There was a loud crumpling noise. Tiger Moth's propellers promptly stopped working.

"-mmmmmoth..." Tiger Bloody Moth promptly face-planted into the ground, the equivalent of a broken nose taking him out almost completely. Marklin smirked, and flexed his buffers. Being a ghost had been fun. But being a ghost who could now punch things? Even better.

Well, he had about...five more minutes before the thing that had been Ten arrived here. Might as well have some fun.

James was not hiding, in case anyone asked. He was merely considering what tactics to use. It just so happened that this took the form of hiding quite near to the Fulton Ferry. And away from all the actual fighting. He was not cowering. He was planning! There was a massive difference, really.

And then he felt a sudden change in the air.

Most of the engines who were fighting up front were suddenly barreled aside, or keeled over. Alfred, Judy, Etienne, the Ravenglass lot, all engines who were knocked aside by the charge of Marklin. The ghost engine reared up, black arrow forming out of nothingness. He aimed and fired. One struck an unfortunate Toby in the bell. Another clipped the tree which Truro was resting in.

And the third-

"AAARGH!"

James stared in horror as the black arrow pierced the hull of the ferry. But he was not staring at the arrow, nor the ship. Instead, he was staring at the sudden white line that had appeared, marked into his red finish.

At which point, the day's events finally registered in his mind. It was rather like ten anvils falling upon a very fragile glass ornament. E.g. It wasn't going to go down well.

"My paintwork." He said faintly.

Thomas charged Marklin, but the latter caught him, picked him up with his mind and slammed him into the ground once, twice and thrice before throwing him over his head and onto the rails below. The tender engines charged him, but the ghostly German sprung up a shield, locking the three of them inside. **"Ach! Is this the best you have, Miss Lady?"**

Lady moved forward, ready to put an end to this...and was promptly knocked aside by a red flash.

"YOU! RUINED! MY! PAINTWORK!"

Marklin was about to laugh at the sight of James rushing towards him like he was William Wallace or Robert the Bruce or Steve MacQueen on a mission of vengeance. This was ridiculous-

Then James _bit_ him.

The scream that Marklin emitted could be heard in outer space, outerer space and outest space, which is about as out a space as you can get while still being in a plain of existence. Even now, said scream has looped around the universe a grand total of five times. It is that long.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT EATING BASTARD! I WILL SHIT OUT YOUR CORPSE AND USE IT AS FERTILIZER FOR THE VICARSTOWN PLANTS YOU ARSEWIPE!" James had lost all control, and was now rythmically headbutting Marklin over and over and over and over again. He bit and scratched and headbutted and whistled and wheeshed at the ghost engine. Marklin attempted to take off, but- "WHERE ARE YOU GOING, YOU KRAUT SON OF A BASTARD?! WHO SAID THE SPLENDID RED ENGINE WAS FINISHED WITH YOU!?"

 **"GET HIM OFF ME! HE'S GONE _FICKEN_ CRAZY!** " Marklin was terrified. He had expected Edward, he had expected the Flying Scotsman, and he even expected Lady. But this? This was James! He who got served by karma repeatedly! What was going on and who was responsible?! James then proceeded to try and gouge out his eyeball.

Edward, Henry and Gordon watched all this with expressions of horror on their faces.

Right then and there, they agreed to never, EVER, scratch James's paintwork.

Meanwhile, as James continued his thrashing of Marklin, Arry and Bert stormed towards Oliver. Stepney had been forced back with him, and together, the two of them faced down the Grim Reapers.

"Hey, aren't you the guy who got saved from scrap?"

"I am! How did you know?"

"Duck mentioned it to me. Said that as you were too modest to mention it-" Oliver laughed loudly at this "-he might as well bring it up for you. Right, now, which one do you want to take on?"

"Who said that yer going to take them on!?" Donald and Douglas rushed up to join the two. "We have a score ta settle as well!" Donald bared his teeth, while Douglas coyly winked at Bert. This sent the latter into a good old rage. He could remember the humiliation that he had suffered back at the Smelter's Yard.

"Then shall we? SCRAP SQUAD! AWAY!"

The three of them stared at Oliver.

"What?"

"Scrap Squad?"

"Yeah! It's our team name!"

"Nae, it is not."

"It is!"

"Ir really isn't, Oliver."

"But, Douglas-"

"Wheesht with ye! FIGHTING TIME!"

Bert went for Douglas immediately, only to be thwarted in this attempt by Oliver. He growled in rage, and tried to headbut the Great Western, but to no avail. All of a sudden, the shunter found himself weighed down by something. He turned, and roared in fury at the sight of Toad, valiantly holding him back from attacking his fellow escapee.

"Mr Oliver! NOW!"

Oliver rushed forward and rammed into Bert as hard as he could. The shunter's front wheels left the track, before coming down harshly onto the Great Western's top. His funnel cracked, and his smokestack buckled under the pressure. Oliver screamed in pain, even as Bert half-coughed and half-laughed in triumph. Then there was a blur of black, and both Donald and Douglas rammed Bert from both sides of the track. As the frame around Bert's face began to come apart under the pressure, Oliver backed off, leaving Bert open to a head-on collision.

He got it.

As Stepney charged, Bert had a few seconds to think about the futility of what he had done with his life before Stepney hit him straight on with such force that his entire front half just...crumpled. As the saying goes, he who deals in scrap, so too shall he become it.

Or something like that.

Arry watched this, and was just about to launch a revenge attack...when he found himself cornered by two little tank engine twins. He headed backwards to try and escape, only to find the way blocked by a black diesel who was grinning at him oddly.

"What the 'ell?"

"For BoCo." said Bill and Ben, simply.

I won't describe the very painful process by which Arry died. Fire was involved, of course. And it took quite a while for him to die.

As the tanks rolled out from the portals, the Skarloey Engines knew what they must do. Rheneas immediately turned the full force of his personality open them, boring them to sleep, while Duncan and Rusty launched makeshift molotov cocktails (Skarloey's own special brew, of course) into the cockpits. Peter Sam lunged at them, roaring aloud for all to hear "FOR DUKE!" and making a right pain in the arse of himself for the Other Railway side.

"All right!" snapped Dodge, swaying on his wheels. "Now then, hold sti-

Without looking, Thomas smacked him in the face with his buffers. Dodge slumped over on his side, closed his eyes and started to cry. It had been a very bad day. Thomas watched as Lady walked through the field, diesels and humans alike falling before her, in some cases transforming into ashes and dust as her magic ripped through them.

Speaking of humans, the Sudrians were fighting very well. Considering that they lived on the Island of Sodor, fighting was something that they were used to, and now, free from constraint, they fought like wild dogs. Stacy Jones swung her baseball bat around like she was Babe Ruth on steroids, hitting home runs with every swing. Billy Twofeathers was busy making sure that the bikers got some gold old fashioned Shining Time fisticuffs. Elsewhere, the Italian Barber had managed to get hold of a pair of shears. Woe to anyone with hair that was in cutting distance of him. In all the chaos, Thomas caught sight of the Refreshment Lady serving up some pain, while Nancy the Guard's Daughter kicked out, boots meeting face and squashing the latter with bloody abandon. Flanked by the Kyndley Sisters (Good fighters for their ages!), Jerimiah Jobling headbutted and clawed at the Other Railway soldiers. He took up a gun that one had dropped, and...well, let's just say the battlefield began to tremble at the sight of the Leather Bootlace wearing man rushing about.

Mayor Bedella and his staff were holding the line further back, making sure that whatever else happened, the fighting didn't spill into the streets of Shining Time. But that didn't stop them either. Bedella had taken control of Butch, and under his control, the tow truck had been made into a whirling terror on wheels. People screamed and leaped away to avoid his terrible hook, and were immediately caught in the crossfire of radiator smoke from Caroline the Car. Terrance the Tractor advanced, smiling once more, and took out the stragglers. Somehow. It didn't do to ask questions. And when one street was protected, the humans gathered onto Bertie and advanced on to another one.

On one end of the platform, Lady Hatt finished smacking a sailor over the head with a tea tray just in time to see the Fat Clergyman leap from the top of the Shining Time roof to crush five malcontents who had been sneaking up on her. She gave a weary thumbs up, just in time to see Bobblehat slam a biker through the front desk, shattering it completely. Grabbing a piece of wood that had been splintered off, she charged once more, stabbing and slashing as best she could. She passed Charlie Sand and Sidney Hever, both fighting to get through to their engine, the former with his bare fists, the latter with a coal shovel of all things. And she passed the remains of one group of Other Railway fanatics who were desperately trying to make their way back to the portal, but couldn't as Sybil Hatt began to scold them with such fury that they broke down and begged for forgiveness.

It was a weird day.

But she hadn't been focusing, and now Boomer had jumped up, his eyes crackling with lightning. There was nowhere to run too, and even as she lashed out with the wood, he battered it aside like it was nothing. It was nothing against the storm. She closed her eyes-

-and then rapidly opened them again as a familiar mail van came tumbling through the portal. Tom Tipper clutched to the steering wheel with such love and...what appeared to be lust that in any other situation she would have begun questioning it. But at that moment, the red van was more beautiful than anything she had seen before. It slammed into Boomer at full speed, sending him hurtling back, right over the heads of Hatt, Starr, Carlin and Burnett, all of whom had been rushing up to get their mitts on him.

Jem Cole, clinging to the back of the van, wondered if he had made a mistake fixing it up.

And then, as if it wasn't clear who was going to win already, through the portal arrived Farmers McColl, Trotter and Finney, bringing with them the greatest chaos of all. Animals! Champion the Bull gored and rammed and chewed cud and took names.

The final nail in the coffin for the Other Railway was the strangest sight in the world. Men, women and children, all in step and all with the same somewhat vacant but still determined expression. Old Bailey, drinking away, led the Army of Norris's to battle, taking out the last stragglers completely.

In the center, Thomas, Edward, Henry, Gordon, James, Percy, Toby and Duck watched and cheered!

The battle was won! Clearly, this was the end!

All the Sudrians and assembled people on their side let out a sigh of relief and a triumphant shout...

And then there was a loud roar from the sky. The earth shook, and the cheers died down, some not even fully out of the Sudrian's throat.

Everyone stopped. And not just in an awestruck way where they registered what was going on. I mean physically froze to the spot, unable to move. Then, as one, they looked towards the sky.

"Please tell me you brought someone else with you, Harold." said Percy.

"Er...no, sorry."

"Then what is that?"

Thomas suddenly felt very small. "I think I have a pretty good idea."

Marklin seized his chance, Slamming James into the platform, he raced towards the sound of the roar. And sure enough, a massive black cloud was rushing forward with such speed that it wasn't even remotely possible this was anything natural. **"AT LAST!"** he howled.

And then as one, as both Marklin and the thing that had once possessed Ten embraced each other:

 **"AT! LAST!"**

For a moment, everything went very, very dark indeed.

And then the darkness cleared. For a moment. For there, floating above Shining Time, was the true form of the Malevolence. He wasn't a tank engine, or a diesel, or even a dragon anymore. No. This was...something else. It had limbs...more limbs than can be counted, and trying would have driven you to madness. It had a mouth that looked as though it was as wide as the sky. One massive eye peered out at all the very small engines and humans.

And then it smiled.

"So on a scale of one to ten-"

"TEN. TEN EVERY TIME, HENRY."

 **"MY FOLLOWERS!"** It bellowed. Or not. Perhaps this was just the way that it spoke normally. **"I THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HARD WORK THAT YOU HAVE PUT IN OVER THE YEARS TO FREE ME! THOUGH YOU HAVE SOMEHOW MANAGED TO SCREW IT UP EXTREMELY WELL, I AM NOT UNJUST! ALLOW ME TO GIVE YOU A REWARD THAT YOU HAVE LONG BEEN OVERDUE FOR!"**

There was a pause.

And then the screams started.

Dodge was the first to start. A massive tendril, quite possibly the sharpest thing in existence, reached out and stabbed Dodge through the forehead and all the way out of the back. The shunter crumbled to black dust as he was 'rewarded' for all his hard work.

Every Other Railway employee at Shining Time, be they engine, sailor, biker or workman, was lifted up into the air by something. They screamed and screamed until they could scream no more, and then they found a way nonetheless, as massive tendrils wrapped around them and pulled towards the maw. Their bodies felt apart, transforming into nothing more than ash and soot, as the white energy that was their magic flowed into the Malevolence's body.

It was horrible. Actually, no. Horrible was an understatement.

There was, however, one who hadn't been sucked up. Boomer sat on the platform, quite mad, laughing hysterically at the sight of what he had been working to achieve finally come to fruition. "Thank you!"

 **"PETER TIBERIUS BOOMER!"** The voice echoed and crackled with, surprise surprise, malevolence. **"YOU HAVE BEEN LOYAL. LOYAL TO ME, AND TO THE PROMISE THAT WE MADE SO LONG AGO. HOWEVER, THERE IS SOMETHING I SHOULD HAVE MENTIONED BACK THEN."**

Boomer screamed as something was ripped out of him. He tried to use his lightning to reach it, but...nothing.

 **"I AM THE GREATEST EVIL THAT THIS UNIVERSE HAS EVER AND WILL EVER SEE.**

 **I LIE. A LOT."**

Boomer stared in complete bafflement, as his magic was absorbed by the Malevolence. And then it turned around and ignored him. He tried to reach out and grab hold of the Malevolence, but he was suddenly picked up and slammed back into the ground.

And then someone grabbed hold of him, and he was-

...

-in the Magic Railroad!

"YOU! LITTLE! SHIT! YOU! RUINED! EVERYTHING!" Burnett screamed, as he hit him in the face again and again and again and again...and you get the point, I hope. Boomer wondered if his face looked as bad as it felt.

"When it's my turn?!" snarled Sir Topham Hatt. The fat man charged forward and kicked Boomer right in the balls. For a moment, the biker sang soprano as he screeched in complete agony.

"Not that this isn't fun-" Starr slapped Boomer a good few times, just for the hell of it "-but can we please move on? You know, we have to do something about the thing that is actually still a threat? Right Carlin?"

"Hold on." Carlin took a running jump...right onto Boomer's stomach. As the biker lay there, heaving his guts up, Carlin offered a cold stare. "That was for Benn, you sick f**k." He took a deep breath. "Let's go. We've got an abomination to stop."

As they vanished in a cloud of gold dust, Boomer tried to regain the ability to breathe. And the ability to not feel like shit. And the ability to forget the fact that his entire life up until this point had been a complete waste of time.

And then he heard the whispering.

He looked around, but there was nothing. Nothing except for the trees that made up the roof and support of the Magic Railroad. And that sound, echoing all around him. He shivered and tried to get up, but found that he couldn't. Whatever it was, the ground didn't want to give him up. It was sucking him down into it, like quicksand! He struggled and fought and kicked and screamed, but to no avail! All he could do was scream and scream.

And then he was free of the ground.

Too free.

For now Boomer was falling, falling through the darkness. He saw the glow all around him, and the whispering grew louder and louder and louder and louder and he realized now that he didn't want to learn the secrets of the Magic Railroad after all, and he screamed...

And fell.

And as far as I know, he is still falling to this very day.

...

"You know, I miss the days when the worst thing that happened was being slightly late with a full set of passengers."

"Preach, Henry. Preach."

The Malevolence gave that horrible, horrible smile. "AND NOW, I BELIEVE THAT I SHOULD TAKE MY TIME AND ENJOY THIS NEXT PART! LADIES, GENTLEMEN AND THOSE OF UNSPECIFIED GENDER! IF YOU HAVE MADE PEACE, AND ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAVEN'T...THEN SAY GOODBYE TO THIS WORLD!"

Instead of reaching out and sucking them all in, his tendrils sprang into action. One reached forth and grabbed hold of everyone, engine, truck, coach and human. The twins, Oliver, Stepney, Mavis, Truro, Scotsman, Harold, Bertie, Terrance, Trevor, Lily, Patch, Sracy, Billy...and then everyone just sort of crumpled to the ground. They weren't dead, but judging by the shuddering and shaking of the tendrils, and the white being drained from them, that wasn't going to last.

"Why aren't we being absorbed?" Gordon whispered to Toby.

"Because of me." Lady winced. She had managed to drag the eight of them, plus her, into this protective shield that she was holding up only with the power of her will. "Now listen carefully, I shall say this only once!" Some of the engines, on the verges of hysterics, snickered to themselves. "My power is ready. But when I last defeated the Malevolence, it was with the help of Proteus, the strongest engine bar myself. So even at full power, I doubt i'd be able to put away the Malevolence for good."

"Oh. NOW SHE TELLS US!" raged James, still riding the adrenaline high from early. "DUCK, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO HAVE WASTED TEN PLUS YEARS OF YOUR LIFE FOR THIS WOMAN?!"

"Honestly, I'm beginning to wonder where it was I went wrong." Duck frowned. "So, what's the plan?"

"Simple. While I take care of him from the outside-" And here, Lady closed her eyes. For a second, nothing happened. But then, from within her, seven balls of white energy emerged. One by one they slipped into Gordon, Henry, James, Edward, Toby, Percy and Thomas. The engines squealed and shouted as the magic worked it's way through their body. "-you'll have to handle him from the inside."

"Oh. Lovely."

"Wait, what about me?"

"Duck." Lady smiled enigmatically. "You're going to be doing the most important thing of all. You see that...television aerial? Is that what it's called? I need you to use it. It's time to make a very special broadcast."

"COME OUT, COME OUT, WHEREVER YOU ARE! OH TRUST ME, I COULD RIP YOU OUT OF YOUR LITTLE HIDEY-HOLE IF I WANTED, BUT I WANT TO ENJOY THE LOOK ON YOUR FACES WHEN I-"

"OI! You talk a big game, fatso!" Thomas brazenly charged at the Malevolence. "But if you were really that powerful, you'd do something to change your face!"

"So, how do we get in then? Bust a cap in his ass, as the Americans say? Do we assault his sides until we can burn our way through? Ram him? Trick him?"

"A rather more conventional method, James." Toby closed his eyes. "Though admittedly, a bit of a disgusting one."

The Malevolence leaned down towards the seven little engines, standing there in an attempt to be bravely defiant against the abomination...and ate them in a single gulp.

THE END.

.

.

.

All right, not quite.

Lady hesitated. "A bit more...literal than I was expecting, but you know what, it's been one of those days." At the sound of whistling, she turned and watched as Carlin, Starr, Burnett and Hatt all stumbled back into the real world.

"What's going o- BLOODY NORA!" It said much about how bad Hatt's week had been that this was the strongest reaction he could muster at the moment. "The hell is that thing?!"

"Not pleasant!" Carlin frowned and tilted his head a bit. "F**k me three ways to Monday, is that the Malevolence? He looks a lot less...dragon-y than the last time I saw him. So, have we a plan?"

"Ehhhhhh...sort of."

"That is not encouraging, Lady."

...

"Lads, you know what I miss?"

"The simple days?"

"Yes. Pretty much. I mean, you recall when the height of stupid adventures was that time that Thomas ended up running for mayor? Except now it actually turns out THAT was all part of this weird Other Railway plan too? Honestly, how much fun would it be to just have a normal issue again?"

"About as simple as the Other Railway's plan, I suppose."

"Yeah, bout that, I was out nearly dying and heroically sacrificing myself for Gordon's sake, what I'd miss?"

"Turns out that for whatever reason, there's been a problem with souls moving on when killed on the Island, or by anyone with the Other Railway lot. They've been sort of stuck on the Island, probably where the idea of ghost trains came from. The Malevolence is sort of eating up the souls and using them like batteries. So at the moment, we're literally inside a being that's made up of dead people...look, I just act on this stuff, I don't write it! It's bloody complicated!"

Thomas nodded to himself, and turned to face the other six, who had been chatting amongst themselves. "All right, here's the deal. Lady just had a little chat with me telepathically. As you do now. I miss the simple days. The magic she's given us is sort of powered by the..." Thomas looked embarrassed, and muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, missed that, what'd you say?"

"...It's powered by the...god, I hate saying this. Powered by the hopes and dreams and positive energy that others provide." Thomas was aware of how bloody silly this was, and watched as the pregnant silence that was the engines taking this in stretched on and on.

"So to clarify-" James remarked "-we're trapped in the literal belly of the beast, the world is about to end...and our solution is essentially 'Clap your hands if you believe' because if they do that, they might bring Tinkerbell back to life. Remind me why it is that Lady is so highly sought after?!"

"It does make an odd sort of sense, though." muttered Edward. "I mean, the Malevolence probably feeds off the anger and the hatred and the terror and the fear that the souls that make him up have. Being trapped here would definitely help with that. And he's been using the Other Railway's hatred for others for god knows how long. It almost makes sense that Lady's power would come from the opposite."

"And considering that she seemed pretty powerful when Burnett was having a moment of delirous happiness, I'd say she's on to something." Thomas looked around. "Okay, so...I'll stay here. Three up top, three down below?"

"I've heard of dumber ways to die...not many, admittedly, but still. So, what's the plan? How do we even use the magic?"

"I dunno."

"...Right, fine, if that's the best you've got for us! Percy, Gordon, with me!" And Edward puffed and struggled up towards the 'head' of the Malevolence, with a rather reluctant Gordon and a blissfully unaware Percy following after him.

"Oh, and I don't want to alarm anyone, but there might...might be a few hallucinations coming up!"

"OH GOODIE!" they heard Edward bellow.

...

"Lily better be all right!"

"Okay, Burnett, I get that you're a little nervous and such, and I get it, really, I do. But if you could just focus on tightening the nuts on this thing, we might be able to get a signal strong enough to broadcast the message Lady wants us too!"

Burnett grumpily made sure the nuts were in place. Carlin gave a thumbs up to Starr.

"And you're rolling in three...two...one...good luck mate! And...ACTION!"

Duck's face quickly slid into a rather nervous grin. "AH! Hello boys and girls, it's me, Duck...everybody's favorite engine! So, um, this might be a little confusing for you seeing as it's...not the usual time for Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends to be playing, but I'd appreciate it if you did me a huge favor right now! Um...okay, so, if you have any grown ups with you, it's really important that they do this too, so...you do that!"

"You know, I think we should have got someone a bit more used to the camera." Carlin muttered as he slid down to join Starr.

"Eh, if it was James, he'd only now be focusing on what we actually want to do...and even then, that's a little debatable." Starr took a deep breath. "Okay. Ready to go and do something stupid?"

"I lived on the f**king Island of Sodor! What do you think!?"

Lady and the Malevolence looked at each other for a moment. Lady tried to avoid the horrible feeling in her firebox that things were about to go belly up. She couldn't let the darkness win. Now now. Not when they were so close. She wondered if she looked as weary as she felt. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

 **"NOT A CHANCE. IT ALMOST SEEMS UNFAIR NOW! THIS FIGHT IS NOT GOING TO BE NEARLY AS FUN AS I HOPED IT WOULD BE!"**

"Oh, I'll try my best." Lady's eyes flickered to her cab, where the four humans were standing by to act as a makeshift crew, and then back to the Malevolence. "Let's finish this, shall we?" Her body glowed bright white, and with a whoosh, she jumped off the tracks and straight towards the Malevolence's throat.

White and black clashed as the Malevolence hissed at the heat of her magic. One limb created the same spears and arrows that Marklin had used but a moment ago, now increased in size tenfold. Lady gritted her teeth and flew backwards, blasting energy from her funnel towards each projectile as it launched towards her. She closed her eyes, and raised up another shield. But this one was weaker, and with every hit, it cracked more and more. "I need a distraction!" she hissed.

Without a word, Carlin blew his whistle and teleported right up to the Malevolence's face. "OI! F**KFACE! REMEMBER ME!?" And doing so, he proceeded to punch the creature of pure energy right in the eye. He blew a raspberry, and just to add insult to injury, threw a bit of gold dust as well.

The Malevolence screamed. **"YOU WORM! YOU INSECT! YOU SHALL-"** And then that scream turned into a roar of agony as Lady's own arrows and spears, created with white energy, slammed into his body again and again and again. One even came close to taking his eye out. "THAT IS IT! I HAVE BEEN GENEROUS IN ALLOWING THIS CHARADE TO CONTINUE! BUT NO MORE!"

The four humans gripped the bunker as Lady was pulled forward towards the Malevolence, who made one of his sharper and longer limbs withdraw from the husk of Dodge's body...and lunge towards Lady's face.

She had no time to call up a shield or anything. She shut her eyes and waited for the end.

And waited.

And waited.

 **ARE YOU JUST GOING TO DO THAT ALL DAY? BECAUSE I THINK THERE IS A WAR TO BE WON HERE, YOU KNOW.**

Lady opened her eyes, and tried her best not to cry out in mingled joy and surprise. For there, blocking the Malevolence with his own body, was a very, very welcome and familiar face.

"Hello Ivor."

 **LADY. IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN. I ONLY WISH THAT IT WAS UNDER MORE CHEERFUL CIRCUMSTANCES. I WOULD HAVE BROUGHT A BUN, BUT GREGG'S WOULD BE SHUT AT THIS TIME, WOULDN'T IT?** Ivor looked to the Maleovlence. **SO. YOU'RE STILL KICKING ABOUT THEN. AND NOW YOU'RE STEALING MY ALL CAPS DEAL. COPYRIGHT THEFT, THE WORST CRIME OF THEM ALL**.

"YOU ALWAYS DID PRATTLE ON SO! WHY ARE YOU GETTING INVOLVED?! THIS IS HOW THE UNIVERSE ENDS!"

 **NO. NO IT IS NOT.**

Ivor the Engine looked at the Malevolence, and then at Lady. **IT IS TIME FOR ME TO DO MY JOB. THERE ARE SOULS THAT NEED TO BE TAKEN. AND THERE'S AN OBSTRUCTION ON THE LINE.**

"Then I think we should clear it, don't you?" Duck limped up to join them. "It's been one of those days."

 **IT HAS THAT.**

...

"Oh, you're back, are you?" Edward grinned a little savagely. "Well, that's nice! I'm deep in the head of a massive magical soul eater and all of a sudden, I've decided to start hallucinating again!"

 **"Not a hallucination."** hissed BoCo. **"But even if I were, you should really listen to me. Look at you. You've lived too long, Edward. You're rotting away inside. You're dead, you just don't know it yet. Look at those eyes. When I came to the Island, there was still just a tiny spark left in there. But now? It's all gone. You let the Island, your 'friends' and your inability to do anything worthwhile break you down. You're Old. Alone. Done for."**

Edward groaned. "Marklin, I don't actually give a damn about what you think. And your BoCo impression is quite frankly, terrible." But even so, the words kept going around his brain over and over and over again.

...

 **"You really are an embarrassment, you know that? Look at you. Nigel got bored making you, didn't he? Such uninspired craftsmanship, and such a boring old shade of blue. That face too...look at it. But it would be fine if it was just the looks, for god sake's have you seen Cousin Spencer? No, it would be fine if it weren't for how much of a failure you are in general. You keep telling me that you're setting these records, but there's only one that really matters, you know. No wonder i didn't see you when I came to Sodor. I wish you had died instead of-"**

Gordon tried to focus on other things, but Scotsman's enraged face and arsenic laden tone couldn't help but get into his head a little.

...

 **"Well, well, welly well well! Look who decided to get up and actually get himself into gear today!"** Henry tried to ignore the speaker, but it was hard. Namely because his old self- pre-Flying Kipper, was being really, really loud and obnoxious. " **You know, I don't think the new look is your thing at all. I mean, hark at you now! Before, you used to just be the moany git who was ill all the time. But now you're a drug addicted hippie who can't do anything right! You'd think that by now, you'd pick a personality. You're about as strong willed as cardboard, you are. Coward!"**

Henry shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to continue onwards. But he was still there, his old self, shouting about in his head.

...

 **"Oooh, look at you swanning about!"** St Eustace's snarling face hung over James like the Sword of Damocles. **"Hello again, Brakeblocks!"**

"You know, I wish my hallucination was a bit more attractive."

 **"You know, it would be nice to be respected. I know that feeling, you see, so I can only feel pity for someone like you who has never felt it before in his life. But it's understandable why you've never felt that. Let's review, shall we? In your first year alone, you came off the rails, broke your coaches, got spun around like a top, crashed into tar wagons...you started as you meant to go on! And there was the fact that for the first few months, no one referred to you by your proper name! Face it, Red Engine, you're a shambles."**

James cheerfully puffed on, trying to silence the nagging voice in his head.

...

 **"BLOBBY!"**

Percy tried to ignore the grating sound of his one true enemy, but it was impossible. "SHUT UP!" He screamed. But Mr Blobby gave not a single shit!

...

 **"SO BORING...SO FLAT...FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND."**

Toby tried to hide the quaking feeling in his wheels as he gazed up at the terrifying vision of Diesel 10. But somehow, the already unnerving engine had been transformed into something even more frightening. Diesel 10 would have towered over an average size building now, his wheels more like massive legs or trunks of some great beast. His face was stretched over the skull like a grotesque death mask of some kind, teeth the size of kitchen knives and sharp as needles gnashed away, bloodshot eyes burned a hole in Toby's body and the claw...the claw was now more flesh than mechanics.

 **"LITTLE TRAM!"** It bellowed, and advanced.

...

And in the center of it all, Thomas sat alone, trying desperately to tune out the mocking and twisted faces of his friends.

 **"Silly little tanker!"**

 **"Little Thomas, come out to play!"**

 **"A disappointment, that's what he is!"**

 **"Some friend you turned out to be!"**

...

Seven little engines, trapped inside a walking, talking, breathing thing made of darkness and negativity, felt all their faults and foibles and weaknesses laid bear. For a moment, it overwhelmed them. As a tidal wave completely envelops and engulfs a lone swimmer, so too did the Malevolence's power take hold of them for a second. All that rage and sorrow and pain and hatred that they had held for so long in their hearts just took over their minds. They couldn't even remember their names or where they were meant to be going after a while, and soon the thought occurred to them that it was time to stop, and give in.

And then another thought came to them all, separately.

NO.

The first one to realize it was the tram held in the grip of Diesel 10, that horrible vice like grip that was squeezing the life and soul out of him. And this simple thought occurred to him, and this thought grew and grew and grew. Until at last:

"I know why you're doing this to me."

 **"DIE...DIE...DIE..."**

"I hurt you, didn't I? Back on Sodor. I rang my bell and I humiliated you! I beat you before, and I made you look a right tit! And I'm going to do it again! To hell with being a background character, is that such a bad thing?! No it isn't! I am Toby the Tram Engine, and YOU! WILL! NOT! WIN!" And Toby wrenched himself free and scrambled forward. Already the creature seemed so much smaller than it had been a moment ago. And he burned a bright white light, and suddenly Diesel 10 shrank back and screamed as it tore him to shreds.

Toby laughed triumphantly, ringing his bell loud and clear. For a moment, he thought he saw Henrietta standing besides him, and the sudden joy of it all sent the light careening out of control.

Outside, Ivor, Duck and Lady stopped their attack as the Malevolence screamed in pure shock. "WHAT...IS...THIS...?" The tendrils and tentacles withdrew from the prone bodies of those closest to him, trying in vain to stop the horrible burning! And as more and more began to stir, Lady nodded. Starr, Carlin, Burnett and Hatt closed their eyes...and began to sing.

...

 **"BLOBBY!"**

"Bloody hell, you're annoying!" The little engine scoffed. "You're just a comedy bit that's got no real punchline! A real joke! Is that what you think will stop me? Well, it almost did, but only because I've got a busted up brain! But brain damage or not, I am Percy the Small Engine, and I say that the joke's not funny any more!" And with that, the fake Blobby thing was blasted away without even time to scream. Percy cackled with glee as the light smashed through the Malevolence's...stomach? Armpit? Neck? It was hard to tell by this point. But all he knew was that the sight of Mavis smiling approving was the best tonic for his sore head that there ever was.

More limbs and tendrils were withdrawing now, rushing inwards to try and contain the horrible...horrible things that were doing the Malevolence's insides no favors whatsoever. Lady tried and failed to keep her smile under check.

...

 **"You are-"**

The red engine interrupted this speech. "...You know what, Eustace? Do you even have the first idea to whom you speak? There is one person in this world who absolutely respects who I am, what I am and how I do it! This person is the best damn thing on the planet, and I trust their judgement more than anything? It's ME. James the Red Engine, the most splendid engine on the planet, and don't you forget it! Make way for me, you asshole!"

Eustace's body melted away into the shadows with such speed that it was almost frightening. The exhilaration on James's face, if converted into a power source, could light up the national grid. Sparks flew and light crackled from his brakeblocks and his shiny brass dome and, most of all, his red paint! For one shining moment, James was the most splendid thing in the entire universe. The whoops of glee from the Scottish Twins were proof enough of that!

By now, the song had raised to such a volume that even people on the moon would have been able to hear it. The Malevolence was snarling and spitting now, seeming to alternate between the massive size that he had been in for the last half an hour or so, and shrinking to a different size.

...

"I suffered dreadfully, and no one cares!" said one green engine. But the other green engine appeared to be gathering courage now.

"No wonder. I was a whiny little prick when I met you! You know, say what you will about me, but that accident was actually the best thing that ever happened to me! It gave me a new perspective on...well, everything! I may be a hippie who smokes a little and gets on his soapbox a bit much...but I am no coward! I have fought through things that would make a lesser engine whimper for the scrapper's claw! I am Henry the Green Engine! And you are not. That's your loss, by the way, you nitwit!"

"OOOH BALLS!" shouted the False-Henry, and died. The real Henry, for a moment, felt as though the entire world was in tune with him. He could feel Shining Time and all the continents and masses around it...and his home, the one place he hoped to keep safe more than anything, the Island of Sodor. She was battered, she was bruised, but she was still alive, and she wanted him to come home. And he had never been one to disappoint! As the Skarloey gang, in particular Peter Sam, whooped with pride, light streamed forth at an even quicker rate than any of the others.

The Malevolence barely felt the pain any more. All he could think was to wrap as much as possible around the heads of the three remaining engines. For now, across the world, those being drained were also being freed, and in gratitude, they sang!

...

"What say you, brother?"

The big engine paused...and then burst out into racaous laughter. "My word, do they feed you these lines? You know, what you say would actually be intimidating were in not for the fact that you are the worst acted version of my brother since...well, that would be telling! No, your words, though they have been those I have imagined before, are ultimately false! My brother is proud of me, and so he should be. I am Gordon the Big Engine, the fastest! The best! And pulling the express has never been so easy! If I were you, I'd be retreating, because oh-" Gordon whistled long and loud "-THE INDIGNITY OF IT ALL!"

The whistle sounded loud and clear, and the coaches and vehicles echoed that call with great joy. Once it had cleared, and the light began to ripple outwards, cutting through skin and flesh and shadow, Gordon spared the Scotsman no heed...not that this mattered, since he had melted back into the shadows the second that he had seen that the battle had been lost.

"MARKLIN-" wheezed the Malevolence, now back in his dragonic form once more. "STOP THEM...EDWARD MUST NOT...HE MUST NOT GET FREE-"

...

Marklin approached the blue engine. **"What's the matter? Are you done, mein chum? Bah! You were no real battle!"**

"You are wrong, Marklin." said a voice, quiet and dignified. "You have never been more wrong. You have bullied and mocked and killed and done terrible things in your life and in your death. But all of these things do not amount to a tenth of what this engine has done. You know who this is? This is the one who saved Trevor from scrap. The Old Iron. The savior of the railway. Hero of Wellsworth. He survived the war, and he'll survive this. He'll do so as he does so every time. Battered...weary, but unbeaten. Isn't that right, old chum?"

With a laugh, the engine suddenly straightened up. "Quite right. I am Edward the Blue Engine...and you have been left to ramble for FAR too long!"

Marklin screamed as light streamed forth and connected, slicing open his chest and rippling outwards, crushing and compacting and melting away everything that he had been. And now the souls from besides the wall began to tear at him too, finally free at last of their horrible prison. **"THIS...You said we would be unstoppable! I...I've... lost?"**

And on this note, Marklin fell backwards, hitting the shadows and crumpling to dust. The ghost engine had finally been killed once and for all.

Edward looked to BoCo, and smiled sadly, his eyes brimming with tears. "A hallucination?"

"Not this time, old chum. Now come...we have a world to save."

Now the Malevolence grew again, still in his dragon form. But the sudden loss of Marklin, a vital part of him for so many years, threw him off completely and he writehd in agony.

It was nearly done now.

...

 **"You've been a shit friend, Thomas!"**

"Oi, Thomas, is that what you really think I sound like? Listen to me, of all the engines I've had the pleasure of working with, it is you who is me best mate! And I'm going to need you soon, because me head is a little off center!"

 **"You are a vile little intruder on our perfect life!"**

"Pah! Don't listen to that snooty bastard, Thomas, listen to THIS snooty bastard! What would my life be without your insults about my glorious red paint?"

 **"You're small, you'll never amount to nowt!"**

"Did I ever tell you, Little Thomas, that those words were the biggest and stupidest words that I ever uttered!? I have never been so wrong in all my life. Now come, this shouldn't be that hard for you!"

 **"You're the only disaster on the rails!"**

"Hey, Thomas...you want to go get high later? I've got some good quality stuff, and it's only the best for a certain number one engine that I know. And then we can go and complain about crosswords together! Like all friends should!"

 **"You're an idiot, Thomas."**

"Oh, he is...but he's our idiot. Come on Thomas, what are you waiting for? Get up, you cheeky short stumpy bastard, cause we love you!"

And then a song reached the tank engine's ears. It was being chanted like a song at a rock concert, by the entire world! Young, old, white, black, man, woman, boy, girl, engine, diesel, dead, alive, it didn't matter! At that moment, one song could be heard in all languages and in all tunes.

 _"He's a really useful engine, you know._  
 _All the other engines they'll tell you so._  
 _He huffs and puffs and whistles_  
 _Rushing to and fro_  
 _He's the really useful engine we adore!_

 _He's a really useful engine, you know_  
 _Cos the Fat Controller, he told him so!_  
 _Now he's got a branch line_  
 _To call his very own!_  
 _He's the really useful engine we adore!"_

And like a sapling planted in soil, an idea began to grow in the mind of this little tank engine.

 _"He's the one, he's the one!"_

Yes, he was the one, wasn't he?!

 _"He's the really useful engine that we adore!"_

Really useful? Were there any better words to describe him!?

 _"He's the one, he's the number one!"_

That was right, he was the Number One! And he was that for a reason, and one reason only! It was a reason like no other, a reason more powerful than any reason in the world that anyone could come up with for being number one.

And he sang it out along with the rest of the world as the light shot out of him and destroyed every shadow in his path.

 _"THOMAS THE TANK ENGINE!"_

...

And as the Malevolence screamed, and as the entire world made sure that one, glorious symphony of positiveness poured out from their very hearts and souls, and as all the souls ripped and tore and slashed their way out to freedom, at long last...seven voices rang out in unison.

"MALEVOLENCE, YOU **FUCKED** WITH THE WRONG ISLAND!"

And in the last second before the end, the Malevolence knew that this was the truest thing he would ever here. And he screamed and screamed and screamed, as he grew smaller and thinner. His body ruptured out as soul after soul escaped from him at last, rushing towards the waiting Ivor with such speed that a cheetah would be jealous of. And the Malevolence shrank, and shrank...

And then the light swallowed him up completely, and he was gone.

It was over.

At long last, it was over.

Seven engines suddenly realized that they had not been born with wings, and plummeted head first to the ground below, but even this did not stop the huge amount of cheers ringing out from human and vehicle alike.

"Ahhhhhh SHIT! That bloody hurt!"

James's cry sort of brought the whole thing down a little bit, but still. It was a good time.

...

Marklin woke up.

He looked around him, and grinned. All according to plan! Admittedly, the plan to completely black out the sky hadn't, in his head, been quite so literal, but it was a start! Now, all they needed to do was-

 **HELLO.**

Marklin started backwards. And then he laughed. "Why, if it isn't Death itself! What are you going to do? Scythe me?" Something about his voice sounded different somehow. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was there. "It's too late! I've won! We've won! We-"

Then he noticed that behind Ivor the Engine was what looked to him to be an almost infinite number of humans, engines and even animals, all staring at him with undisguised hatred in their eyes. He recognized BoCo, and Davidson, and Drampf, and both sets of Shunters. There was Class 40, and Alec, and Jinty and Pug, and the Reverend Teddy from the vicarage. And that wasn't getting into the myriad of those he didn't recognize. He slowly began to back away.

 **YOU LOST, MARKLIN. YOU DIED. AGAIN. ONLY THIS TIME, YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN. NO FREAK ACCIDENT. NO CLINGING TO LIFE. IT'S TIME FOR YOU AND I TO TAKE A RIDE TOGETHER. JUDGEMENT HAS BEEN DENIED TO ALL OF YOUR VICTIMS OVER THE YEARS. I THINK IT ONLY FITTING THAT ON THEIR WAY TO THEIR OWN VERDICTS, THEY SHOULD BRING YOU ALONG FOR THE RIDE.**

And every soul surged forward, grabbing at him, and Marklin screamed aloud as all of his victims dragged him backwards, towards a horrible and undying light that seemed to grow brighter and brighter. He tried to use his powers, but there was nothing, nothing at all, and too late he realized that he was what he had always been.

A angry, bitter, vengeful, small tank engine, dealt with only in the background.

And that was the end of Marklin.

...

Later, as Stacy Jones made sure to keep the station running, accompanied by the remainder of the Shining Time lot, the engines sat and rested, talking as they were slowly healed by Lady's magic.

Carlin sat alongside Percy, for the moment quietly content. The two of them looked up at the sky, and for the first time in quite a while, Carlin felt completely at peace. He looked up to the green saddletank. "So how are you doing, you f**king catepillar?"

"Eh...a bit terribibble." Percy paused. "Terrible. Sorry. Head injury."

"I get it." Carlin knew that the head injury was not something that could just be fixed with a magic wave of the hand. There were going to be aftereffects, Percy being a bit more naive than usual, slipping up when it came to words and so forth. But as long as he was taken care of, it shouldn't get too worrying.

...

"Will this work?"

"Ah, stop yer wheeshing, James! It's not every day that a God decides ta help with yer paintwork!"

"I know, but will it still sparkle like morning dew in the sunshine!? Will it still amaze and astound all who see it and inspire the youth of today to a better and brighter future? Will it still allow me to pull the ladies?"

"Funny." muttered Oliver to no one in particular. "I must have been sleeping when that happened."

...

"So, what's the sit-rep on the survivors?"

"We've already taken the steamroller into custody. He's not going back to the Island for a long, long time. Luckily, in case people start asking questions, we have managed to get his French cousin who is also named George to fill in on background shots. As long as he doesn't say anything for the next ten or so years, we should be good. And just so people don't get confused about what happened to Arry and Bert now that they've been on the TV, we've found two idiot shunters to take their place for the foreseeable future- Oh, look out. Your brother's coming up."

Duck and Stepney were deep in conversation, as Gordon and Henry moved up to meet the City of Truro and the Flying Scotsman. Many of the other famous engines had headed home for repairs, or to take care of the portal machine once everyone was back on their rightful place. The two famous engines looked up warily as the two big engines faced them down.

"You did so well, brother!" The Flying Scotsman sounded honest when he said that. "You are a true credit to Sir Nigel-"

"Scotsman, Truro...a moment, if you please." Henry looked at the two of them, and then started again. "Duck's informed us how you tend to deal with situations like this. Erasing people's minds and so forth. And while that may work on all the civilians and people who didn't take part in the battle that much...it's not going to stick with us. The last week or so has been...a thing."

"What's your point?"

"He's coming to one. To summarize it, I think it's worth noting that you had ten years to finish this. And we managed it in a single week." Gordon looked at the two of them, sternly. "So here's the deal. Next time, try giving us a warning about what's going on instead of sending spies and leaving things to chance. You know what we can do, and we know who you are now. If we had been working together from the outset, then it's possible that none of this would have ever happened, and there'd be a hell of a lot more engines standing here alive than there are at present."

Scotsman looked at Gordon, and Henry...and then to Duck for a moment. "...You are not...incorrect."

"Spoken like a politician." Duck grunted as he moved towards them. "I'm staying on. I think by this point, I've earned a bit of rest and relaxation away from all the spy works and the battles. Sodor's my home now, if they'll have me. But if anything comes up...give me a call. Sir."

Scotsman nodded, and headed off quickly to chat to Etienne about something. Truro was left on his own as Duck and the two tender engines moved away to join James in having a celebratory drink. But he wasn't alone for long. Stepney pulled up besides him and grinned grimly at him. Truro didn't look at him, and kept his eyes fixed mainly on the horizon.

"You look smug about something, Stepney."

"Interesting thing. I saw Duck not too long ago. Told him a bit about you and your...shall we say, dislike of diesels."

"Yes?"

"Yes. He doesn't remember a thing. Funny that, isn't it?"

"Indeed."

Stepney puffed away. "Watch your back, Truro. The Iron Circle's reputation has taken a severe bump this week...I'd start considering your options a little bit better."

...

"Miss Jenny? Hi there, yes it's Topham...no, don't hang up! What happened in university happened, all right? Now, I've got a very, VERY big job for you. There's been a...freak hurricane over on the Island, there's a ton of buildings been damaged and I'd be grateful if you could get your...what you call them, the Pack? Yes, if you can get them on it straight away. I'll even employ you full time if you like. God knows we're going to need a construction company anyway! Yes, I'll see you...tomorrow? How does that sound? Good, great. Bye."

Hatt hung up the phone, and turned to look at Stacy Jones. He smiled sympathetically. "Sorry."

"It's all right." Stacy took a deep breath, and placed the blood-stained bat back behind the desk. "I'll have to open in a few minutes, give them all an explanation of what the heck just went on." She grinned. "Can't think of what, mind."

"A little advice from someone who constantly has to mollify passengers? Blame the engines. Always blame the engines. You've got an advantage over me. Yours don't talk back!"

"Oh, I don't know." said Billy as he entered. "The Rainbow Sun, sometimes..." He paused, and then shook his head. "I just wanted to say it was no trouble, hiding your escaped friends on my engine."

"Thank you, Mr Twofeathers. And you, Miss Jones. I can only apologize that you were dragged into whatever the hell this week was. I can't wait for things to go back to...well, normal's a strong word, but the closest thing to it."

...

Toby puffed forward to join Edward, looking out over the valley of Shining Time itself. The tram engine didn't say anything for the longest time, and neither did Edward. Together, they just looked out onwards at the village.

At last, Edward spoke. "Well done, Tobe. You were the first to break free of that thing, by all accounts...not surprising, really."

"Ah-" said Toby modestly "-it's just a knacK. Besides, as per usual, you did all the heavy lifting."

"You do yourself a massive disservice mate. You're the best of us, and I mean it. While we're all off getting fixated on revenge and glory and fame, you're just doing your job, making sure that the trains run on time. Honestly, how Mussolini did it..." Edward trailed off.

Toby took a deep breath. "You'll have heard this a number of times now, and you'll hear it a few more. But for the record, I am truly sorry about BoCo."

There was silence for a time. And then Edward spoke again, in a voice that sounded pained. "It's raining."

Toby looked up at the cloudless sky, and then to the softly shaking frame of the blue engine besides him, and to the sudden wetness of his face. He gave a sad smile, and nodded. "Yeah. And we can stay here for a bit, until the downpour ceases."

And so they sat there for some time.

...

"So...do you want to keep in touch?"

"Yes. Definitely!"

"...Oh. Oh! Thank god you said that, I don't know what I would have done if you'd said no!"

"Here."

"What is this?"

"It's my number, Patch."

"...Wow."

Today had been a good day to be Patch.

...

Lily and Patch were busy chatting about something or nothing, so Burnett left them for a time and headed off towards Lady. She was sitting there, thoughtfully looking out upon Shining Time. "So, now what?" He asked.

"Now what?"

"Are you heading back to England, or Sodor...or what?"

Lady didn't answer for a moment. She chewed her lip and gazed towards the glowing portal that was being set up for the others to return to the Island of Sodor. Burnett was just about to turn away when she finally spoke again. "Thing is, Burnett, I'd be going back to a world that I don't know anymore. They're expanding so fast that there's nowhere for me to just simply be. Besides, I've gotten used to this place now. It might be nice, just for a little bit, to stay here." She winked at him. "And see how you're getting along with that nice Stacy."

"Lady!"

"Burnett, I had to listen to you monologue to yourself repeatedly over these last few decades. Tasha wouldn't want you to go old and grey and not enjoy life. You like that girl? Go get her!"

...

"Bloody hell, mate! Look what we got here!"

"He's a right ugly frog and no mistake! Oi, Shane! Get the crane and see if we can't lift him up!"

"Mate? Hello! You're in Australia! Got anything to say?"

The diesel in the barge opened his eyes, looked around the dock at which he had come to rest at and frowned. His claw snapped, but in confusion this time, as his brows furrowed and he spoke in a somewhat halting voice that didn't quite know how it was supposed to sound.

"Who...am I?"

...

 _ONE YEAR LATER._

 _"It doesn't look good."_

 _The man in the bed had been stripped of everything. Not just his clothes, which were now drying somewhere over a fire, but everything else, too. The mystique was gone, the image of the often times indescribable boss of the most powerful railway in all the world obliterated. So too was the feeling of terror that many people had felt when facing him down. Even the Other Railway was gone now._

 _Captain Zero stared down at the Fat Director with disgust. The time portal that had opened during the battle had ended up teleporting them to the year 2000, right over the Atlantic Ocean. Captain Zero had got lucky and landed feet first. The Fat Director had landed head first. The Green Eyed Tugs that had brought many of the sailors over to Shining Time had quickly found them and taken them back to the now deserted area of Trumpton to heal. Zero had managed to get by on some crutches, but while the Fat Director wasn't dead, the injuries were severe indeed._

 _The survivors of the battle had fled back to the Other Railway and made perfectly sure that it was cut off from the rest of the world, even more so than before. The Fat Director's influence over the government had faded, especially with him now in such a critical coma, and they had had no trouble in closing down the Other Railway in every way bar actually tearing it down. Once again, Zero and the remaining loyal men had nothing now._

 _Well...almost nothing. Zero had one idea in mind. The Fat Director had failed to take over the world using magic. It was time to see if a simpler method couldn't work. But first, he had to clear this loose end up first._

 _"Give it ta me straight, Doctor. Will ye be honest? What's his odds o' surviving?"_

 _The doctor shook his head. "it's not a question of survival, Captain. I know that he doesn't seem it, now that all the magic that hid his identity has been stripped away, but he's a fighter. No, it's a question of if he'll ever wake up again. Massive damage to the cranium, broken legs, his arm was nearly torn off completely by the time they were able to get him in...I'd brace for the fact that he may never wake up again."_

 _Zero tried, and failed, to hide a smile._

 _"I can't quite take him off life support, however. His will was very specific about that." The doctor hesitated, and moved over to pull something from his sodden jacket. "There is this. I just need to confirm his identity, and this will help...or so I reckon."_

 _Zero looked down at the passport and whistled loudly. "Bloody nora! ...And he did all that, for all those years, to his own-!" He shook his head. "Oh, if ye were only awake now, eh? The things I'd like to ask ye." He shrugged, and wrote down the name, and headed off without another word. He had a phone call to make to the stock markets. He wanted to see just how much a share in HIT Entertainment costed._

 _He and the doctor would have been well advised to stay. As Lowham Hatt, the Fat Director, lay on the bed, his heart rate quickened for a moment._

 _And then his fist clenched._

 _This was not over. Not yet._

...

Eventually, it was time to leave.

"So, are you sticking around here, or are you heading back to Sodor?" Stacy couldn't help but fondly laugh. "I won't lie, I'd love to see you back here again. Both of you." She turned to Starr and Carlin, both of whom were giving a last look around the place.

"Stace, it was fun." Starr admitted. "But...Babs and the kids are me focus right now. And the music of course! But I'm coming back to see you all every chance I get! Right, Carlin?"

Carlin gave a weary little grin. "Give me chance to make sure Percy's all right, and then I'll head back over here for a week. I'll help with the cleaning up and what have you, but after that...well, Percy's my buddy. And I have been away far too long now." He looked over to see Mr Conductor and Junior arguing over Junior's drug habits. "And, you know, I'll be back to keep an eye on Tweedleshit and Tweedlef**k as well! ...They're all right, I suppose. They just need a bit of guidance."

Stacy paused, nodded softly...and then grabbed the two of them in a hug. "Always wanted to do that, but you were always so small before!" She brightly waved goodbye to them as Carlin and Starr climbed aboard Percy and Thomas respectively.

The gathered Sudrians were seated in the coaches and the trucks. They were cold and weary and ready to go back home to their nice warm beds. Assuming that said nice warm beds were in one piece. Lady had used her magic as best as she could to fix up the worst of it, but still there remained much work to be done. The engines too had been healed, though their paint was not as shiny as it had once been, and they felt their age now.

"All right!" called Scotsman. "The second that the last of you is through, Lady will return Shining Time to it's proper place, and we'll destroy the portal machine on the Other Railway! Capiche?"

"We've got it!"

Once by one, the engines started forward, whistling goodbye. Mavis, Donald and Douglas, Oliver and Toad, Bill and Ben, Derek pulling the Skarloey engines on flatbeds. Then Trevor, Terrance, Butch and Caroline.

"Oi, Thomas! You better be ready for a race when we get home!" And off Bertie went, honking his horn proudly as he did so.

"Bloody lunatic." muttered Henry, as he watched Harold the Helicopter fly through the portal.

At last, there was only the Eight Famous Engines (And Annie and Clarabel, of course). Percy's injuries were enough to warrant a flatbed of his own, while Toby had been placed on there as he would need a new cowcatcher to be attached to him immediately upon return home. Duck was at the front and Edward at the back. The three big engines chafed as they waited for the word to set off.

"Good fortune, all of you." Lady looked around at the eight of them. "I hope to see you again."

"One day, we shall come back. Yes, we shall come back."

"Why are you quoting Doctor Who at her, Thomas?"

"Shut it, Percy."

"And...you're clear."

As Gordon, James and Henry started off towards the portal, the former began to sing.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow-"

"For he's a jolly good fellooooooow!" belted out James and Henry in response.

"And so say all of us!" finished Toby and Percy together.

"And so say all of us! And so say all of us!"

As the cavalcade started off, the seven engines continued to belt it out as one by one, they vanished with one last whistle goodbye. First Gordon, then James, then Henry, then Duck, then Percy and Toby, and finally Edward. And as they vanished, one by one, the sound of singing grew softer and softer, until there was only one voice left singing.

"For they're all jolly good fellows, for they're all jolly good fellows, for they're all jolly good fellows...and it's time to say goodbye!"

Thomas smiled, and looked around Shining Time. At all the humans gathered there, and the famous engines watching as he headed back home. Long ago, he had said he had wanted to see the world.

But right now, there was only one place he wanted to see. Home.

"Peep peep! Until the next time!" He said, and then headed off through the portal.

For a moment, he looked back at Shining Time, it's battle scarred landscape slowly giving way to the white of Lady's magic renewing it, it's people stood waving, looking tired but contented...and he realized that they were really were two completely different worlds. Perhaps the Conductor's words weren't that stupid after all. Shining Time and Sodor, for all their superficial similarities, were really two quite separate places.

And there was, Thomas the Tank Engine thought as he passed the windmill (That wonderful windmill that was, for good reason, the place he associated most with his Island), only one place for him.

And so they have come to the happy ending of the story, and it's time for all of us to go home.

Just like Thomas.

 **The End...For Now.**

* * *

And that's it.

Bloody hell, I never thought I'd get this far.

Well, a long time ago I got bored and wrote a dumb little Thomas thing for shits and giggles. And now, one hundred and thirty chapters on, here we are, at the end of the Magic Railroad. And that is all down to you. Thank you all for your support, feedback, critiques and opinions. It really has made the series worth it.

Now, last few notes before we all head off!

-I originally toyed with having Splatter and Dodge legitimately turn out to be good really, and having them go through witness protection at the end to become the Arry and Bert from Season 6 onwards. I scrapped that, primarily because I didn't want to confuse people more than they already had been. Splatter's death at the buffers of Toby was something that I thought was quite nice, considering that Toby was one of the few engines who came out of the movie proper looking cool. Dodge was originally just going to get knocked to death by an engine, but I figured that having the Malevolence kill him would be a much better way to go, and it shows that it doesn't really care about it's promises.

-Speaking of Arry and Bert, originally they were going to get knocked about by Boulder and have their personalities be affected similarly to Percy's. But I nixed that idea as I felt that it wasn't a suitably karmic punishment for them. Hence the victims of scrap taking care of Bert, and Bill and Ben getting revenge for BoCo by taking down Arry. The latter was originally planned for Edward, however...

-...I felt that he, Henry and Gordon taking down the Juggernaut was far more fitting. The Three Railway Engines taking down their tormentor from the olden days? Sounded good to me. You'll note that I've deliberately made sure that there's only ONE Juggernaut here. Where's the other one? What's he planning? Why hasn't he been involved in the attack? ...You'll see. In time.

-Gotch's death was one of the goriest planned. Honestly, I actually can't help hut feel a little sorry for killing him off, if only because he's had such a bad time of it throughout the story. Why Trevor? I felt that having him lose to a non-rail vehicle would be ironic, even more so because it was thanks to him that the Vicar was killed back in Season 3. Karma has a funny way about her.

-Harold's moment of awesome was something I just loved writing.

-Boomer's death was deliberately a bit anti-climatic. Plus, it made for one of the creepiest call backs I could think of. Boomer wants to learn the secrets of the Magic Railroad? Well he can...and he will, forever and ever and ever. Having the three people he had been responsible for pissing off in some way punch him and leave him to die on the way out was really fun to write.

-I thought a ton about how exactly the Malevolence was going to be defeated. Originally it was just going to be a case of having the seven engines blasting him with their magic a la Power Rangers, but I felt it was a bit silly and didn't really have any build up. Plus, after all the build-up I had done for the Malevolence, I really wasn't sure how to write a convincing physical defeat at the hands of seven very ordinary engines. I decided to compromise and to show how far the engines have come really, and to comment on how it's time to get this over with. So I think I did decently.

-Each of the ghosts confronting the engines in the Malevolence is meant to represent something that has happened to them in the past. Edward losing his friends and BoCo, James's embarrassment at being referred to as the Red Engine way back in Season 1, Toby's fear of being a background character, Henry's illness woes (And because I think he's the character who has changed the most from when I originally started writing him) and Percy...yeah, I didn't know what to do for Percy. Decided to bring back the Mr Blobby bit from Happy Birthday

-The Malevolence taking an interest in Toby is because he is still enraged that the tram mocked him and trapped him as Ten. And...well, there's another reason too, but the less said about that for now, the better.

-Yes, Marklin is DEAD. For good...or is he? Yes. Yes he is.

-The effects of Lady's regeneration is meant to sort of explain one of the things that I've noticed with regards to the models from Season 6 onwards. Namely that while they are very good, they never quite get the nice shine as the previous ones. Maybe it's just me, but it's far easier to tell that the models have been changed than it was in previous seasons. I've no quarrel with it, but it's just something I felt like bringing up.

-The Fat Director being Lowham Hatt was something that I had originally planned to be revealed upon Lowham's episode. However, I realized a few things. Firstly, both his and Zero's exits would need to be given something so as to set up what I had planned for the next chapter. Two, waiting that long runs the risk of making the mystery seem boring or not worth it in the end. Three, it gives me a chance to explain why Lowham Hatt is the Fat Director in more detail next time!

-Captain Zero taking up the reigns of the main bad guy was meant to signify a shift in the attitudes of the villains next time. What's he up to? There is a clue in what it is he's doing. I wonder if you'll find it.

-For those not understanding, when the Sudrians made their escape from Boomer's house, they hid onboard the Railway Sun until the battle had began.

-Diesel 10 is currently in Australia, where he will be staying until the next time he appears. The amnesia is a helpful get out of jail free card for me, considering that everyone helpfully decides to ignore the time he tried to kill them all in Calling All Engines. We'll be checking back in with him later.

-Bit of a sappy ending, but I figured that it was worth it. A sign that yeah, things are going to get better after all.

Thank you all, once again.

And until the nineteenth, have a great day!


End file.
